The Vampire's Bride a-4 Page 3

  Behind him, a dragon opened its mouth to spew a stream of fire.

  "Nola!" she shouted, too far away to shove him out of the way herself. But the Amazon was distracted by the tail being swung at her, and didn't hear her cry for help.

  Swiftly, Delilah withdrew one of the daggers crisscrossed at her back and tossed it. The tip wheezed through the air before embedding in the dragon's chest. There was a chilling howl, but thankfully no fire.

  The vampire spun, and his gaze collided with hers. A sizzle of awareness swept through her, stronger than the one she'd experienced at their first encounter. He glanced at the dragon falling to his knees, then inclined his head in acknowledgment of Delilah's action. Disappointment joined ranks with the awareness.

  What did you expect? That he'd blow you a kiss? "Your gratitude is humbling," she called, echoing his earlier words to her.

  Without a word, he pivoted and attacked another of the fire-breathers, seeming unconcerned as flames danced over his skin, charring and blistering. The more steps she took toward him, the more opponents jumped in her way. And as Delilah fought her way to him—no, to her friend, damn it!—she saw Nola dive low, slide past a dragon that had just stabbed a vampire in the stomach and slice into its scaled ankles. There was another roar as the creature dropped, no longer able to stand.

  Delilah reached her then. The white-haired vampire had vanished.

  "Where's Lily?" Nola asked her, panic layering her voice. Ribbons of black hair whipped across her delicate face as she searched left, then right. A loner she might be, but she loved Lily as much as the rest of them.

  Delilah followed the direction of her gaze—and finally found the cage Lily had occupied. It was empty. No. No, no, no. "Surely one of the others freed her and carried her to safety."

  "That was not the plan. She was to be taken, cage and all to keep her safe and snug, out of harm's way. Most likely she picked the lock herself. She knows how, we made sure of that at least."

  "True. All right. You sweep the north, and I'll head south. We'll find her."

  Nola nodded, and they were off.

  Delilah raced through trees, twigs slapping her face and arms. Rocks dug past the soles of her boots. All the while, she kept her eyes to the ground, searching…searching…there! Three sets of footprints came into view. One was delicate and bare, two were large and booted. Male.

  All three were headed toward the Amazon camp.

  The dragons wouldn't know the way, which meant Lily was being chased.

  Enraged, Delilah increased the speed of her steps, her own haggard gasps ringing in her ears. For once, she regretted the fact that Lily had not been instructed in the art of battle like all the other Amazons.

  Sweet Lily, the queen's only child. She'd been a tiny infant, born too soon and constantly sick. She should have been killed at birth, or at least later as it became apparent she would never be strong enough for war. But no one had been able to do it. She'd captured their hearts from the first.

  And so, sickly as she'd been, the girl had not been taken from her mother. Had not been thrust into combat training at the age of five. She hadn't been beaten for revealing any hint of weakness, like tears and sadness. Hadn't been slashed and hurt, then thrown into the elements to learn how to survive while her body screamed in pain and the world around her supplied nothing but bone-chilling ice or skin-melting heat.

  On her own, Lily would die.

  Violated, Lily would probably want to die.

  I'm coming, sweet. I'm coming. Where are you? Where—

  A terrified scream pierced the air, an answer to her prayers. Her nightmares.

  Lily! Still sprinting, Delilah unsheathed the remaining daggers at her waist. She burst through an emerald thicket—and found Lily being held down, her ankles tied, her arms flailing as she tried to free herself from the men subduing her.

  "Let me go!" she shouted.

  "You brought war to our doorstep, girl. Now you're going back to our king whether you want to or not."

  Tears streamed down her cheeks; she whimpered. "I just want to go home."

  With a leap, Delilah was there. She elbowed one man in the temple, spun and kicked the other in the neck. Both crashed to the ground with dazed grunts. She didn't give them time to recover. Arms crossing, she tossed her remaining blades. They embedded in each target's chest. There was a gurgle, there was a howl, then both men slumped over, every beat of their hearts edging them closer to death.

  "Lilah," Lily cried, removing the ties at her ankles. She scrambled up and threw herself into Delilah's waiting arms. The girl was shaking, sobbing, those warm tears still trickling down her cheeks.

