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 9
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
