She turned as Layel reached his own team. They were hunched over and gasping, as well, but they didn't cheer when they saw the vampire. They snarled in rage. He was the reason they had lost, and they knew it.
"You'll pay," Brand snarled.
"You kicked him!" a centaur roared. "You kicked Irren."
Irren, the formorian in question, limped to the finish line a short while later. His only arm clung to its socket with thin strips of crimson flesh. Like all of his race, he possessed only one leg. That leg was missing hunks of muscle. Both of his wings were broken, barely able to flap, but keeping him upright. Injured as he was, he still attacked Layel from behind.
Frowning, Layel reached behind him, latched on to the creature and flipped him overhead. Smack. Irren hit the wood, causing the entire platform to vibrate. The formorian didn't rise. He just lay there, panting, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"You could have helped me," Irren choked out. "You could have helped."
"But I didn't," Layel replied coldly. He was peering at Delilah as he spoke, as if his every action was for her benefit.
Did he think she would turn away, repulsed by him? Did he hope that she would?
Violence was not abhorrent to her. She had done much worse over the years.
Not knowing what to make of him, Delilah tore her gaze away and searched for Nola. She found the girl in the corner, scowling over at her. Blaming her for the loss?
Having none of that, Delilah lumbered toward her. Just before she reached her target, however, everyone on the losing team disappeared. There one moment, gone the next. At first, Delilah glanced around in confusion. Then her stomach clenched as realization set in.
Elimination.
One member would not return from their counsel with the gods. And after the way the team had glared at Layel, she didn't have to guess who that team member would be.
*
IN THE SPAN OF A HEARTBEAT, Layel found himself sitting in front of a fire, trees surrounding him. The rain had stopped. Damn this! He was tired of being popped in and out of locations without warning. He himself had the ability but he rarely utilized it, not liking the sense of total exhaustion that always accompanied the transport. Still, he would rather deal with the weariness than with the god's seemingly unbeatable power. Freedom of choice was something he valued.
His teammates sat in a circle around him. They, too, had been popped here. How...wonderful.
"You purposely pushed the formorian into the water," Brand growled without preamble.
Layel arched a brow but did not verbally respond. He refused to explain himself to a fire-breather.
In truth, he couldn't even explain himself to himself. He didn't think he'd acted to prevent Delilah's team from losing. He despised that woman and her dangerous kisses. More than that, if they'd lost, Tagart might have been the one to die--a thought that pleased Layel.
Tagart.
Layel's teeth cut into his gums and blood flavored his tongue. Tagart obviously desired Delilah, obviously wanted her for his own. The dragon bastard was unworthy of her passion. All men were.
"He stepped on my hand," Irren cried, drawing him out of his dark musings.
Brand knifed to a towering stand. The fire crackled, amber light dancing over his harsh countenance. His hair beads slapped together in an ominous beat. "You cost us the victory, bloodsucker."
Rather than address the dragon, Layel eyed the formorian. "You cost us the victory, and you know it. You are simply too cowardly to admit it. Had you not fallen into the hole and slowed our momentum, I would not have been able to step on your hand, now would I?"
The creature's bruised cheeks colored in embarrassment, a rainbow of reds, blues and blacks. His glittering green eyes added to the rainbow effect. "Do not blame this on me! I would have climbed to safety."
"With your arm or your leg?" he scoffed without mercy. "You are the weakest among us and would have caused us to lose whether you climbed up of your own volition or not. You will cause us to lose every challenge, I have no doubt." He shook his head in disgust, though privately he admitted that disgust was not for the creature's infirmity. Rather his reaction stemmed from the desire he'd seen in Irren's eyes whenever the creature looked at Delilah. "You deserved to be hurt."
Surprisingly Brand had no response to that. None of them did.
Amid the silence, Layel's mind returned to Delilah and their kiss...His fangs elongated even more. He'd had his tongue and his fingers inside her. He'd rubbed his swollen shaft against her. He would have drunk from her and he would have bedded her if Tagart had not interrupted.