  Delilah remained on guard as she stroked a hand through the girl's silky hair. "I'm here now. Everything will be fine."

  "I didn't mean…the blood…my fault…" Lily said between sobs. "I just wanted to be strong like you. Prove myself. Explore. When I stumbled upon the dragons, I decided to ambush them and bring home their claws as proof of my skill. I've been practicing on my own, but they wouldn't fight me back. Just took me to their home and locked me up so I'd stop trying to hurt them and they could figure out what to do with me. I'm sorry. So sorry. I just…I'm not a child."

  "I know, sweet. I know." Anything to calm her. Even a lie. Lily was dissatisfied with her life? Before disappearing, Lily had offered nothing but smiles and laughter. She'd been a radiant glimmer of light among otherwise dark, violent warrioresses. She'd been doted on, coddled, and she'd seemed to soak up the attention.

  "If someone dies because of me…"

  "You know better." Delilah cupped her jaw and lifted until they were peering at each other. Watery green eyes stared up at her, branched with red, slightly swollen from her tears. "Your sisters will be fine. They are warriors to the core, and the fire-breathers will not defeat them." And what of the vampires?

  Her pulse gave another of those strange flutters, the blood instantly heating in her veins.

  Lily shuddered. "Promise?" she asked weakly, hopefully.

  "Your need for a promise is insulting."

  "I'm sorry. I would never insult you on purpose, but I'm also scared for the dragons. They didn't hurt me, were actually kind."

  "That doesn't matter." Her voice hardened. "They should have let you go immediately. Instead, they kept you. Locked you up. Your mother has been wracked with worry."

  "But—"

  "If we are lenient in this matter, other races will think such treatment of you will be tolerated. We will be seen as weaklings, and we will find ourselves under constant attack. Therefore we must fight now to prevent worse conflicts later." The lesson had been beaten into her until it was as natural as breathing.

  A sniffle, a nod.

  "Now. It's my turn to extract a promise from you." As she spoke, she scanned the forest. So far, there had been no indication they were being watched or followed. That didn't mean they were completely safe, however.

  Lily nibbled on her bottom lip but nodded.

  Oh, this girl, Delilah thought with a sigh. Tomorrow, she was going to issue a request to the queen asking that Lily be trained for combat. She didn't want the girl fighting, but she did want her better able to protect herself. "Promise me that you will never leave our home without permission again."

  "Promise," was the instant reply. No hesitation. "I've never been so frightened, Lilah. Men are not the frail, feeble beings I thought they were."

  No, they weren't. The vampire…Delilah tightened her grip and tried to blank her mind. "If you break this promise, baby girl, dragons and vampires aren't the only thing you'll have to fear. Understand?"

  Lily shuddered. "Yes."

  "Then let's find the others and go home."

  WHILE THE BATTLE CONTINUED to rage, Layel searched the clearing for the blue-haired warrioress but saw no sign of her. He was surprisingly disappointed, which was completely unacceptable. First desire, now a craving to see her?

  Hopefully she had been slain. Yes, hopefully, he thought, t
hough some hidden part of him screamed no. Better she die in battle than torment Layel's mind a second more. His thoughts belonged to Susan. Only Susan.

  "I should have known you'd be nearby," a voice snapped behind him.

  Layel rotated and found himself facing both Brand and Tagart. Finally. Oh, finally. They were still in human form, more vulnerable to attack. He grinned slowly, raising one arm and pointing, blood dripping from his hand. He'd abandoned his blades a while ago, preferring to make the kills more personal with nails and teeth. "You."

  "Yes, me. It's time to end this, Layel," Brand said.

  "Your friends tasted good," he said, wiping his mouth and knowing he smeared more crimson across his face. "But I think the two of you will taste better."

  A black curtain of rage fell over Tagart's blood-splattered features. The warrior's stomach was sliced open and bleeding, but he didn't seem to notice. "Killing you is going to be a pleasure, vampire."

  "A pity you think so, as you'll never be granted the opportunity to see it through."

