demons of his own volition. Every disgusting thing the demon queen had done to him, he had allowed. Begged for, even. He'd been cursed with a beauty most demons found irresistible, and the queen had craved him even though his heart belonged to another. A slave. Stay with me until I tire of you, the queen had said, and then I will free you both. But she hadn't, and Cassandra, a siren enslaved by the demons, had begun to look at him with hate.
Demon whore, he heard in his mind even now. Demon whore, demon whore.
Scowling, he flattened his hands over his ears. The taunts did not die. Only seemed to increase in volume. A roar ripped from him, and he slammed his fist into the nearest tree trunk. Bark cut past skin. Blood oozed down his arm. The vile things he had done…all for nothing.
'Are you hurt? Oh, I hope it's terribly painful!'
The feminine voice, soft and lilting, somehow managed to overshadow the din in his head. He whipped around and there, in front of him, was his tormentor, worse than any demon he had faced. Nola. She was so lovely, he lost his breath. She was tall, but not bulky. Lean, but strong. And yet, she appeared delicate, as if she would break in half with a good squeeze. Angelic, as if she had no other thoughts beside pleasure.
He knew those angel-looks were deceptive.
While he was not repulsed by her touch or her regard—why, why?—he found that he did not like her. She behaved like a demon, demanding, happily taking from others without giving anything in return. Taking his concentration, his self-protective instincts.
'Following me was foolish.' If only he had his knives. He could have thrown them, embedded each in her chest. But when the god had popped Zane onto the beach, the sticks he'd painstakingly sharpened had no longer been strapped to his body. And that made no sense. They'd been told to make whatever weapons they wished, yet still they weren't allowed to use them.
'We both know you cannot hurt me.' Nola lifted her chin, her features smug. No, her features attempted a smugness she could not quite pull off. Too much vulnerability in her eyes, he noticed for the first time. Too much heartache. 'You're not smart or fast enough.'
Insults no longer affected him. Too many had been hurled at him over the years. Besides, while she sneered them at him, they lacked any kind of heat. 'Last night, you surprised me. You will not have that advantage again.' Of its own accord, his gaze lowered to her neck, where her pulse drummed wildly.
She flicked her dark hair over one shoulder, baring even more skin. Her hand was shaking. 'Hungry, vampire?'
There was challenge—want?—in her tone, as if he could look but would never be allowed to taste. His eyes narrowed, the dare pricking at him sharply. 'The thought of having your blood in my mouth sickens me.'
He could not slay her; she was on Layel's team and Zane would never purposely hurt the man who had killed the demon queen, freeing Cassandra. And if he could not slay Nola, she would be able to touch him. What if last night had been an aberration? What if she touched him and he wanted to die, as he did with everyone else? Or worse—what if he wanted more from her?
'Sickens you, huh?' Unlike him, she could not overlook an insult. Fury and hurt flashed momentarily in those vivid emerald orbs, quickly replaced by determination. 'I could make you beg for it. Many men have. Or I could make you a slave, just as Delilah will do to your king.'
Every time she opened her mouth, he liked her less and less. How could he desire her, then? Even for a moment? 'You are my enemy, now more than before. I am slave to no one.' Would never be a slave again, willing or not. 'The only thing I want from you is your absence. And believe me, as badly as I crave it, I am still unwilling to beg.'
A tremor rocked her lithe body. 'Oh? And you think your teammates will offer their blood to you?'
'Most likely.' Not that he would sample a single drop. 'They'll wish to keep me strong. They will not want a weak member dragging them down.'
She raised her chin. 'They know you considered killing them. I made sure of it.'
'Yes, but you are now their enemy. They will no longer care what you say.' He did not know if he spoke true. He only knew he wanted to wipe that haughty look off her too lovely face.
She ran the tip of her tongue over her teeth, and his cock jumped at the sight of all that pink and wet. He scowled in surprise. True desire? Again? That had not happened in years, yet now it had happened twice in two days.
Why did he want her? Her of all people? A cocky, irritating demon in an angel's skin?
'I'm going to feed,' he said fiercely, quietly. 'And then I am going to do everything in my power to make sure you lose tonight. Then, I will pray that you are the first to be executed.'
She stepped toward him, hands fisted. 'You are a bastard. No better than my mother. No better than my father, my brothers, men my mother abandoned her sisters to be with, men who helped her destroy me.' Hate churned beneath the surface of her skin. Hate and fury. 'Guess what I did to them?'
'Killed them?' Zane forced himself to remain in place, even though everything inside him screamed to back away before she could reach him. Not because he feared what she might do, but because he feared his reaction to her. She had suffered? Perhaps as he had?
'After I played with them a bit,' she said silkily, 'they begged for death. Still I waited days before I gave it to them.' She stopped, turned away, but didn't move off. 'Oh, and one more thing. If my team loses tonight, it might very well be your king who is killed. In fact, I'll make sure of it. Think about that.'
DELILAH REMAINED on the beach, even though everyone else had left. Including Nola, her sister by race— and her new enemy?
She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. All her life, her only goal had been to protect her sisters. Those she loved, those she didn't. Now she was to fight against one.
And Layel…
What was she to do about him? She'd wondered all through the night, yet she still didn't have an answer. They were enemies now, more so than before. At least, they were supposed to be.
Last night he had said cruel things to her. At first, she'd been hurt and had by turns wanted to beat him senseless and cry in his arms like a weakling. But then she'd remembered something. In battle, anything goes. She knew that better than most, and last night they had been locked in a battle of fierce desire. Words meant nothing. Actions, everything.
He wanted her. Proof: just a little while ago he had peered at her with naked longing in his eyes. But while he did want her, he clearly did not want to want her. Proof: he always walked away.
Part of Delilah was ready to fight him until he changed his mind. Until he admitted that he craved her kiss as much as she craved his. And yet, the other part of Delilah insisted she do nothing, forcing him to fight for her and treat her as the prize she'd always wanted to be. She was confused by the conflicting nature of her desires. Fight for him—make him fight for her. Dominate him—be dominated by him.
She knew she would not do the first, even though she'd allowed herself moments of weakness and had almost given in to the thought of pleasure. To give herself to another man, she had to know she was the most important thing in his life. He had to want her more than anything. He had to need her.
Would Layel ever need anyone?
Someone approached her, and she stiffened. She heard the swish of sand against boot, the faint rasp of even breathing. Not Layel, for this man radiated heat and smelled like sex.
'Nymph.' She pushed to her feet and turned to him, hands curled into fists. Just in case.
'Amazon.' He was at her side a moment later. He faced the water, careful not to focus his decadent gaze on her, and locked his hands behind his back. 'We are teammates, you and I,' he said.
He was tall, forcing her to look up…and up…and up. He had pale hair and bright blue eyes. His body was stacked with muscle upon muscle, visible even through his clothing. Normally, she remained as far away from the nymphs as possible. After all, they were capable of enslaving a woman with only a glance.
Yet she felt no passion-flare for him. No compulsion to strip for him, kiss him, touch him. His eyes were not a clear enough blue. His hair wasn't white, completely devoid of color. His skin wasn't white-velvet and slightly chilled to the touch. His features were not haunted.
'Yes,' she finally said. 'We are.'
'For us to win, I need to remain strong.'
'Yes.' Where was he going with this?
At last he faced her, his lips curling into a tender smile. 'I am glad we understand one another.' The words
