The Vampire's Bride (Atlantis #4)(26)

He studied her hauntingly lovely features. "I fear the pleasure will be all mine. But perhaps, at the end, I won't kill you," he replied. "Perhaps I'll let you live. As my dessert." The taunt was meant to infuriate her further, torment her, make her crazed - heightened emotions had ruined many a good warrior in battle - but the moment he realized what he'd said, he felt tormented. He longed to put his mouth on her, drink in the sweetness of her blood and savor every drop.

The same urge must have welled inside her, because her pupils dilated. Her mouth parted on a gasp of hunger. "I'm going to enslave you," she whispered fiercely. "You'll obey my every command, and all of Atlantis will know that Layel, king of the vampires, belongs to Delilah. You'll have me for dessert only when I permit it."

He thought, frighteningly, that she just might be able to do it. Without a word. Just a look, a breath in his direction. A touch, as when she'd held a strand of his hair between her fingers. Pathetically, he was reduced to a creature of sensation when around her. Even his scalp had become sensitized, each hair a thread of desire. For her. Never again, never again, never the hell again.

"The day I bow to you will be the day - No. Such a day will never come." There was barely a pause before he added, "Do you know why Amazons were created? Because the gods were trying to create males - and they failed."

He expected her to lash at him. She inched backward, instead, features so stricken his chest ached. "We are both mistakes," she said softly.

Cursing himself, he flew to the top of the tree that Zane hung from and slashed the rope with his claws. As the cage, suddenly free, tumbled to the ground, he hissed at Nola in warning.

Then Layel left the area and never once looked back. He had never hated himself more.

WHEN LIGHT CROWNED the land, Layel found himself whisked to the beach as abruptly as he'd been whisked to the island. The only difference was that he didn't feel as though he was falling through a tunnel. He'd been sharpening a rock into an arrowhead in the woods one moment, and standing on sand, his hands empty, the next. Without shade, his skin heated. Not painfully, just not comfortably. At least the sun was not as bright and hot as it had been yesterday. Perhaps he would not blister. After all, the god had promised the elements would not affect the Atlanteans adversely any longer.

A quick shift of his focus revealed that all the other creatures were lined up beside him, looking about in confusion.

Unable to stop himself - would it always be so? - he searched for Delilah. At first, he did not see her. Perhaps she had been spared, returned to Atlantis.

Good, that was good. What little sleep he'd gotten, she had ruined, for she had haunted every one of his dreams. Smiling at him, beckoning him to join her in bed. Nipples pink and hard, legs spread, feminine core wet and needy. Tattoos, his for the tonguing.

In his dreams, he'd been unable to resist. He had licked her, all of her, and she'd writhed against his tongue. He'd even bitten the center of her desire - something he'd never done to Susan for fear of hurting her tender flesh - and Delilah had begged him for more.

Even now, his body reacted instantly at the thought of her, tightening, hardening. Preparing. He should have spent the night hunting dragons and slaying his foes, but he had not. He had thought: what if I destroy members of Delilah's team? That would place Delilah in danger of losing and thereby in danger of execution.

When that woman died, it would be by his hand. No one else would be allowed to harm her. He had even commanded Zane, still sulking from his encounter with Nola, to abstain from hunting and killing.

Besides, Layel had decided to let her live. For a little while longer, anyway, and even though she tormented him. Even though she threatened his resolve. He did not know why he'd decided such a thing, did not want to think about it anymore. When he did, her exquisite face flashed inside his mind, violet eyes gleaming with hurt, the frequency pushing Susan out of his mind bit by bit.

Where was she? he wondered again. His gaze continued to cut through the masses, past Zane - what kind of king am I, to concentrate on an enemy rather than a loyal follower? - past Nola and Brand. Why would she have been returned to Atlantis? Unless someone had injured her after Layel left her. Or killed her.

A red haze swam over his vision. If someone had - There. He spotted her and relaxed. Then hissed. She stood behind the dragon named Tagart, who stood on the other side of Brand.

She was so tiny, he could barely see her face through the crack of light between those huge warrior bodies. Her blue hair gleamed, and her eyes were so vibrant that as the sun hit them they seemed to cast lavender beams in every direction. Layel's jaw clenched. He didn't like seeing her so close to his greatest enemy.

As if she sensed his perusal, her eyes swung to him and their gazes locked in a heated clash. This time there was no hurt on her expression. No emotion at all, really. That disappointed him when it should have delighted him.

Better this way. Waves echoed in his ears and salt saturated the warm breeze, but Layel would have sworn he could hear the shallowness of her breathing and smell the sweetness of her rain-scent. Perhaps she was not as unaffected as she appeared.

Tagart shifted, widening the distance between himself and Brand and gifting Layel with a better view of Delilah. She still wore the small leather coverings over her breasts and the tiny leather skirt that hung to just below the curve of her bottom. Her bootlike sandals were still laced up her calves, hugging lean strength and smooth skin.