The Vampire's Bride (Atlantis #4)(63)

"You don't strike me as the forgiving type."

Her wrist twisted so they were palm to palm. "What do I strike you as, then?"

He peered down at her, snared in a spell he didn't like but was helpless against. "Lovely. Strong." He grinned slowly. "Vindictive. You were ready to slaughter the dragons for taking your sister."

"That was different."

"Why?"

"My sister could've been hurt."

"You were hurt."

"I believe I mentioned that I caused it."

"Which you should not have done and will not do again. I'll have your word."

She shook her head, blue hair dancing around her. "No, you'll not get it. You can try and force me, however."

There was relish in her tone. A dare, a challenge. His eyes narrowed. If she'd been his woman, he would have - Nothing, he told himself. He would have done nothing. She would never be his. To even consider the possibility was a betrayal. "Are you not worth as much as your sisters?"

"I was born to protect them."

Hmm. Did she see herself as worthless when compared to them? As worthless as you tried to make her feel earlier? Using his free hand, he scrubbed his face wearily. "If I had hurt you purposely, would you have retaliated?"

"Yes," she answered without hesitation.

"But this time..."

"I don't know." She uttered another of those sighs. "I only know I didn't want you to fight. Not me, not the dragons."

"They would not have bested me."

"I know."

She did? And why did he find such pleasure in the knowledge? "Then why - "

"Your questions will never stop, will they?" She didn't sound upset, just resigned. "Any man who can pin me cannot be easily bested. I know that, yet the knowledge didn't stop the worry that you could have been hurt."

Him. Not Tagart. Satisfaction filled him, as potent as bloodwine. "I have lost several battles over the years," he admitted.

"Then you didn't really wish to kill your opponent," she said simply.

He blinked in surprise. He had known that, but no one else had ever suspected. He'd allowed his own people to think he'd merely been weak in those moments, rather than let them know the truth. Pride had not concerned him on those occasions.

Every battle he had lost, he'd lost because he had walked away after seeing his opponents with their mates. They'd been so deeply in love. His chest had ached, as it was doing now. He hadn't been able to deliver that final blow, separating the couples for eternity. It was either kill them both or not at all. In recent years he had erred too much on the side of not at all.

How could Delilah realize that, after knowing him for so short a time?

He opened his mouth to say something - what, he didn't know - when a trumpet reverberated in the distance. He whirled around, searching through the trees. The trumpet sounded again.

"What is it?" Delilah asked, pulling herself into a crouch.

"I think," he said, dread flowing through him, "we're being summoned for our next challenge."

SHE MIGHT NOT SURVIVE the night, Delilah thought. She'd spent her life fighting one battle or another, had gone weeks at a time with barely any food or rest. But she had never been this drained. Literally.

Twice Layel had drunk from her. One encounter she'd enjoyed a little too much. One had been necessary to save him. If he had killed Tagart, her team would have killed him. So she'd taken the force of his fury herself. There had been pain in the savage bite, but there had also, unexpectedly, been pleasure. His weight pinning her down...his strength...his ferocity...

He'd told her many humans had died after drinking vampire blood. How would it affect her? As strongly as the man himself did? She shivered as she remembered the way he'd hovered over her, determined to keep her alive, protective, focused only on her, everything she'd ever dreamed - and almost fell from the log she currently balanced upon. Becoming vampire would ruin her. But she couldn't deny the fact that she liked the thought of having some part of Layel inside her. Even his blood.

Mind on the task at hand.

The gods had indeed decided it was time for another challenge. Every member of the two teams had been told to choose a log rising from the water. One team on each side, opposing members facing each other. They were to stand on the tiny planks while the waves danced at their ankles.

Last one standing won.

A worthy warrior can endure heat, exhaustion, hunger and inactivity for long periods of time, one of the gods - a female this time - had said before the game commenced. And so you will stand and endure, proving by your tolerance that you have earned the right to call yourselves warriors.

Once again you are working as a team. Encourage each other if you must, distract your opponents if possible. But above all else, your mission is to be the last one standing. Your team will then know the glory of our delight - but since I suspect you will not fully comprehend just how great a reward that is, you will also be granted a more tangible prize. The other team, the losing team, will say goodbye to another member. I wish you all the strength you are surely going to need.

Those words ringing in her ears, Delilah peered down the opposite line and eyed Nola. Her sister seemed fine, anchored and steady. Thank the gods. Assured of the warrioress's stamina, Delilah shifted her gaze. To Layel. She couldn't help it. They were facing each other. He'd made sure of it, shoving Brand out of the way when the dragon tried to take the stump opposite her. She had experienced a stirring of pride as she'd watched her man - is he? - fight to be near her.