The Vampire's Bride (Atlantis #4)(90)

At least Delilah wasn't trying to kill him. Nola, on the other hand, had attempted to slay him twice. The first time, she had almost succeeded, sinking a stick into his stomach and twisting his organs while he was distracted. By Delilah. The second, she'd gone for his neck with a dagger while he appeared to be sleeping.

That time, he'd been waiting for her and had managed to subdue her without hurting her. He didn't know why he cared, except that Delilah might have been angry if her sister were hurt.

Delilah.

You got what you wanted. She is no longer a part of your life. They were now the enemies they should have been in the beginning. Yet he had never been more miserable.

Layel wasn't sure how much more island life he could tolerate without snapping, flying into a rage. Something. Two nymphs and both dragons had survived, as had the Amazons. Brand had, for whatever reason, stood beside Layel each and every time they entered council and kept the others from voting for his death.

Layel was too stubborn to ask him why.

Zane was still alive, as well. He fought each challenge now with a ferocity that was astounding. Layel suspected Zane would fell even him if the gods decreed it. Once, during a race through a maze, Zane had pushed Delilah to the ground in his rush to the finish line and Layel had nearly beheaded him. What kind of king am I? What kind of friend?

What kind of mate am I?

At the word mate, it was not Susan's image that flooded his mind, but Delilah's. Blue hair, violet eyes, lush lips, tattoos. Spread, eager for him. Shock filled him. Delilah...his...forever. The past forgotten. It was almost too much to take in.

What was she doing?

He knew she was not sleeping enough. Every time he saw her, there were dark circles under her eyes. Her body was always taut, as though she were an injured predator, afraid, ready to strike. Tagart was always at her side, ever the protector, glaring at Layel in a silent warning to keep his distance.

Layel no longer knew what to do or what he wanted. He knew he hated seeing Tagart near her. Knew he should be the one guarding her. The woman had given him pleasure - peace - for the first time in hundreds of years. That meant she was his. Or would have been, if he hadn't purposely destroyed her.

Oh, gods. The look on her face as she'd backed away from him those weeks ago...the things he'd said...He was a monster. She hadn't deserved that. Had only deserved his utmost care.

You didn't save her, she'd said, devoid of emotion as she spoke of Susan, and you feel guilty. I had thought, hoped, you'd done enough penance.

Had he? It was almost too wonderful to believe.

I would have given up everything for you, she had added.

He'd nearly caved then, had nearly forgotten his vow, his past. His only love. Because, for a brief moment, he'd seen his future in Delilah's eyes and it had been a sight so beautiful it was beyond his comprehension.

Susan used to look at him like that, but back then he'd been worthy. Now, after the things he'd done, he'd known that Delilah was simply fooling herself, wanting him to be something he was not and could never be again: pure.

One day soon she would realize that and leave him. After everything he'd said, perhaps she had already realized her mistake. And it was better this way, he reminded himself for the thousandth time. He stared up at the heavens, the moon shooting golden rays in every direction. She deserved someone else, someone better. Someone who wasn't...tainted. Tagart?

Glowering, Layel anchored his weapons on a rock at his feet and ducked under the waterfall. He didn't bother to undress, just let the cool water run down his body, drenching him. Unfortunately, it didn't wash the dark thoughts from his mind. Tagart wasn't any better than Layel and if the bastard touched Delilah -

Don't think like that. Those were the thoughts of a mate. Was that so bad, though?

Layel slammed his fists into the rock stretched in front of him. They throbbed as he braced both palms flat, just above his head. As he stood there, Delilah's image filled his mind - she was never far from the surface - and overshadowed the darkness. This time, she was smiling at him, beckoning him to join her in a bath.

Instantly he was hard. Aching.

He would have given anything - yes, anything, he realized - for the chance to pump inside that luscious body one more time. Stroke her inner walls, feel the heat of her desire. Gods, she'd been wet.

The water continued to pound at him, reminding him of all that they'd shared. His fingers were shaking as he unfastened his pants. His erection sprang out, long and hard and thick. He gripped it, nails cutting into skin.

If Delilah were here, she might have fallen to her knees. Might have taken him inside her mouth. If he'd begged. "Oh, gods," he panted. He would have begged, happily and without hesitation. Anything for her. His hand moved up and down, slow, so slow. She might have cupped his testicles and pulled. He might have gripped her blue hair, fisted it, guided her down further and further, until the tip of his shaft hit the back of her throat.

His body was on fire now, pulsing with need and coiled tight. So damned ready for her. He increased the speed of his pumps, up and down, up and down, over and over, faster and faster. His lips drew back, peeling over his teeth in a snarl. Every muscle in his body clenched...preparing...waiting...

He could almost hear Delilah pleading for his come, could almost feel her pleasure-moans as he gave it to her.

With a deafening roar, he climaxed, hot seed pouring from his cock and straight into the water. As the water continued to rain, that seed washed away as if it had never been.