Warm, delicious blood trickled down his chin. He stared down at her, the woman he had just savagely attacked. She lay under him, eyes closed, breath sawing in and out. Not in pleasure, but in pain. Red coated her skin, bathing her. Her eyelids cracked open, her eyes dry, not filled with tears. Not filled with hate, either. Just blind panic that her life might now be over.
And for what? Trying to save an undeserving dragon?
"Why did you do that?" he snarled, rage draining from him and leaving only guilt. Remorse. More of the hatred—for himself. "Why?"
She didn't answer. Probably couldn't. Her eyelids slowly closed again.
Brand gripped Layel's shoulders just as he was leaning down to scoop her up—gently, gently—and he was thrown backward, jostling her. Layel hissed at him. The two dragon warriors hovered over her. Brand caring for her—that should be me!—and Tagart glaring at him, daring him to approach.
"…going to be all right," Brand was saying. "I've got you."
"No. I've got her." Layel sprang forward, grabbing her as gently as possible and flying into the air. The warriors could have morphed into their dragon forms and followed him, but they didn't. Why, he didn't know or care.
In his arms, Delilah was limp.
I did this. Me.
Unlike him, she wouldn't heal quickly. Or would she? He didn't know much about the Amazons. Please let her heal quickly. But with all the blood he'd taken from her earlier—and now…
"You will live, Delilah, if only to punish me for this."
When he saw a moss-covered bank by another stream, he floated to the ground and slowly laid her down. He ripped the shirt from his chest and wrapped it around her neck to stanch the flow of blood. Careful, so careful.
Her eyelids fluttered open again, brushing away the shadows her lashes had cast.
He almost didn't have the courage to look at her. But he did, forced himself, and his chest lurched. She was so pale, paler than Nola had been.
"You are going to drink my blood," he told her. Not a question. A command. He hadn't shared his blood in two hundred years, but he didn't hesitate to do so now.
She opened her mouth to respond, but only a pained gasp emerged. Using one of his nails, he sliced into his wrist and held it over her mouth. She turned her head away and pressed her lips together.
With his free hand, he grasped her chin and turned her. Two of his fingers anchored on her jaw and pried her mouth open. Blood dripped past her teeth, but she didn't work her throat.
"Drink."
She glared up at him. The thought of ingesting another's blood had to be abhorrent to her. Pagan and disgusting. Only vampires were forced to do so to survive; demons did it just because they liked the taste. Most everyone else despised the act.
"You don't have to worry about becoming a vampire. It only happens to humans." So far, to the best of his knowledge, that is. Saving Delilah was worth the risk, however. "Now, if I must, I will work your throat for you. Drink!"
She swallowed.
"Why did you take his place?" he asked to distract her from what she was doing. Perhaps he craved the answer, as well, but he would never admit it aloud. "Why did you save him?" Only one answer made any sense, and he liked it less now than he had earlier. A mere alliance would not have prompted a woman to willingly take a death-blow meant for another. She would do it for a lover, however…
He'd suspected. Now all he could do was imagine Delilah in Tagart's arms, naked, writhing, gasping the bastard's name as he pumped into her. The way Layel wanted to pump into her.
Susan—
No, do not think of her. Not now. Later, he could regret. Later, he could scream and rail and curse. He could hate himself all the more. Later.
Again, Delilah tried to turn her head away. He tightened his grip on her jaw. "You will drink until your color returns."
Her violet eyes flashed with ire.
She was still too pale, lines of tension around her mouth, bruises under her eyes. "You helped me. Now I will help you." The wound on his wrist continually tried to heal itself, and he had to cut himself three more times to keep it open. She never again attempted to turn or close her teeth.
Finally he was satisfied that she'd had enough.
Twin pink circles now dotted her cheeks, and the lines of tension had faded, the skin plumping before his eyes. His relief was too profound to dismiss. Hands trembling, he gently unwound the shirt from her neck.
