The Vampire's Bride (Atlantis #4)(77)

Before Layel could blink, the sword descended.

There was a sickening whoosh, followed by a thud. A roll. A feminine scream echoed through the trees, powerful, ear piercing. Godly? The sound blended with Zane's laughter.

Then absolute silence enveloped the bonfire, even the flames quiet. Layel was glad for the death, would have rendered it himself if possible, and so he didn't flinch at the violence.

Delilah didn't flinch, either, though there was sadness in her eyes.

Layel had done so much to cause her pain, and even this could be laid at his door, yet she deserved only happiness. I almost lost her.

He was going to have her, Layel decided. Just once. He would know her taste, her scent and her body. He would keep his emotions separate from the act, of course. He wouldn't tarnish Susan's memory by doing otherwise. But he had to have Delilah, every inch, every breathless moan.

So far nothing else had pushed the Amazon from his mind. And he was tired of trying. There was no telling how much time they had left on the island - or alive, for that matter. In two hundred years, he'd known nothing but hate, pain and sorrow. He'd never minded that - had welcomed it, even - because he didn't deserve better. Still he did not deserve better, but he could no longer welcome the suffering. He ached.

Susan had loved him, for their too-brief time together. She would not have wanted this horrible life he'd built for himself. Had she known he was hurting, she would have smiled, traced her fingers through his hair and told him to be happy, to enjoy.

Were the situation reversed, Delilah would have threatened to attack anyone he encouraged, he thought with a half smile. The smile grew as he imagined her in his bed, spread and wet and eager.

One night together. That would have to be enough.

How long will you destroy anything and everything close to you because Susan cannot be here? His smile gradually faded. Forever, he knew. He wouldn't allow himself a happily-ever-after. One night, yes. But no more. Susan hadn't died happily, so neither would he live as such. No matter that she would have wanted him to. She would be avenged.

But for today, this one time, he would forget everything but Delilah. And passion. Oh, yes. Passion. He would be a man worthy of love and tenderness. He would be Delilah's man, giving her everything she craved, and perhaps more. If she would have him still...

Tagart stood, drawing his attention. "Let us return to the beach," he told his team. "We must do whatever it takes to win the next challenge, even if that means training the entire night. We cannot afford another round of...this. Understand?" His voice was hoarse, laden with undercurrents of shock.

Had they not expected the god to kill? Had they expected him to laugh and send them on their way?

There was more murmuring as the creatures lumbered to shaky legs, looking anywhere but at the still-bleeding, twitching body. Only Delilah remained seated.

"Come," Tagart commanded her, motioning her to him with a jerk of his fingers.

Appearing dazed, numb, she shook her head. "I need...a moment alone."

She had hesitated. What had she really wanted to say? Layel wondered.

Tagart's jaw clenched. "You shouldn't stay here. The god could return. He could - "

"Hurt me no matter where I am on the island," she interjected. "I need a moment, Tagart. Please. I won't be long."

The please softened the harsh contours of his expression, yet he remained in place. "Remember what I told you, Delilah?"

She gave him another of those absent nods, but there was a sudden blaze in her eyes. "I won't forget, I assure you."

Curiosity rose inside Layel. What had the dragon told her?

"Good. See that you don't." He looked pointedly at the lifeless demon body and stalked away.

The others followed quickly, obviously not wanting to be parted from the man they now saw as their leader. Layel was content to wait, doing nothing, saying nothing, simply staring at the woman who had fascinated him so deeply these past few days.

"I didn't expect it to be like this," Delilah said, gaze lifting. She found him, even hidden in the darkness as he was, and he blinked in surprise. "I've killed, seen others kill, but this just seems...cold."

"Yes."

"All I could think was that it could have been me. Probably should have been me."

A denial instantly roared through his mind - not you, never you - but he tamped it down. "It wasn't." He straightened, dislodging the leaves that covered him. Tried to glide forward, but he did not have the strength to float. He stumbled to her and thudded onto the log beside her. Their shoulders brushed, and there was a zap of something hot between them.

She gulped, said brokenly, "I didn't thank you. For - "

"You owe me no thanks."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you do not."

"I fell from that log like a damned untrained man."

His lips curled at the disgust in her voice. "Actually, you jumped. Do you not remember? And anyway, you wouldn't have done so if not for me. I weakened you, mind and body."

"I have been weaker, yet I've never reacted that way before." Now she was speaking as if to reassure him of her strength.

"I don't think poorly of you, Delilah. I..." Don't tell her, don't say it aloud, that will make it real. But he couldn't help himself. "I liked taking care of you."