The Vampire's Bride (Atlantis #4)(61)

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."