The teeth marks were still there, still deep, still wrong, but they were no longer gushing. He pushed to his feet, not surprised to find that his legs were shaking, as well. He strode to the water, bent down and cut strips of cloth from his pants. He dipped them into the liquid, soaking them, before striding back to Delilah.
"I've had worse," she said, her voice husky, rough.
The fact that she could talk, astonishing. Her words, earth-shattering. He had hurt her, yet here she was, trying to comfort him. Why? "I did not mean—"
"I know."
"If you begin to feel sick," he said gruffly, "let me know. With humans, there is always a chance of vampire blood trying to consume the body like a ravaging sickness, making them weaker than ever. I have never heard of such a thing happening to a creature of Atlantis, though."
"Humans can transform into vampires?"
"Some can. Most die."
Delilah pushed out an angry sigh, her first show of negative emotion. "Still. You shouldn't have had me drink. I'm Amazon, not vampire."
"You are alive. That is all that matters."
"Yes, and when I return to Atlantis, I will be even more set apart from my sisters. They will despise me if I am forced to drink their blood to survive."
She considered herself different? Why? "Have they never taken vampire slaves? For that matter, which race was your father?"
She glanced away from him, looking anywhere but in the vicinity of his body. "No, we've never taken vampire slaves. And as for the other question, I'm not telling."
"Please."
She blinked in surprise. "I think that's the first time you've ever asked nicely for something."
"Please," he repeated. "Whichever race he is, he's the reason for your blue hair, yes?"
"No. Several Amazons have been born with unusually colored hair."
He was left clueless, then. "Delilah…tell me."
"You'll laugh."
"I won't. I swear it."
"Centaur," she said, cheeks as red as twin rubies. "And if you dare call me Horse Girl, I will slay you."
Others had called her such a name? He yearned to punish them. "You are too pretty to be called a horse girl."
The color in her cheeks deepened. "I—Thank you. He was not their king, nor was he a warrior. Just a commoner with an irresistible smile. That's all I know about him."
From her tone, he could guess that she did not like those facts. Had probably been forced to prove her strength time and time again because of her father's lack. The need to punish her sisters grew stronger. Which was silly. Time to change the subject. "Why did you do it?" He dripped water onto the injury, trying to clean it without actually touching it and hurting her further.
She didn't have to ask his meaning. "Doesn't matter." She looked away.
"It does."
"Why?"
"You saved him."
Her brow puckered. "I saved you."
"No." What did she mean by that? "You saved Tagart."
She waved a hand through the air. "What if I did? He is on my team."
"And that makes him worth more than your own life?" Layel snapped.
"A team must—"
"Work with him to destroy me if you must, but tell me this. Is he your lover?"
She studied Layel, considering, a bit hesitant. "Would that matter to you?"
Yes. "No."
"Then you wouldn't care if I allowed him to touch my breasts and lick my nipples? You wouldn't care if I guided his fingers inside me and—"
"No! Now, not another word from you.
" He fisted the material, wringing out the last of the moisture. Clear droplets blended with red, creating a pink river as it slid along the slope of her neck and onto the emerald moss. "If you take him to your bed," he found himself adding, unable to stop the words, "I will eat his heart in front of you."
He could have been mistaken, but he thought he saw a flash of delight in her violet eyes. "There's only one man I crave in that way," she admitted softly.
Thank the gods. You grow more dishonorable by the second.
She tried to sit up, but he gripped her shoulders and pinned her down.
"Not yet. Rest."
"Don't order me around."
"I'll order you if I please. I'm stronger than you are."
"Only when I allow you to be."
He crouched beside her and rested his hand on her stomach, needing to feel her heat, her life. Her belly quivered. "You truly think yourself stronger than me?"
"Think?" she snorted. "Your ass has seen more dirt than mine these past few days."
That wrung a surprised laugh out of him. He blinked. Laughter? Now? That hadn't been part of his life in so long he'd forgotten such a thing was possible.
