The Vampire's Bride (Atlantis #4)(64)

They'd been standing here for over an hour, moonlight keeping them cool. With every minute that passed, her head swam with more dizziness, becoming lighter, as if she were floating in the clouds.

"I know the goddess told us we were doing this to prove our endurance, but really. What's the point of this challenge in the big scheme of things?" she muttered.

"The warrior who can stand firm against any obstacle to meet his objective is the warrior who will prove victorious in the last battle," Layel said.

"Do you mean bite any obstacle?"

Layel didn't laugh as she'd intended. As she reflected upon her words, she realized they weren't funny. They were cruel. He had not meant to hurt her. He'd even apologized. Gods, what was wrong with her? Why was she - swaying...falling. Her eyelids popped open - when had she closed them? - and she planted her feet firmly on the stump, maintaining her pose.

"Look at me," Layel demanded fiercely.

Black spots winked over her vision as she sought him. A long, dark tunnel greeted her. Where was he?

"Delilah," he snapped.

"What?" she snapped back. Lashes - closed. Damn it! She pried them open again. Feet - planted. Layel - glaring at her.

"Do not fall asleep, woman. That will only irritate me."

Her lips twitched. "Are you commanding me because you hope I'll jump in the water just to spite you?"

His eyes sparkled like freshly polished sapphires, and he slowly smiled.

She loved his smile. Loved the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. Loved the light that seemed to illuminate his entire face, chasing away the somber memories. But every time he showed her the barest hint of genuine amusement, she fell a little deeper under his seductive power and that was foolish.

"I'm going to beat you." Hopefully by speaking the words she gave them the power to keep her upright.

"Me, perhaps." His broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I doubt you will defeat my...team." He said the last with disgust. "They are determined to win this time."

If they didn't, they would go back to the execution circle. Her blood chilled. To lose another man meant that Layel's team would be two members short. Worse, Layel might be the player to go.

Another bout of dizziness hit her, and she swayed.

"Damn it, Delilah."

Her legs shook and her neck ached, but she stood her ground despite her body's obvious need for rest. "Yes, cursing helps," she said dryly.

"What will it take to make you concentrate?"

Several others glanced over at them, frowning. At the moment, she didn't care what anyone thought. "How about if you jump? That ought to get my attention," she said, half-fearing he would.

"Besides that." He scrubbed a hand over his face, wiping away the beads of sweat glistening in the golden moonlight. "How do you feel?"

"Fine."

"Liar."

She liked that he knew her well enough to sense when she spoke true - or not. "How much longer until people start to fall?" she wondered aloud.

"Hours. Days."

She nearly groaned. "Surely someone - "

"Quiet!" a centaur snapped.

"If you desire peace," Layel told him sharply, "jump from your post and swim to shore."

Silence met his solution.

Why did that excite her? What kind of woman had she become? He had only to exude his prowess on anyone and her body reacted. Her nipples were hard, and that moisture once again pooled between her legs despite her weakness, despite those around them, despite the circumstances.

Broderick the nymph inhaled deeply and sent his gaze down the line. His pupils were dilated, and when he spotted her, he licked his lips. There were tiny puncture wounds all over his face, neck and arms.

Her gaze shifted to the gorgon on their team. A beautiful woman - a rarity among the race - she was tall and lithe, with elegant features. Her eyes were wide and dark, flecked with silver and filled with satisfaction. Long, thin snakes slithered atop her head, hissing in every direction. Broderick must have sated himself with her, over and over again, for he appeared stronger than ever, his skin rosy with color, his muscles firm, his stance solid. And yet he still wanted Delilah? Nymphs! They were impossible to please.

Layel growled low in his throat, drawing her attention, the nymph forgotten.

"Something wrong?" she asked him.

"I told you to focus, yet you were staring at the nymph."

Jealous again? How had he treated his mate? Had he smiled at her often? Tenderly loved her each and every night? Given her everything Delilah wanted for herself? Or had he been fierce, as he was now? Delilah wished she had known him then. Except, well, she might have killed his mate in a wee bit of jealous rage, so perhaps meeting now was for the best.

"Preparing to chop someone to bits?" Layel asked, catching her expression.

"Perhaps."

"The nymph, I hope."

"You?" She'd meant it as a statement, but it emerged as a question, the thought of feasting on him tantalizing.

"That would be wise," he said, and there wasn't a hint of anger or amusement in his tone.

Her head tilted to the side as she studied him. "Why?"

He was silent for a long while before shrugging as he had earlier. "Remind me never to attack you again. You become annoying."