The Vampire's Bride. Gena Showalter
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hopped on top of him, pinning his shoulders to the sand with her knees. There was now another layer to her already complex scent, he realized. Arousal. The discovery shocked him. Hot, erotic arousal, and his mouth dried, his tongue desperate to lave between her legs, where she would be wet. If he moved, raised his head even a little, he would be able to quench his sudden, desperate thirst.
No. No!
“This is better,” she said, practically humming with satisfaction. And disappointment? Did she want to be weaker than him? Surely not. To her, such a thing could bring only humiliation. “The king of the vampires, mine to command. Now you are going to answer my questions. Tell me why you didn’t try to swim home like the rest of us. You know something. You must.”
Fighting his need for her—just a touch, a taste—he snapped, “I will never be yours to command. Never be yours, period.”
“We shall see.” Baby-fine strands of her hair brushed his cheeks. A purr rumbled in the back of his throat, and he growled to mask it. “I have heard of your conquests, vampire king.”
“Have you?” Slowly he raised his hands to her waist, pretending he wanted to hold her, be closer to her. Hating that it was not as much a pretense as it should have been.
She didn’t protest. “Yes. They’re impressive. You killed the demon queen, sucking her dry. You have slaughtered more dragons than anyone else ever to live. Combined. You torture ruthlessly just to hear your opponent scream.”
“And yet you seem remarkably unfazed by such fearless feats.”
“Have you, perchance, heard of my conquests?” She sounded hopeful.
“No.” He hadn’t, but wished otherwise.
“Liar,” she said, unable to hide her dejection.
“About many things, yes, but not this.” When she opened her mouth, perhaps to list her own feats, he added, “I do not wish to hear about them, either.” Proof that he did, in fact, lie whenever he wanted.
Fire blazed in her eyes as she licked her lips, baring that pink tongue again. “All I want to know is wwhhyy—”
With a flick of his wrists, he tossed her overhead. She landed on her back and rolled, but he expected the motion and rolled backward himself, pinning her to the sand with his body’s weight. Behind them, a gasp sounded. Followed by a laugh, a cheer. No footsteps swished in the sand, however. Perhaps, like him, the others could not breach the shield. Or perhaps they were simply enjoying the show.
Delilah lay there a moment, stunned.
“You were saying?” he asked, one brow arched smugly.
“Release me, Layel. Now.”
Her breasts pushed into his chest, her nipples hard and wanting. He was tempted, so tempted, to palm them. Was shaking with the need, he realized. “What are you doing to me? How are you making me feel this way?”
She blinked up at him, truly confused. “What way?”
He would not admit his desires aloud. They were wrong, unacceptable. Oh, he knew that men and women constantly fell in and out of lust. Knew that many who lost their lover grieved for a time and then found someone else.
He could not, would not do so.
Susan had been killed in the most painful, brutal way imaginable. She had been humiliated, used, spat upon and finally burned. She had felt her baby die inside her, the kicking gradually slowing until it ceased altogether. She had begged and she had pleaded for Layel’s help, but he had not reached her soon enough. He had not saved her.
He did not deserve another chance at love.
He did not deserve another woman.
More than that, Susan did not deserve to have her memory overshadowed by another woman.
“What way?” Delilah insisted, reaching up.
What she meant to do, he might never know. He jolted to his feet with a roar. “Do not touch me. Ever. Just stay away from me, Amazon. Do you understand?”
He didn’t wait for her reply, but stalked away from her. Stalked away before he looked at her, saw hurt in her eyes and apologized. Before he begged her to ignore his words and touch him anyway. Before he threw himself at her, sobbing for a chance at something he was not worthy of.
Sand was flung against his calves and he knew she’d stood. “I only approached you to ask if you knew why we were brought here,” she called. There was no emotion in her tone. Merely a detachment he suddenly loathed nearly as much as he loathed the dragons.
Silent, he continued to stride away from her with a fierce determination he usually reserved for the battlefield. One amorous glance from a woman and a part of you longs to forget Susan. You promised her an eternity, yet you only gave her a few hundred years. Pathetic.
Cringing, he covered his ears with his hands. Dark, treacherous emotions were welling inside him, close to bubbling over. If they succeeded, Layel knew he would be lost to them forever. There would be no returning, no reclaiming his sanity. Vengeance would be forgotten, his own pain all he would be able to see.
“Do you know? Does anyone know?” Delilah shouted.
“I do,” a booming voice answered, relish in every syllable. “I know.”
Chapter Four
DELILAH FROZE. That voice…that power…In all her years, she’d never heard such a sound or felt such a presence. And yet, the shock of both failed to compare to the shock of having been face-to-face—body to body—with Layel, king of the vampires.
She had heard stories of the man’s prowess, of course, of his dark nature, his unquenchable thirst for blood and power. Delicious qualities, indeed, and she couldn’t help but desire all of his strength, all of his fervor, at her fingertips again. He was a warrior to the core and would not care what her sisters thought of him. He would fight for what he wanted, damn the consequences.
He was the kind of man she’d secretly wanted for years, the need solidifying every time she saw a couple, no matter their race, cooing over each other. The kind of man she’d once thought she’d had, only to lose because he hadn’t desired more than a night. But unlike the other, Vorik, who, at the height of passion, had claimed he would crave her forever, Layel said he wanted nothing to do with her. Should she believe him? His heated glances suggested otherwise.
She almost wished she’d spent more time with the male species. But with the exception of her ill-fated assignation, her tribe only consorted with them twice a year—mating season—when men were stolen from their homes, reduced to slaves, their bodies used repeatedly. When the Amazons finished with them, they were sent on their way. Because Vorik had not been one of those slaves, Delilah had foolishly hoped that, after all his tender promises and heated caresses, her man would fight to stay with her. Or, at the very least, fight to take her with him.
Not even a backward glance, she mused darkly.
So many times since then she’d wondered why none of the men—not just hers—had ever asked for more. After all, not one slave had even put up a fight when he’d first realized his destination and purpose. In fact, they’d seemed overjoyed. Willing and eager. And even though they were slaves, they were treated well, sex available anytime they wanted it.
But apparently, though Amazons were fun for a time, they just weren’t worthy of forever. Not that any other Amazon but her wanted forever. What’s wrong with me? Though her virginity was long gone, thanks to Vorik, she couldn’t even use the slaves casually, as the sexual vessels they were meant to be.
Since taking her lover, Delilah had never experienced the urge to give herself to another, only to toss him aside later—or be tossed aside herself, his old life more important than the new one he could build with her. But Layel…she desired him, she realized. Desired his tongue in her mouth,