'No, you're throwing dirt. Is that any better?'
A rumbling noise escaped him, and she wasn't sure if he expressed amusement or irritation. He paused in his digging, though, keeping his back to her. 'Go away, Delilah.' He sounded weary.
Would she ever get used to the tremors of delight that shook her every time he said her name? 'No. What are you doing here, anyway?'
'None of your concern. Go.'
'Again, no.' She'd almost lost him tonight. Part of her didn't want to be separated from him ever again. How had he engaged her emotions so strongly and so quickly? 'I'm not sure if you treat me this way because you genuinely dislike me or because you're afraid of me.'
'Wonder no more. I dislike you.' Motions clipped, he slammed the stick back into the ground, and then another mound of dirt was sailing toward her.
This time, she remained in place. The grains pummeled her calves and ankles, and she grit her teeth. 'If you dislike me so much, why did you thrust your tongue into my mouth and your fingers into my—'
'Enough!' The stick snapped in half. Tossing the half he still held, he whirled, facing her. 'I could tell you that I don't have to like you to bed you. Is that what you need to hear? Would you leave if I said it?'
'Would you mean it?' she asked in a broken voice she scarcely recognized as her own.
Silent, he swiped up another stick and began shoveling again. Wood and mud collided again and again, widening the hole clearly no longer his concern. Fury poured from him, making his motions frenzied.
The intense surge of hurt she'd experienced—don't have to like you to bed you—gradually drained. He couldn't say he meant it because he didn't feel that way. Not wanting to push him into lying, however, she let the subject drop. For now. For whatever reason, he wasn't ready to show her a softer side of himself. 'Tell me what you're doing.'
He stilled, panting, sweating. 'Delilah.'
'Layel.'
'This isn't doing either one of us any good.' He straightened, his profile to her. The elegant curve of his nose cast a shadow over his cheek. Seemed odd that such a ruthless man would possess such pretty features. Not that she was complaining.
'You would rather kiss than talk?' she asked, hopeful.
The tip of his tongue emerged, trailing over his bottom lip. Remembering the taste of her? Then he scrubbed a dirty hand down his face. Streaks of black remained behind. 'I'm burying the body.'
Body? As lost as she'd been with the thought of their kiss, a moment passed before she recalled the formorian's death. She stared into the crowd of trees, searching. Sure enough, she found the corpse several feet away and frowned. Now why would the man who supposedly hated everyone around him concern himself with the burial of a stranger?
Guilt? A hidden sense of honor?
What a contradiction Layel was.
With a sigh, she gathered a stick and began digging alongside him, heedless of her injured shoulder. He didn't rebuke her, and they managed to work in silence. What seemed a lifetime later, the hole was big enough for a body. Somberly she helped the vampire place the formorian inside.
'So you know why I was fighting the dragons yesterday—to save Lily. But what about you? Why do you hate the dragons so much?' She threw her stick to the ground and peered over at him, determined to get at least one answer this night.
For a single heartbeat, his eyes pulsed a bright, fiery red, a look of such debilitating pain falling over his face that she almost dropped to her knees. Almost begged him not to answer. No one should suffer like that. No one. As though they were dying from the inside out, slowly, inexorably, and each cell that withered, each organ that failed, poisoned another, until there was only rot and disease left. Only agony. But then his expression cleared, and he said flatly, 'They took something that belonged to me. And if you dare ask what, I will kill you here and now.'
The warrior in her wanted to press; the woman in her never wanted to see that pain inside him again. So she said, 'Perhaps you've failed to realize that threats only encourage me,' in an effort to tease him. Then she eyed him nervously. Banter with a man was not something she had experience with. Was she doing it correctly?
His lips twitched into a semblance of a smile, causing her stomach to flutter and her heart to skip a beat entirely. 'I've realized.' He, too, dropped his stick. He offered no words of thanks for her aid. 'Your team is celebrating their victory. You should join them.'
Being here with him, talking to him, seeing that smile, thrilled her more than any celebration. But she did wheel away from him. 'You're right.' She didn't want to leave him, and that was precisely why she must. Slowly she walked away. Prolonging the contact was only sparking a desire for more.
When she thought him dead, she had mourned. Mourned. The more time she spent with him the more she wanted him. What would happen if he was killed? What would happen if she gave herself to him and he pushed her away afterward? Next time, she might not survive.
'Amazon,' he called.
Irritation flooded her. He called her 'Amazon' when he wished to put distance between them. That, she knew. But still she stopped. She just didn't face him. 'Yes.'
'I am…sorry. About the—about earlier. About what I said.'
An apology from yet another man. Something must be in the water. 'I don't regret anything about what has happened or been said between us.' No, that wasn't true. She regretted that their time together had to end. Tonight, most likely forever. If she could stay away from him, for that would be the true battle.
Fortifying her resolve, she started forward again.
'Amazon,' he called once more.
And once more she stilled, unable to help herself. 'Yes.'
'Do not approach me again. Your team will not like it, and next time it will be you who is voted for.'
Concern? For her? Gods, she was as helpless against it as she was to resist him. 'I can take care of myself.'
'I have learned that in this game the opinion of your teammates matters more than your actual performance.'
'You aren't the first to tell me such a thing. Tagart asked me to ally with him.'
A heavy, crackling pause, then, he asked tightly, 'Did you accept?'
'Not yet.'
'You should.' The last was grated, as if the words rubbed his throat raw.
Did he not like the thought of her with another man, as she'd considered before, or did he simply hate the dragons so much he loathed the idea of anyone helping them? 'Have you seen the waterfall on the north side of the island?' she found herself asking. Stop, don't do this. You're leaving to escape him.
'Yes.'
'I'll be there in an hour. Alone.'
Silence. Then, 'And you will remain alone. We cannot be…friends, Delilah. I'm sorry.'
Another apology. Gulping, hurting again, she started forward for the third time. Part of her expected him to call her back. But he didn't. Not again. She reached the celebration a few minutes later. She was caked in dirt and sweat, but she didn't care.
Her teammates were dancing around a fire, drinking wine and laughing. All but the nymph, she realized. Broderick was gone. As was their team's other female. A gorgon. So, he'd opted to risk a stoning to spend a little time between the snake-woman's legs. Layel, she suspected, would never do such a thing.
Speaking of Layel, his team sat several feet away. Their nymph female, like Broderick, was missing, as was…Hmm, all of the men were present—and each member was glaring with jealousy at Delilah's team. Even Nola.
Delilah met the Amazon's stare. Rather than a smile or a wave, she received a short, abrupt nod and almost sighed. Dissent within the same races already. Did Nola think she had betrayed her? Convinced Layel to lose? That, she would deal with later. At the moment she needed to approach Tagart. The dragon ceased his dancing, his smile fading when he spotted her. Sweat glinted from his skin, and he exuded a masculine musk every other woman on the island probably would have enjoyed.
Delilah found that she preferred the metallic sweetness of Layel's scent.