Not once had he thought of Susan.
Not once had he cared that it had not been his mate's gentle voice rasping his name, her soft hands clawing his back. No, Susan would not have clawed him. Their lovemaking had always been tender, as sweet as Susan herself. He had savored every moment with her.
Not once had he ever felt the desire to dominate her as he had with Delilah. He had wanted to possess the Amazon's very soul. Brand himself inside her, claim her every cell for his own. The need had been fierce, a rising tide of tangled darkness and light.
Because of that, he had betrayed Susan more than ever before. He didn't deserve pleasure. He didn't deserve happiness. And that he had experienced them, even for so short a time, made him as pathetic and shameful as the dragons. Yet...
When Delilah had reached for her teammate--nearly falling herself in the process--his first instinct had been to grab hold of her. Save her, keep her close. Guard her. He had refrained at first, telling himself it would be easier this way. She would fall, perhaps die, definitely be hurt. And he would stop craving her.
Finally, though, he had been unable to resist. He'd moved toward her. Rather than touch her, however, he had tried to dislodge the bastard holding her down. Stubborn as she was, she'd wanted to save her team member. Which Tagart had helped her do.
Layel blanked his mind as his teeth gnashed together. It's done. Over. You can't go back and change what happened.
As he focused on the here and now, he realized Brand had moved in front of him. Golden eyes were boring down at him, hot, wild. "I asked you a question, and I will be ignored no longer."
"What question?"
"You think to pretend ignorance?"
Annoyance swept through him, sure and potent. He'd been lost in thought and far away from the conversation. He wouldn't admit to it, though. Instead, he withdrew one of his wooden daggers, moving with lightning speed to slash Brand's jugular. But the blade disappeared from his hand, causing Layel to hit the dragon with his fingers. Brand opened his mouth to spew fire.
"Sit down," a booming voice commanded. A female voice this time, though just as powerful as the male voices they'd encountered before.
He frowned. How many gods were pulling their strings? Watching them? Torturing them? This was the fourth. He glanced left, right, unsurprised that he could not see the being's form.
"Until next time, fire-bastard," he said.
"Next time, bloodsucker. If you survive the elimination, which I do not think will be the case." Jaw clenched, Brand stomped back to his seat.
Layel did the same, grimly suspecting Brand was right. This would probably be his last night alive. He deserved the death, yet he still wasn't ready for it. But not for his usual reasons, damn the gods. He found, in that instant, he regretted that he would die without tasting Delilah fully.
"Here we are, in the losers' circle, the first challenge completed. Some of you showed more courage than others. Some of you more weakness." There was a pause. The gods, Layel had noticed, did love their dramatic pauses. "In the end, you allowed your opponents to best you, and for that you have earned our displeasure. While the other team celebrates their victory, reaping its rewards, you are here before me, one of you destined to die."
Another pause, this one angry. "Because we could not agree amongst ourselves, we are leaving the vote up to you," the goddess said. "The creature with the most votes
will be the one to face execution. May I recommend the dragon or the vampire?"
With her last words, a growl whipped around them as fierce as wind. Only sharper. Cutting. Layel thought he heard the words No interference, but he couldn't be sure.
The goddess sighed, then uttered a distinctly forced chuckle. "Just a little gallows humor, of course. Pick whomever you feel is most deserving of elimination, the warrior who will cause you to lose over and over again if he remains on your team."
Layel raised his chin, even as his heart shuddered. His death had never been more certain, for his teammates could never trust him.
"Brand." She said his name with...distaste? "You may begin."
"We need time," the warrior said. "Time to talk and decide."
"Actually, what we need is to be sent home." Layel figured he was about to die, so why not speak his mind? "This game is barbaric. We should never have been brought here."
"Brand," the goddess snapped, and Layel balled his fists at being ignored. "Vote. Now."
