talk to Poseidon. He might tell us what's going on—if he's bored and looking to stir up trouble, that is.'
Much to Valerian's consternation, Shaye and the fickle, annoying god had become friends. 'No. Every time you speak with him, some kind of disaster happens.'
'Hey, he brought us back together. Give the guy a break.'
'I would like to break his—'
She slapped a hand over his mouth.
'I heard that,' an irritated voice said.
Valerian reached for his sword, but it disappeared the moment his fingers curled around the hilt. Scowling, he glanced at Shaye to make sure she was covered, saw that a black silk sheet draped her from chest to ankle and relaxed. Barely.
The air crystallized in front of the bed, thickening until the body of a man appeared. Some women had said Poseidon was the most beautiful male ever to walk under the sea. Lustrous hair, blue eyes. Muscles, power. Valerian did not see the appeal, but he covered Shaye's eyes anyway.
That amused the god, and he laughed. 'As if that will make a difference.'
Valerian bit the inside of his cheek to keep from responding. One wrong word, and the sea god might destroy the entire city. Almost had, in fact.
Shaye shoved Valerian's fingers away. 'Welcome, oh mighty god of the sea. And since you have graced us with your presence, I wonder if you would be willing to help us. We seem to be missing two of our soldiers,' she said. 'Well, three now. Would you know anything about that?'
'Perhaps,' was the unconcerned reply. Poseidon strolled to the far wall and traced his finger over the center. Valerian's sword finally reappeared—hanging upside down with colorful ribbons falling from the tip.
Not a word.
'Will you tell us?' Shaye asked sweetly. 'Please.'
Valerian squeezed her side in warning.
'I'll give the women here another lesson in women's rights,' she added. 'That will frustrate the warriors and provide much entertainment for you.'
Valerian shuddered. Last time she'd done such a thing, his warriors had gone without sex for days and had become snarling beasts, picking fights with everyone they encountered.
Poseidon shrugged and then disappeared as if he'd never been. Valerian thought that was the end of it and was grateful. He didn't like the god. But then that unearthly voice whispered across the room, startling him.
'The first two are playing a little game. The third, well, he was just eaten alive.'
The god's laughter echoed long into the night.
CHAPTER 11
LAYEL NEVER REACHED the waterfall that night.
Along the way, he had encountered Jada, the female nymph and Broderick's sister, and she had been determined to have him 'for strength' because she 'trusted him, friend to her king.'
Over the years, many females had offered themselves to him. Unattainable as he was, he'd been labeled a challenge, a prize. He had denied them all, yet some had still claimed to have lain with him. In their anger over his rejection, the stories had not been kind.
Here, now, there were two beautiful females vying for him. One, a temptation. One, an annoyance, though Jada's beauty outshone even Delilah's. Or would have, to some. To him, Jada's hair was too fair, her sapphire eyes lacking any hint of purple. She was tall and slim with curves that should have been impossible, her nipples permanently hard.
Yet all he'd been able to think about when she pressed herself against him was the lean firmness of Delilah's body and how perfect it was to his palms. How he loved the way her nipples hardened right before his eyes.
He'd pushed Jada away, but in her ardor she'd taken the gesture as approval and had quickly stripped. He'd been unmoved. As unmoved as he'd been for the past two hundred years, which made Delilah's ability to tantalize him all the more undeniable. Thank the gods he had not gone to the waterfall, after all, but had hunted animals to distract himself.
Had he found her, he would have drunk from her. How close he'd come to talking himself into it.
And now, after an uneventful day by himself—without a run-in with his team, the other team or even the power-loving gods who had, for whatever reason, not forced a challenge on them today—Layel found himself stalking to the waterfall, unable to turn away this time. What was Delilah doing? Was she all right? Night had fallen again. He should have seen her, heard her.
To his consternation, she was not there. Even her sweet scent was curiously absent. There should have been a hint of it, at least a lingering imprint of her essence. Instead, it was as if she had not once neared the area. That didn't seem to matter to his body. Hard and aching, that's what he was, because she'd offered herself to him here in this location.
Thoughts of her played through his mind. Thoughts of her naked, writhing. His.
In his mind, every move she made was a sensual dance for him. Every sound that escaped her moist, ripe lips was a benediction to him. Every beat of her heart was a mating call.
The images were wrong, so wrong, but his mouth watered and his teeth sharpened. What would it take to purge her from his mind? Besides killing her, which he'd already admitted he could not do, there was only one thing left to try….
He would have to drink from her. No more resisting.
He'd told her that he never would. Yet the idea had been planted, had grown and intensified. Now, he realized he must.
He was a bastard for even considering it; he was lacking in honor and integrity. Truly, he was a monster. She wanted everything from him, but he only meant to take. He was going to fill his veins with her life's nectar, was going to reduce her to a meal. Finally he would know the taste of her and then he could forget her. His fantasies had built her up, but reality would tear them down. There was no possible way she could taste as wonderful as he imagined. No one could.
Sex would not enter into the arrangement. This time, when he placed his lips on her body, he would control himself. There was no better time to drink from her. Hunger did not ride him; weakness had not claimed him. He had gorged on the dragon yesterday and didn't need the blood.
Where was she? If she'd bathed in the waterfall or lounged on the moss-covered rocks, she'd left no trail. Layel walked through the forest, muted beams of twilight, hazy purples and pinks, illuminating his path. The lush emerald trees were different from those in Atlantis, yet somehow familiar to him after only two days. More moss covered the ground, soft against his feet.
Were he home, he would be training with his army and thinking of ways to thwart and slaughter the dragons. He would be torturing the fire-breathers locked in his dungeon, their screams his only real sense of peace.
Evil, he'd often been called. He did not deny it. Couldn't deny it. His heart was decayed. Rotted. His soul was black. No longer was he a man Susan would have loved. At the moment of her death, he had become everything his beloved mate had despised.
Yet there was no going back. No reverting to the man he'd once been. Not for him. Hate pulsed in his veins, thicker than blood. Revenge was the only thing he allowed in his mind.
Until Delilah.
Always his thoughts returned to her. Gods, how she haunted him. He should be searching for Zane, who had not yet shown up to report on his team. He should be planning his next move against Brand and Tagart. Instead, here he was, wishing for a taste of Delilah.
What was it about her that constantly drew him? While she possessed a breathtaking beauty, a sharp wit and an undeniable hum of energy, she would never hesitate to betray a lover to protect her sisters. That much was obvious every time she looked at Nola—a woman he wasn't even sure Delilah liked—with determined loyalty. There was no warm affection in her voice when she spoke to the girl, no softening of her expression. Yet she clearly felt
