The Vampire's Bride (Atlantis #4)(51)

The images were wrong, so wrong, but his mouth watered and his teeth sharpened. What would it take to purge her from his mind? Besides killing her, which he'd already admitted he could not do, there was only one thing left to try....

He would have to drink from her. No more resisting.

He'd told her that he never would. Yet the idea had been planted, had grown and intensified. Now, he realized he must.

He was a bastard for even considering it; he was lacking in honor and integrity. Truly, he was a monster. She wanted everything from him, but he only meant to take. He was going to fill his veins with her life's nectar, was going to reduce her to a meal. Finally he would know the taste of her and then he could forget her. His fantasies had built her up, but reality would tear them down. There was no possible way she could taste as wonderful as he imagined. No one could.

Sex would not enter into the arrangement. This time, when he placed his lips on her body, he would control himself. There was no better time to drink from her. Hunger did not ride him; weakness had not claimed him. He had gorged on the dragon yesterday and didn't need the blood.

Where was she? If she'd bathed in the waterfall or lounged on the moss-covered rocks, she'd left no trail. Layel walked through the forest, muted beams of twilight, hazy purples and pinks, illuminating his path. The lush emerald trees were different from those in Atlantis, yet somehow familiar to him after only two days. More moss covered the ground, soft against his feet.

Were he home, he would be training with his army and thinking of ways to thwart and slaughter the dragons. He would be torturing the fire-breathers locked in his dungeon, their screams his only real sense of peace.

Evil, he'd often been called. He did not deny it. Couldn't deny it. His heart was decayed. Rotted. His soul was black. No longer was he a man Susan would have loved. At the moment of her death, he had become everything his beloved mate had despised.

Yet there was no going back. No reverting to the man he'd once been. Not for him. Hate pulsed in his veins, thicker than blood. Revenge was the only thing he allowed in his mind.

Until Delilah.

Always his thoughts returned to her. Gods, how she haunted him. He should be searching for Zane, who had not yet shown up to report on his team. He should be planning his next move against Brand and Tagart. Instead, here he was, wishing for a taste of Delilah.

What was it about her that constantly drew him? While she possessed a breathtaking beauty, a sharp wit and an undeniable hum of energy, she would never hesitate to betray a lover to protect her sisters. That much was obvious every time she looked at Nola - a woman he wasn't even sure Delilah liked - with determined loyalty. There was no warm affection in her voice when she spoke to the girl, no softening of her expression. Yet she clearly felt responsible for her.

A flicker of jealousy sprang inside his chest, and he blinked in surprise. Jealousy? Over what? Delilah's loyalty to her tribe? Surely not, but he didn't want to consider the other option: that Delilah placed the welfare of another above him.

Made no sense, that line of thought. He didn't truly know her, certainly didn't like her and wouldn't even contemplate a future with her. You're confused, his mind explained. That's all. Your life has been disrupted. When things return to normal, so will your emotions.

Where was she?

He sniffed the air. The sweet scent of her, so at odds with her warrior personality, suddenly seemed to infuse every crevice of the surrounding area, yet he caught no glimpse of her. Still his cock swelled once again, the hunger he'd denied only moments ago suddenly upon him. His mouth watered. Blood...

She was near.

A tender side of him he'd thought as dead as his heart broke through mire and debris, shocking him. You cannot do this to her. She will feel betrayed. She will hurt.

His teeth gnashed together so sharply his gums were sliced. What was better? Delilah's betrayal or Susan's?

The answer was obvious. Or should have been. Delilah must be purged from his mind. Soon, very soon, she would be. For he would not stop hunting until he found her. The gods could summon them for another challenge at any time. The losing team would then be called before the fire, and Layel would be forced to wait. If he lived through another counsel.

"Eat this," he suddenly heard Delilah say. "You're pale."

Every cell in his body heated, sparking into small infernos. There was a muttered reply from a female. Most likely the other Amazon, Nola. Layel floated above the ground with only a thought, nearing the door of leaves arching in front of him.

Remaining in the shadows, he peeked through. And there she was, crouched beside Nola. His azure-haired, violet-eyed tormentor. The two teams were together, sitting around a fire, some kind of animal roasting in the center.

Tension swirled between winners and losers.

The teams might be together, but they were in no way unified. Glares abounded. Zane sat off to the side, sharpening a stick. Every few seconds, his narrowed gaze flicked to Delilah and Nola. His skin was flushed, his motions a dance of power, yet he pulsed with anger.

He would have to wait, it seemed. Layel broke through the trees with only the slightest rustle and approached the other vampire. As king, it was his responsibility to ensure no animosity grew between them. When he sat, Zane gave no indication he noticed Layel's presence.

Everyone else, however, did.

Conversations tapered to quiet. There was even an angered hiss from Brand. Layel ignored him, knowing it would rouse Brand's beast. Trying not to grin with the thought, his gaze shifted to the Amazons. Nola stared down at her food, flicking it with her fingers every few seconds but never actually eating. Delilah tipped back a coconut half, draining the milk inside.