The Vampire's Bride. Gena Showalter
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after he’d killed her, he’d found Zane waiting in her bed, naked and oiled so that he would be ready for her pleasure. Clearly he hadn’t been forced by physical means to remain there, but his relief at her death had been palpable.
Layel didn’t know why he’d been there, seemingly willing; he only knew the warrior’s hate was as great as his own.
Zane’s wide shoulders relaxed slightly. Until both men caught a glimpse of blue hair several feet away. The owner of that hair never came into sight, limbs and shrubs hiding her as she searched for…weapons? A place to stay? No, his first supposition was right, he mused, his traitorous heart speeding up. He would stake his life on it. Did she know he was nearby? Probably.
“What of the little Amazon you nearly ate?” Zane whispered fiercely. “I would like to finish her, as well.”
Layel experienced a spark of anger. “She is mine. I will take care of her.”
“That, I know. But do you plan to bed her or kill her? You looked ready to do both when she straddled your chest.”
“What do you think?” he asked, because he did not wish to lie to a fellow vampire.
“I told you. I think you would like to do both.”
“And I think you are in danger of unleashing my wrath.” Truth.
“Nothing new there.” Unconcerned, Zane tossed another stone. Plop, plop. “Perhaps you can do both.”
Surely that had not been wistfulness seeping from his tone. “No.” Layel ran his tongue over his teeth. One of his fangs stabbed into the sensitive organ, the resulting bead of blood reminding him that he’d gorged himself earlier, while battling the dragons, yet that hadn’t stopped his cravings for Delilah. “No,” he repeated for his own benefit. “Too cruel.” For Delilah and himself.
“Have you ever tasted an Amazon?”
“No.” Every race possessed a unique flavor. The dragons—sulfur. The demons—rot. Centaurs—sweet, almost like honeyed hay. Minotaurs—strong, tangy. Nymphs—ambrosia. But Amazons? What would they—she—taste like?
You will never find out, he vowed. He would die before he placed any part of himself inside that woman. It was time to change the subject. “Come. Time grows short. We’ll make spears, daggers and arrows.”
“And which do you plan to use on the girl?”
“My bare hands,” he said. Even as he spoke, he longed to use his hands in a different way. For pleasure, not pain. Satisfaction, not death. Neither of which he would allow. The fact that he still wished to do such a thing told him beyond any doubt he needed to rid himself of her, just as he’d planned.
Zane gave another of those eerie smiles. “Until nightfall, then.”
Layel nodded grimly.
Chapter Five
POSEIDON, GOD OF THE SEA, towered inside the coral palace he’d built himself in the center of the ocean, staring into a large, mist-entrenched mirror. Beyond the mist, Paradise and its reluctant new inhabitants were visible, a feast for his gaze.
“They are confused,” he said. He’d left them a short while ago, had told them not to worry—hadn’t he?—yet their panic had only grown.
A murmur of “yes” arose, the timbres a mix of excitement, resolve and nonchalance.
Four other gods had journeyed through portals in Mount Olympus to join him here. Poseidon turned, studying them as intently as he’d studied the Atlanteans in the mirror. Ares, god of war, possessing a temper far worse even than Poseidon’s own. Hestia, plain yet somehow seductive, whose spell-casting abilities were eclipsed only by her determination to make a name for herself by any means possible, fair or foul. Apollo, smile brighter than the sun he controlled, fiercely loyal to those he loved. And finally, Artemis, twin sister to Apollo, as wild as the flowers growing on earth—and as cold as ice.
Upon their arrival, Poseidon had been forced to drain his palace to accommodate lungs not as superior as his own. Now ocean water churned outside rather than in, lapping at the outer walls, the roof. Every few seconds, a droplet fell from the bejeweled chandelier and splashed against the ebony floor.
Hestia eyed those droplets with disdain.
If she wasn’t careful, he would drown her.
For centuries, Poseidon had remained here in the water. King to his merpeople, forgotten by earthlings and utterly bored. Truly, nothing had entertained him. Not peace and prosperity. Not storms, famine and war. Then, a few months ago by the Atlantean calendar, two of his mermaids had told him of dissent in Atlantis. Atlantis, a place he’d forgotten completely over the years. A place they’d all forgotten.
A place that belonged to them.
He’d slipped inside, observed unnoticed for a bit, surprised to find the creatures thriving. Curious about their reaction to him, he’d finally announced himself. Still bored, he’d begun moving the citizens about like chess pieces, pitting the dragons against the nymphs and watching the strong, determined warriors resort to battle in their need to protect their females and homes. But in the end they hadn’t killed each other as he’d anticipated. Hadn’t really even argued. They’d reached a treaty, baffling him.
The unpredictability had been delightful. And just like that, all of his ennui had melted away.
Other gods, as bored with their routines as he had been, noticed the abrupt change in his mood. It wasn’t as though he could hide it. The churning waters had settled into calm serenity. His four unexpected guests soon had arrived here, wanting to know the source of his joy. I should have lied. Told them anything but Atlantis.
That fateful day of their arrival was burned inside his head.
You can’t just waltz inside, he’d said after his confession—and their subsequent desire to do as he’d done—wanting to keep his new favorite toy to himself.
Why not? Hestia had anchored her hands on her wonderfully flared hips. You did.
Yes, and we can’t toss another surprise at them. That would be cruel.
Ares had snorted. Like you’re all flowers and sunshine. We’re going in, and you can’t stop us.
His hands had fisted in frustration. What do you hope to gain with this visit? Just as we once forgot the Atlanteans, they have now forgotten us. You will not be worshipped in their realm, nor will you be thanked for your reappearance.
Apollo had shrugged, the dire warning of no concern to him. I want to know how my nymphs have fared without me. I should not have abandoned them as I did and wish to make amends.
His nymphs? His? They were made with equal measures of all of us, Poseidon had reminded him with irritation. But if he were honest, he would admit that some races tended to favor one god above the rest, as though a war had raged during their creation and certain characteristics had defeated all others. Besides, they have flourished despite your neglect. They are happy now and would despise any interference.
As they despised yours? Apollo splayed his arms. Doesn’t matter. They fared better than most, I’m sure.
What’s that supposed to mean? Artemis had asked. If a creature resembles you, it’s better than all those around it?
Thus had begun a spirited hour-long debate about the strengths of each race, the weaknesses of each race and whom each race took after, finally culminating in an annoyed yet excited announcement from Ares. Enough! Arguing solves nothing. Let’s put them on trial, shall we?
What do you propose? Hestia had asked hesitantly.
Simply that we put our opinions to the ultimate test with a little wager. We’ll take two of every race—unmated,