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.
His muscles rippled as he moved, and her mouth watered. I clutched those muscles once. I had them at my fingertips. So badly she wanted to rake her fingers through his white hair. Even flatten her palm against his chest and feel the flow of life as he drank from her. 'I'm waiting for an answer to my question,' she insisted. 'How are you alive?'
His broad shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. 'My team decided I was not the one who would cause them to lose the next contest. So…' Another shrug, but this one was stiff, self-conscious. 'Now, go away,' he said, jamming a long stick into the ground. Then he popped it up, tossing a mound of dirt a few feet away.
'Who was chosen?'
'I love being ignored.' Without pausing in his digging, he said, 'The formorian who—' He pressed his lips together. Dirt soared over his shoulder as he heaved the stick upward.
'Who you helped into the water,' she finished for him.
He gave a clipped nod.
To prevent herself from closing all hint of distance between them and burrowing her head in the hollow of his neck, she shifted and leaned her uninjured shoulder against the nearest tree. 'You and Brand seem to hate each other. I'm surprised he didn't vote for you, no matter that the formorian was weak.'
Layel laughed darkly. 'Oh, he voted for me. Several members did. One more vote, and I would have been the one who lost his head.'
Just how close had she come to losing him? 'The gods actually decapitated him?'
Another nod.
Some part of her had thought, perhaps hoped, they would change their minds. 'Why did you do it?' she asked after a tension-filled pause.
'Do what?' he asked, but she knew he only pretended ignorance.
'Hurt your own team member.'
'Perhaps it amused me to hear him scream. Perhaps I live for the deaths I cause, as rumors in Atlantis claim.' Another mound of dirt flew over his shoulder.
This one was launched toward her. She hopped out of the way, barely escaping an earth-shower. He'd purposely aimed at her, the bastard. 'That was childish,' she said, crossing her arms over her middle.
'But satisfying.'
'You remind me of Lily right now.'
'Lily?'
'My sister by race, the future queen of the Amazons and the girl the dragons were carting in that cell.' Only yesterday, she realized, though it felt as if an eternity had already passed. 'When Lily doesn't get her way, she throws a tantrum.'
'I'm not throwing a tantrum.'