Delilah was staring at him as if mesmerized. "I thought your smile lovely, but…you should laugh more often. You're breathtaking."
He looked away, proving that she was indeed the stronger of the two. "This madness will have to end soon," he said on a sigh. "We will find a way to end it."
"If we don't kill each other first," she muttered.
How close had she come to death this day? Sadly, he couldn't even blame the gods. "I am…sorry."
"For what?" she asked, sounding genuinely confused.
"Is your mind addled now? Why do you think?"
"For biting me, yes, I know. But explain yourself, explain why you're sorry."
"You were hurt, Delilah."
"By my own actions, Layel, so there is no need to apologize for the bite. I deserve an apology for the other thing, however."
His name on her lips was paradise. "What other thing?"
"You stopped kissing me. You left me…needy."
Heat, so much heat. His muscles twitched in response, his cock hardening. Again. "I will not apologize for that."
She lifted a hand to her neck and traced the wound there. "I would have liked to finish," she said with a pout.
He allowed his fingers to dabble at her navel—pretty, smooth skin, lovely tattoo—his blood flowing faster and faster in his veins. Stop. Can't. He moved his fingers to her neck and flattened his palm to the back of her hand. "Your willingness to absolve me is surprising."
"Back to the bite?"
"Of course."
She sighed, loud and long. "Why surprising?"
"You don't strike me as the forgiving type."
Her wrist twisted so they were palm to palm. "What do I strike you as, then?"
He peered down at her, snared in a spell he didn't like but was helpless against. "Lovely. Strong." He grinned slowly. "Vindictive. You were ready to slaughter the dragons for taking your sister."
"That was different."
"Why?"
"My sister could've been hurt."
"You were hurt."
"I believe I mentioned that I caused it."
"Which you should not have done and will not do again. I'll have your word."
She shook her head, blue hair dancing around her. "No, you'll not get it. You can try and force me, however."
There was relish in her tone. A dare, a challenge. His eyes narrowed. If she'd been his woman, he would have—Nothing, he told himself. He would have done nothing. She would never be his. To even consider the possibility was a betrayal. "Are you not worth as much as your sisters?"
"I was born to protect them."
Hmm. Did she see herself as worthless when compared to them? As worthless as you tried to make her feel earlier? Using his free hand, he scrubbed his face wearily. "If I had hurt you purposely, would you have retaliated?"
"Yes," she answered without hesitation.
"But this time…"
"I don't know." She uttered another of those sighs. "I only know I didn't want you to fight. Not me, not the dragons."
"They would not have bested me."
"I know."
She did? And why did he find such pleasure in the knowledge? "Then why—"
"Your questions will never stop, will they?" She didn't sound upset, just resigned. "Any man who can pin me cannot be easily bested. I know that, yet the knowledge didn't stop the worry that you could have been hurt."
Him. Not Tagart. Satisfaction filled him, as potent as bloodwine. "I have lost several battles over the years," he admitted.
"Then you didn't really wish to kill your opponent," she said simply.
He blinked in surprise. He had known that, but no one else had ever suspected. He'd allowed his own people to think he'd merely been weak in those moments, rather than let them know the truth. Pride had not concerned him on those occasions.
Every battle he had lost, he'd lost because he had walked away after seeing his opponents with their mates. They'd been so deeply in love. His chest had ached, as it was doing now. He hadn't been able to deliver that final blow, separating the couples for eternity. It was either kill them both or not at all. In recent years he had erred too much on the side of not at all.
How could Delilah realize that, after knowing him for so short a time?
He opened his mouth to say something—what, he didn't know—when a trumpet reverberated in the distance. He whirled around, searching through the trees. The trumpet sounded again.
"What is it?" Delilah asked, pulling herself into a crouch.
"I think," he said, dread flowing through him, "we're being summoned for our next challenge."