One by one, the members spoke their choice. Layel sat stiffly, and when his turn arrived a sword materialized and hovered just over the fire. Waiting...waiting for a target. And then the last vote was delivered.
"And so it is done," the goddess said.
Sharp silver twirled in the air and struck the first member to be eliminated from the game.
CHAPTER NINE
DELILAH SAT on the beach, the gauntlet no longer in place. A short while ago, every piece of timber had vanished like mist with the dawn. What surprised her most, however, was that she no longer blinked when strange things happened. Having been whisked from one place to another several times, having seen the gods appear and disappear in a heartbeat, she had reluctantly accepted that odd things were simply part of her life now.
Waves lapped at her feet and ankles as her mind whirled with realizations. When the losing team had disappeared, her first thought had been of Layel's welfare. Not Nola's, as it should have been.
Gods, what was wrong with her?
Perhaps the vampire's kiss had branded her, soul deep, and she was now bound to him for all of eternity. Possessed by him. A slave, his to command. Obsessed, hers to worship. She sighed.
Not even the prize her team received for winning the challenge had lessened her concern for him.
Less than an hour ago, a round, intricately framed mirror had appeared in front of her team. The god hadn't lied when he'd promised a reward. Enjoy, a voice had boomed. You have done well and made us proud. They had gazed at it simultaneously, but apparently each had seen something different: the person they missed most in Atlantis.
Delilah had seen Lily.
The delicate girl had been safely ensconced in the Amazon camp, but she had been wrapped in the queen's arms, crying. For Delilah. Both females assumed she and Nola were dead. They were in mourning, and Lily blamed herself.
Just as Delilah had reached for the mirror, determined to shake it until Kreja or Lily saw her, it had dematerialized as surely as the gauntlet had. She'd screeched and cursed to no avail. They all had. To calm herself, she'd had to close her mind and level her breathing, chanting under her breath that Lily was alive, Lily was well. Upset, but well. One less worry. And then, craving Layel's strong arms around her, Delilah had begun searching the island for him.
Every turn had led her straight back to this spot. Was Layel still alive? Had he been slain already?
Footsteps sounded behind her. She didn't turn, didn't acknowledge the intruder in any way. The heavy stride informed her it was a dragon; the scent of spice and darkness informed her it was Tagart. Maybe if she ignored him, he would go away.
He sidled right up to her. "Worried for your lover?" he asked, his words slurred.
Not her lucky night, after all. "You're drunk."
"I know. Isn't it wonderful?"
"Where did you find wine?"
"Every dragon possesses a mythical ability. Some can breathe underwater, some can travel from one location to another in the blink of an eye. Some can see anyone anywhere simply by speaking their name. Me, I can turn water to wine." Embarrassment and wisps of self-loathing drifted along the undercurrents of his voice. Why? "Where's your vampire?" he asked before Delilah could press him further. "Dead?"
Her heart lurched inside her chest, a vision of Layel lying motionless, blood pooling around him, flashing inside her mind. "Go to Hades, Tagart." She pushed to her feet, unwilling to give him any type of advantage. Even one as simple as height.
"You worry for him." A statement, not a question.
"We've already had this conversation, and I'm not having it again."
"You're right. I'm...sorry."
An apology? He must be drunk indeed to have offered one. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she studied the man responsible intently. He was as strong as Layel. He was dark, handsome, edgy. Resilient and capable. He wouldn't hesitate to destroy an enemy. And he had, she grudgingly admitted, helped her during the challenge. Why could her body not crave this man? She knew firsthand how lusty a dragon could be.
"You are courageous," he said, swaying slightly, "and unafraid. We would make a great team."
"We are on the same team."
He waved a hand through the air, swayed again. "I meant us. Together. We are the strongest of the group, the most competent."
All she could do was blink up at him. "I don't understand what you're trying to tell me."
