The Vampire's Bride. Gena Showalter
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to kiss her. A bruising, punishing kiss. Please…But a minute ticked by, and he did nothing but glare.
Tired of waiting, she yanked one of her hands free, reached up and sifted strands of his hair through her fingers. “Soft,” she whispered.
“Let go.”
“No.”
“Let go!”
“Make me.”
With another growl, he snapped away from her hold. Away from her, severing any hint of connection. He perched at the end of the branch, his gaze tracing her tattoos with…longing?
No, he wasn’t perched, she realized. He hovered, floating in place. When he realized he was perusing the war designs her commander had gifted her with each time she had proved invaluable in battle, his focus rose to her face, hatred once again gleaming in his eyes, a piercing red lance aimed directly at her.
Strange that it seemed to cut all the way to her soul.
“Do not touch me again.”
“Then do not lie on top of me.” Slowly she sat up, her gaze never leaving him. “Next time, I might not be so gentle with you.”
“Next time, you’ll be dead before you realize I’m nearby.”
She tsked under her tongue, though his words struck deep. “I’m prepared now. You won’t get this close again.”
“We shall see.”
Gods, his arrogance aroused her. Nothing he said was an idle boast. Anything he claimed he could do, well, she knew he possessed the power to do it. She admired that about him. Unfortunately, he admired nothing about her.
What about her upset him so? From the stories she’d heard, he treated only the dragons and their allies with anger. To everyone else, he was polite if distant. No, not true, she thought, playing some of those stories through her head. He loved the nymph king, Valerian, as a brother and had fought beside him on many occasions.
If she gave herself to Layel—don’t think like that, dangerous, you can’t, it’d be the same as before—would his face soften? Would he look at her with admiration? Mirth?
“Why do you hate me?” she asked him curiously.
His head tilted to the side as he studied her. “Why do you care?”
Argh. “Why don’t you fly away and leave me alone?”
“Why don’t you run from me?”
“Why haven’t you kissed me?” The last escaped unbidden, but once said, she did not want to take the words back.
His fangs elongated as he glared at her, vibrant eyes following her tongue as she ran it over her lips, then dipping to her neck.
“Thinking about biting me?” she taunted, unsure why she did so. She had been bitten by a vampire before, a rogue who’d been starving and had ambushed her while she’d been training a group of younger Amazons, and it had not been pleasant. But the thought of Layel’s teeth inside her vein…She shivered at the deliciousness.
His pupils dilated, his gaze dropping again and remaining on her chest. “Your nipples are hard.”
Were they still? She didn’t want to look away from him and was afraid to touch them. They tingled, they ached. For him, only him. “Thank you for noticing.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Incorrigible wench.” He sighed. “A friend of mine taught me the power of bargaining,” he said, “and now I will bargain with you. While we are here, I will stay away from you and, in turn, you will stay away from me. Agreed?”
She tamped down a wave of disappointment. “Decided not to try and kill me after all, then?”
“For now.”
“Can’t stand the thought of being without me?”
“Do you agree?” he insisted, ignoring her question.
“No.” She didn’t hesitate with her answer. “I never bargain.”
One of his brows arched. “Never?”
“Never. Not for anything.” Bargaining meant that she wasn’t strong enough to take what she really wanted, and Delilah refused to show weakness. Well, she refused to show any more. “Now, I’m done playing. Leave, and I won’t hurt you.”
He was in her face in the next instant. “That sounds like a bargain to me.”
His breath was warm, sweetly scented. His parted lips were close to hers…so wonderfully close. His pale skin glowed, nearly translucent in the light of those electric blues.
All of her body tingled, just like her nipples. Her stomach fluttered with a drugging, almost agonizing heat. She hadn’t ever felt like this, not even with Vorik. She ran her tongue along the seam of her mouth again, this time imagining Layel’s tongue in its place. Gods, she craved a taste of him. Just a small taste. Perhaps then her obsession would end. Curiosity only kept him centered in her mind.
Slowly, she leaned toward him. He didn’t meet her halfway, but he didn’t pull away, either. Anticipation swirled through her. Would he allow the touch? “Your lips,” she said.
“What about them?”
“I want them.”
His shoulders straightened with a jolt. “No?” He’d probably meant the denial as a statement, but it emerged as a question.
Closer…a little closer…Still he remained in place. His breath hitched in his throat; she caught the slight sound and reveled in it. Closer…Just before their lips met, however, a harsh male curse echoed through the night—and it wasn’t Layel’s.
Whoever had shouted snapped him from her…spell, he would probably have said. Magic, indeed. How she wished she were capable of wielding enchantments. She would bind this man to the tree, keeping him in place until she at last knew the taste of him.
Layel straightened, fury once again falling over his mesmerizing features, overshadowing any hint of heat. “I let you distract me from my purpose this time. It will not happen again.” And then he was in the air, flying away from her as hastily as if she were a gorgon, able to turn him to stone with a glance.
Delilah sat there a moment, shaken to the core. She would have believed she’d dreamed the entire encounter if not for the fire raging in her blood, infusing all her limbs.
What was she going to do about that man?
LAYEL SOARED through the trees, dewy branches slapping him in the face. He was glad for the sharp sting, for it helped calm his riotous, traitorous body. He was a bastard. Wicked, evil, wanting someone he should not.
Gods, that female…
She was a menace. Yes, a menace. Damn her! Why did she have to smell like rainflowers and look like a goddess? Why did her skin have to appear as smooth as golden velvet? Why did her eyes have to glow so vibrant a violet? She was violent, harsh, as bloodthirsty as any vampire. Unworthy, his mind shouted.
Yet he could not stop thinking of her. Could not stop picturing her, naked and straining against him. Wet, hot, tight. Eager. For him. For his possession.
He should have killed her.
But once again he hadn’t been able to do that. Only the sound of Zane’s curse had stopped him from kissing her, which would have been certain ruination. I am sorry, Susan. So sorry. Not only did I fail you once, I seem to be failing you yet again.
“—only because the gods might place us on the same team,” a woman was snapping. “Otherwise I would slit your throat here and now.”
“Try it and see what happens.” There was fury in Zane’s voice. But also…No, surely not. Surely not confusion. Zane usually revealed only two emotions: desire to kill