  A muscle ticked below Brand's eye. "You'll suffer for all you've done to our friends and all you plan to do to us, vampire. You know that, do you not?"

  "I know nothing of the kind. It's because I suffer that I've done all I have to your friends. And, yes, I have loved every moment of this." Layel might have killed the dragons that raped and burned Susan, might have taken some of them to his dungeon and tortured them for weeks before delivering the final blow, but he didn't think he would ever tire of hurting their brothers by race.

  Truly, he lived for one purpose: to wipe out their entire lineage.

  "You invite war!" Brand snapped.

  "Funny, I thought I had invited it two hundred years ago. Did you just now receive your invitation?"

  "I did. And here's my acceptance." Tagart stalked several steps forward before Brand grabbed his arm, holding him still. The dark warrior looked ready to shake off his commander's grip and attack.

  "Not yet," Brand said. Then he roared loud and long, morphing into his dragon visage. His clothing ripped away, floating to the ground, and green scales overtook his skin. A snout lengthened his face, claws stretched from his fingers and his teeth sharpened to dripping points. Wings sprouted from his back, gossamer and clear, deceptively innocent as they spread toward the trees. Tagart's transformation quickly followed.

  "Come and get me, little hatchlings," Layel told them.

  A spew of fire, then Brand and Tagart were flying toward him. Layel sprang at them, ready, so ready. "Susan!" he shouted. His war cry. A constant reminder of what had been taken from him, of what he fought for, of what he would die for.

  Except he never reached the warriors.

  Midway, Layel's entire world blackened and crumbled piece by piece into nothingness. Nothing around him, nothing in front of or behind him. The ground, his only solid anchor, opened up and swallowed him, his body suddenly careening down a long, dark void. Round and round he twirled. Grunting, he flailed for another anchor but discovered only capricious air.

  Ignoring the panic sweeping through him, he forced his breathing to slow, his heart to cease its erratic patter. Transport. Now! He tried, but a moment passed and nothing happened; he continued to fall, his body a solid mass. Teeth grinding together, he spread his arms and attempted to fly. But the invisible chain tugged him down…down…down…never slowing, refusing to relinquish its hold on him.

  Shock and rage joined the panic and sped through him with sickening intensity. He didn't know what was happening, didn't know how it was happening. Only that he could not stop it.

  His hand slapped into something hard. A man, he realized. A man's chest. The male grappled for him, fingers clawing for purchase. Layel hissed, his arm soon ripped to shreds. Thankfully, he spun out of reach—and slammed into the softness of a woman's body. She gasped, the sound low, frightened. How many? he wondered, even as he hit—a horse? There was a whinny.

  Someone screamed. Someone else whimpered. All the while they continued to plummet, no landing in sight.

  IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FOREST, Delilah shoved Lily behind her back. Danger suddenly lurked nearby. She could sense it, almost smell it as a presence, a power, thickened the air.

  "What's wrong?" Lily whispered, her terror palpable.

  "Stay behind me." Delilah reclaimed the daggers she'd used to slay the dragons, her grip tight. Where are you? She scanned trees, leaves, shadows. There, to the right, something was rattling branches together. Her lids narrowed, eyes focusing, but she couldn't make out a form. Just—

  A gasp tore from her lips as that something sprang into view, as clear as the air she breathed but thicker, like water. She had no time to react, no way to attack. Then it was there, right in front of her, consuming her, sucking her into a black hole.

  "Lily!" she screamed, daggers ripping from her hands as she thrashed her arms, desperate for some type of security. She found nothing. Only air. The more she tumbled, the more wave after wave of dizziness assaulted her, slamming with enough force to double her over. Shouts, grunts and groans pierced her ears, as discordant as the bells that tolled when an Amazon died.

  "Lily!"

  "Amazon," a familiar male voice called, rising above the chaos.

  "Vampire?" Her heartbeat should not have calmed. The sweat just beginning to bead over her skin shouldn't have cooled, but it did. She shouldn't have been relieved, but she was. As she grappled for him—a touch, she only needed a touch—her head slammed into what must be a jagged rock and she grunted, thrown from the vampire by the force.