CHAPTER 14
SHE MIGHT NOT SURVIVE the night, Delilah thought. She'd spent her life fighting one battle or another, had gone weeks at a time with barely any food or rest. But she had never been this drained. Literally.
Twice Layel had drunk from her. One encounter she'd enjoyed a little too much. One had been necessary to save him. If he had killed Tagart, her team would have killed him. So she'd taken the force of his fury herself. There had been pain in the savage bite, but there had also, unexpectedly, been pleasure. His weight pinning her down…his strength…his ferocity…
He'd told her many humans had died after drinking vampire blood. How would it affect her? As strongly as the man himself did? She shivered as she remembered the way he'd hovered over her, determined to keep her alive, protective, focused only on her, everything she'd ever dreamed—and almost fell from the log she currently balanced upon. Becoming vampire would ruin her. But she couldn't deny the fact that she liked the thought of having some part of Layel inside her. Even his blood.
Mind on the task at hand.
The gods had indeed decided it was time for another challenge. Every member of the two teams had been told to choose a log rising from the water. One team on each side, opposing members facing each other. They were to stand on the tiny planks while the waves danced at their ankles.
Last one standing won.
A worthy warrior can endure heat, exhaustion, hunger and inactivity for long periods of time, one of the gods—a female this time—had said before the game commenced. And so you will stand and endure, proving by your tolerance that you have earned the right to call yourselves warriors.
Once again you are working as a team. Encourage each other if you must, distract your opponents if possible. But above all else, your mission is to be the last one standing. Your team will then know the glory of our delight—but since I suspect you will not fully comprehend just how great a reward that is, you will also be granted a more tangible prize. The other team, the losing team, will say goodbye to another member. I wish you all the strength you are surely going to need.
Those words ringing in her ears, Delilah peered down the opposite line and eyed Nola. Her sister seemed fine, anchored and
steady. Thank the gods. Assured of the warrioress's stamina, Delilah shifted her gaze. To Layel. She couldn't help it. They were facing each other. He'd made sure of it, shoving Brand out of the way when the dragon tried to take the stump opposite her. She had experienced a stirring of pride as she'd watched her man—is he?—fight to be near her.
They'd been standing here for over an hour, moonlight keeping them cool. With every minute that passed, her head swam with more dizziness, becoming lighter, as if she were floating in the clouds.
"I know the goddess told us we were doing this to prove our endurance, but really. What's the point of this challenge in the big scheme of things?" she muttered.
"The warrior who can stand firm against any obstacle to meet his objective is the warrior who will prove victorious in the last battle," Layel said.
"Do you mean bite any obstacle?"
Layel didn't laugh as she'd intended. As she reflected upon her words, she realized they weren't funny. They were cruel. He had not meant to hurt her. He'd even apologized. Gods, what was wrong with her? Why was she—swaying…falling. Her eyelids popped open—when had she closed them?—and she planted her feet firmly on the stump, maintaining her pose.
"Look at me," Layel demanded fiercely.
Black spots winked over her vision as she sought him. A long, dark tunnel greeted her. Where was he?
"Delilah," he snapped.
"What?" she snapped back. Lashes—closed. Damn it! She pried them open again. Feet—planted. Layel—glaring at her.
"Do not fall asleep, woman. That will only irritate me."
Her lips twitched. "Are you commanding me because you hope I'll jump in the water just to spite you?"
His eyes sparkled like freshly polished sapphires, and he slowly smiled.
She loved his smile. Loved the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. Loved the light that seemed to illuminate his entire face, chasing away the somber memories. But every time he showed her the barest hint of genuine amusement, she fell a little deeper under his seductive power and that was foolish.
"I'm going to beat you." Hopefully by speaking the words she gave them the power to keep her upright.
"Me, perhaps." His broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I doubt you will defeat my…team." He said the last with disgust. "They are determined to win this time."
The Vampire's Bride a-4 Page 19