"Silly Amazon." He chuckled, a sound of true mirth. It suited him, lighting his features and casting away the shadows that always seemed to hover around him. He reached for her shoulder, decided against touching her and dropped his arm to his side. "I will guard your back and you will guard mine. In the event that we lose a challenge, we will never vote to have the other killed."
"Vote? What are you talking about?"
"You do not know?"
"No," she said, and his expression changed to one of sympathy. "Tell me!"
"Delilah..."
She closed the distance between them, would have been nose to nose if she'd been taller. Waves washed over their feet, soon-to-disappear moonlight streamed in every direction, and the call of night-birds echoed. But nothing overshadowed the pounding of her heartbeat. "Tell me."
"The other team returned. They told us what happened, how they were forced to vote for the creature they wished off of their team." A heavy pause. "There was an execution."
Instantly panic and dread infused her blood, racing through her, cutting at her. She clutched Tagart's tattered shirt, wadding the material in her hands. "Did...Nola return?"
He nodded slowly, the grimness of their conversation clearly sobering him, and studied her features. "Do you wish to know if the vampire king returned, as well?"
She did. With everything inside of her, she did, but she was afraid of her reaction. If she learned that he was alive, would she smile? Laugh, dance? If she learned that he was indeed dead, would she cry? Sob? "I will consider your request for an alliance," she said, releasing him. She backed away slowly, desperate to be alone--and determined not to show it. "We will talk soon."
"He was not with the others when they returned," Tagart said anyway.
That means nothing, she tried to tell herself. But she didn't respond to Tagart, just kept moving backward. Away. She had to get away from him.
His jaw clenched. "If you think too long about my offer, I will withdraw it and make it to someone else."
And she would be the first one they voted for, Delilah did not doubt. Still she remained silent. Finally she passed the line of trees. Their branches slapped in front of her, blocking the dragon from view. Immediately she turned and ran, arms and legs pumping furiously. Her skin was like ice, but sweat beaded anyway, trickling down.
Of course Layel's team had voted for him. He had hurt one of their own.
Tears burned her eyes, the very tears she had so feared. You've only known him two days, and you suspected this was coming. Why are you upset? He had caused her
nothing but trouble and grief. And pleasure. Oh, gods, the pleasure. She would never again experience his kiss, his touch. Would never learn his secrets, ease the pain she saw in his eyes every time she looked at him. Never shine light into the darkness of his soul.
Foolish, she thought for the thousandth time. Where had that thought come from? Shine light into his soul? Hers was as dark as his was. Or rather, had been. A whimper rose in her throat.
Distracted as she was, she did not see the figure looming in front of her. Delilah slammed into him. He was as hard as a boulder, but unprepared for her momentum. They propelled to the ground, strong arms banding around her waist. He took the brunt of the fall, his breath gusting over her face. Metallic, sweet.
She was on her feet a moment later, ready for battle. But he never attacked her. He simply stood and wiped the grass from his clothing, saying, "I would like to say that was fun, but I told you I would not lie to you."
That voice...husky, sardonic. "Layel?"
He'd been glaring, his ocean blues hidden by the frame of his lashes, but that glare melted away as he studied her expression. "Are you...crying?"
He was here; he was alive. He had not been chosen for execution. Trying not to smile now, she wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist. "No."
"Did no one tell you Nola survived?" he asked softly. For a moment, only a moment, he looked at her with something akin to tenderness.
"I was told." Her heart already drummed erratically from her sprint, but now, as she drank in the sight of him, the silly organ wanted to pound its way free. "How are you alive?"
He tsked under his tongue, somehow conveying a wealth of pain and joy with the sound. "Disappointed?"
She raised her chin, refusing to lie yet equally unwilling to admit the truth. He would reject her again, and her emotions were too strung out to deal with another.
He sighed. "I want to be alone now," he said. He turned away from her and picked up a fat stick, then continued...whatever it was that he'd been doing before she ran into him. Was he...digging a hole? He pressed the stick into the ground to gather a mound of dirt, then tossed that dirt aside.