  Stars winked over her eyes, the white lights thickening, expanding, becoming all that she saw. Somehow that light was more terrifying than the darkness, a ray of hope dashed in the cruelest way.

  "Reach for me," the vampire commanded.

  "Can't," she tried to say, but the word congealed in her throat.

  In the end, she didn't have to reach for him. She hit another wall and flew forward. Their bodies collided, knocking the air right out of her lungs. Instantly the terrible white faded into welcome darkness. All of Delilah's muscles slackened and her head lolled against something hard. The vampire's fingers latched around her arm, hot and strong and more necessary than breathing. She wrapped herself around him, wanting to cling to him forever.

  Take what you want. It's yours. The sixth commandment rang in her head. She knew beyond any doubt its Amazon creator had not meant snuggling against a male and placing her safety in his hands. Still she held on. Don't let me go, she thought before slipping into the oblivion.

  CHAPTER 3

  LAYEL BLINKED open his eyes, murky light coming into focus, a combination of bright and dark, clarity and haziness. Fighting confusion, he groaned against a sharp ache in his temples. Where was he? What had happened? He'd been on a battlefield, yes?

  Yes, he thought, absolutely sure. The scene flashed through his mind: him, rushing toward his enemy, blade raised. Brand and Tagart in dragon form, flying at him, death in their golden eyes. And then he'd been plucked into nothingness.

  Now he was…lying down, he realized. Atop sand. Another ache, followed by a thickening fog, broke his stream of understanding apart. He squeezed his eyelids shut. One heartbeat passed, two. As he'd hoped, the fog thinned and his thoughts realigned. Had he been injured fatally before reaching Brand and Tagart and now rested in eternity?

  Not yet, he nearly screamed. I am not ready. I have not avenged Susan.

  Calm. Think. He had been injured, he remembered that. Cut in the chest, one arm shredded. If he was alive, those injuries would still be present. Shaking, he slid one hand under his shirt and rubbed up and down his chest and arm to be sure. Scabs greeted him, and his mouth curved into a half smile.

  So…what had happened? he wondered again.

  In and out he breathed, the scent of salt and coconut filling his nose. Familiar. The crash of turbulent waves resounded in his ears, washing against the shore. Again, familiar.

  Once more he opened his eyes.
Slowly this time, allowing the light to reach him gradually. At first he saw only white, puffy…things floating across a limitless expanse of blue. Not familiar. The half-smile mutated into a deep frown. Usually a crystal dome surrounded Atlantis, arching and jagged. Where was he?

  Focus. Gingerly, he sat up.

  Spots of gold and rose flickered before his vision. In, out, he continued to breathe. When the spots faded, lush palm trees in different shades of green and white, from the brightest emerald to the palest jade and ivory, came into view. He turned his head—and had to massage his temples to tame another sharp ache. Soft sand stretched into clear azure ocean, the water undulating into foam, misting, blushing under the stroking beams of a bright orange…ball.

  A ball that burned his skin far worse than the dome ever had, he noted, frown intensifying.

  His eyes watered so badly he had to cast his gaze back to the sand. That did not lessen the burn, but the burn soon became the least of his worries. Bodies were scattered throughout the sand. Unconscious. Dead?

  Layel remained in place and studied the male closest to him. Zane, he realized, who was no longer cut and bruised. The warrior's chest was rising and falling, proof he still lived. Thank the gods. Next he saw—he tensed. Several feet away, Brand lay sprawled on his back. Though he had morphed into a dragon during the battle, ripping away his clothing, he was now human and dressed. Beside him sprawled Tagart. Human and dressed, as well.

  As though it had never left him, only ebbed to the back of his mind, rage tore through Layel. Rage that their fight had ended so abruptly, rage that the dragons were not dead.

  Whatever had happened to bring them to this strange land, Layel suddenly didn't care. The dragons had to die. Should be dead already. Scowling, he jumped to his feet. He swayed against a surge of dizziness, unsteady, but stumbled forward anyway. He reached for his daggers, every ounce of his determination pulsing from the tips of his fingers.

  The blades were gone. A growl echoed in his throat, growing louder, fiercer, when a quick body-pat revealed every piece in his arsenal was gone.