The Vampire's Bride (Atlantis #4)(22)

"Of course." Poseidon waved his hand in the air, hoping he appeared convincing. He would ensure the dragons won by any means necessary. He had no doubt his fellow gods would come to respect his actions in time. Hadn't Artemis praised the demons for just such ruthlessness, and Hestia admired the Amazons for a similar unyielding drive?

When the dragons won, Poseidon would win, and Atlantis would once again be his and his alone.

NIGHT HAD LONG SINCE FALLEN.

The air was warm, fragrant and fraught with danger. The insects were eerily silent, not a chirp or whistle to be heard. Only the wind seemed impervious to the surrounding menace, swishing leaves and clicking branches together.

Delilah's every self-protective instinct remained on high alert. No telling where the other creatures were. She'd spied a few here and there as she'd gathered stones and sticks. And then they had disappeared, hiding amongst the shadows. She could have hunted them down, could have challenged them to prove her strength, as was the way of the Amazons, but she hadn't.

The god's warning refused to leave her mind. What if she killed one of her own team members? To begin at a disadvantage would be the epitome of foolish. And she'd been foolish a little too often lately.

She and Nola had opted to sleep in the trees, making them harder to find, harder to reach. Right now she was strewn atop a thick branch, legs swinging over the side, handmade spear clutched tightly in her palms. Wooden daggers were strapped to her legs, waist and back. Thankfully, she'd been trained in the art of weaponry, learning how to create the deadliest of tools out of anything and everything she could find in the forest.

Sharp bark dug into her ribs, helping keep her awake, alert. What were the other creatures doing just then?

What was Layel doing?

Layel...beautiful Layel. She'd hardly interacted with him, yet their brief exchanges had been enough to utterly, foolishly fascinate her. There, an admission. He was like no one she had ever encountered. Constantly she found herself wondering what his body looked like underneath his clothes, what his face would look like lost in passion, what he would feel like, pumping and sliding inside of her.

He despises you. He's best forgotten.

Forget that his skin was pale and as smooth as silk? Forget that his eyes were blue like sapphires and fringed by black lashes that were a striking contrast to his snow-white hair? Forget that he was tall with wide shoulders and radiated a dark sensuality women probably salivated over? Impossible.

What kind of females did he enjoy? What type of females had he allowed into his bed? In all the stories she'd heard of him, not a word had been uttered about his preferred bed partners. That didn't mean he'd remained alone all these years.

Sparks of something sinister flickered in her chest. Jealousy, perhaps. She wanted to deny the emotion, but couldn't. Mine, she thought. He might want nothing more to do with her, but no way in Hades would he be allowed to have another woman. Not while they inhabited this island.

What's come over you? Men were no longer something she treasured, dreaming of love and laughter in the darkest of nights. To her, they were merely something for her sisters to use twice a year, something to destroy if ever they threatened her loved ones. Since her mating had ended so disastrously, she had not thought to ever again find herself possessive of a male.

How many times had she watched her sisters fight over a particular slave, as if he were a pretty trinket they meant to wear? He's mine, they would shout, commandments conveniently forgotten. It's my bed he will warm this night. A clash of daggers always followed, as well as cut and bleeding warrioresses. How many times had she watched those "prized" men leave when the loving was over? Without a backward glance at the females they were leaving behind? Not that her sisters had cared. But she had watched and wondered. How could they not want more from each other?

After Vorik, Delilah had thought herself immune to men, her secret longings buried. Until now. She'd straddled the vampire's shoulders and he'd looked between her legs with undiluted heat. The thought of giving herself to him had not been abhorrent. She'd wanted to command his hands on her, his mouth, something, anything. She'd wanted him to command her.

A shiver followed the thought, drowning her in another wave of that deep and inexorable desire. What would it be like to be bedded by him? Would he be gentle, taking her slowly? Or would his passion be as ferocious as his wild blue eyes promised? Perhaps even a little wicked?

"You're aroused, Amazon. Why?"

Layel's voice was so close, so husky, like a whispered entreaty, she wasn't sure if she imagined it. She stiffened, fingers tight on the spear as she searched the darkness for him. Only treetops and night birds came into focus. Not even where thin slivers from the golden ball high above seeped through the canopy of leaves did she make out the form of a man. Slowly she relaxed.

Why am I aroused? Because of you, she wished she could tell this fantasy.

"Well?" Chilled breath caressed her ear.

She gasped. Too real, too real, too real...

Before she had time to react, however, a hard hand settled over her mouth while another shoved her to her back. A heavy, muscled weight slammed into her body. She lost her breath, barely managing to remain on the branch.

In seconds, Layel had her stretched out, her legs restrained. Her eyes widened as her spear was torn from her grip and thrown to the ground. A mocking thump echoed in her ears. She balled her hand and moved to strike him, but he released her mouth to check the action. Next he caged her arms between their bodies.