The Vampire's Bride (Atlantis #4)(60)

"Don't you?" Tagart asked softly, fiercely.

Layel looked between them, from one to the other. Delilah's cheeks again heated, this time with what looked to be guilt. Guilt? He knew she had formed a partnership with the dragon, but he had not thought emotion existed between the pair. Were they...Could they be...He didn't want to consider it, but couldn't keep the question from drifting through his mind: what if they worked together to destroy him?

"Walk me back to camp," Delilah told the dragons.

Layel's hands curled into fists as the woman damned herself further. Why ask them for an escort? Why not Layel? Because she does care for Tagart, his mind answered, and wants him safe.

She doesn't matter. She's nothing to you. Her blood and her taste and her strength and her sweetness and her soft, warm body, soft, warm moans meant nothing.

His gaze bored into her back. Her spine was elegantly ridged, her thighs strong - tiny droplets of blood caked the inside - and her feet submerged in the water, the very place he'd laid her down. The place she'd writhed and groaned and fisted his hair.

Her white-hot passion had not been faked. Whether she cared for Tagart or not, she had desired Layel. Perhaps she, too, felt as if she were two people.

She wavered suddenly and had to brace her legs apart to maintain her balance. "Come, dragons. Let us return to camp. I'm hungry." She sounded frightened, impatient.

Layel frowned. Where was the confident woman who had begged him for more? Weakened, because of you. He realized suddenly that of all the things he hated most about this experience, the worst was that he had taken too much of her blood and reduced her to this. He was no better than Zane, whom he'd just lectured on this very subject. The Delilah he knew would have stomped away from them all, unconcerned about who followed and who didn't.

You know her so well, do you?

His frown pulled tight into a scowl.

"Well?" she snapped to the dragons. Again, she wavered.

Layel barely stopped himself from reaching for her.

Tagart bristled at her tone. Brand looked as if he was fighting a grin.

"If you want to keep your internal organs, I would suggest you take her to camp," Layel said. You trust the dragons to keep her safe? In her condition, she wouldn't be able to defend herself.

Ask her to stay.

No. No! Who are you? What kind of man have you become? Susan's mate would not act this way. He would protect above all else; he would place a female's safety over his own needs.

Brand's gaze snapped to him, his earlier amusement gone. "I doubt you care about my organs, vampire."

"You're angering the Amazon, which puts you at risk. And if she cuts them out of you, what will I have to eat later, hmm?"

Fury blazed just behind that golden gaze, but it was not Brand who stepped forward, challenging him. It was Tagart, one dagger raised. Delilah whipped out her arm and curled her fingers around his wrist, stopping him.

"No," she said. A single word, but effective.

The man's attention shot to her, as did Layel's. His teeth ground together at the sight of them touching. Better this way. So much better, he told himself again. How many times would he be forced to think it? His teeth were so sharp they cut his gums. His own blood mixed with Delilah's, trickled onto his tongue and down his throat, fiery hot.

Tagart's arm lowered. His gaze did not leave Delilah as he said, "We won't stand for your threats, Layel."

"As I am a king, you should only address me as Your Highness," he said. "What will you do if I refuse to stop, hmm?"

"Sure you want to know, Layel?" was the reply.

"Come!" Delilah shouted, her voice trembling. "This has grown tiresome."

You can't protect the dragon from me, he thought, red shuttering over his vision.

Tagart slammed his dagger into the sheath at his side. "We never killed you, vampire, because our king ordered us to leave you alone."

"Tagart," Brand growled, a warning.

A warning that was ignored.

"You hunted us, and we let you because of our king's desire for peace. He knew what had been done to you and your mate, and he regretted it, hoped to make amends. Well, I don't, and the dragon king isn't here. We are. And if there's one positive thing to come of this wretched game, it's going to be your demise. I was stopped last time. I won't be again."

At the word mate, Layel's rage intensified to an uncontrollable degree. He launched forward, intending to knock the dark dragon on his ass and slice through his neck with a single cut of his teeth.

Expecting him, the dragon opened his arms and grinned.

But Layel didn't slam into him. He slammed into Delilah, who'd thrown herself in his path. They hit the ground, battering against rocks as they rolled. The fullness of her breasts pressed into his chest, her riotous heartbeat a mirror of his own. Her hair tangled around his face, a cerulean shield.

His teeth were in her neck before he realized what had happened, his mind not yet accepting he'd missed his target. Her sweet, sweet blood filled his mouth once more. But he wasn't gentle this time, wasn't caring. She cried out in pain and fear, knocking sense back into him. He gave a startled gasp and jerked away.

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.