The Vampire's Bride. Gena Showalter
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would—or could—ever mention aloud. Not if she wanted the respect of her tribe. She was a warrior; they all were. Battle came first. Love, never.
Besides, she’d tried love. Or at least, had given herself to a man. He hadn’t been forced to accept her. Hadn’t been picked during the Ceremony of the Chosen, where Amazons decided which slaves to bed. No, she’d met him on the battlefield. She’d gone to stab him and he’d kissed her. Intrigued, flattered, she’d let him live, had even snuck out of camp later that night to see him. You’re the one for me, he’d told her. I knew it the first moment I saw you. But after the loving had finished, he’d walked away and had never looked back. She’d been nothing more than a passing fancy, an enemy to use, a woman to sate himself on and, later, a bad memory to bury.
Her fault, though. If she hadn’t secretly watched other races over the years, melting at the sight of men fighting for their women, doing anything and everything to protect them, the need for a love of her own wouldn’t have sprouted. A need that was a clear violation of the third commandment: if you begin to desire more than a bedding from a man, kill him or he’ll take you from your sisters, betray you.
A rage-drenched snarl resounded through the forest, claiming her attention. She thrust her sword forward, twisted the hilt, then slammed it backward. Both in front of and behind her, a dragon warrior dropped at her feet.
Another dragon sprinted toward her. Silly men. They were strong soldiers. She knew that, had fought a few of them before, but she was stronger. Despite her delicate appearance.
Delilah raised her dagger, ready to meet this new opponent. One of her sisters stepped in his path, however, and the two became locked in a fierce battle of clanging, sparking metal. All too soon, the weaker, still-in-training Nola fell against the brute’s powerful sword thrusts. The man threw his sword aside, ready to use his meaty hands.
The first commandment: always aid a sister in need.
Steps sure and quick, Delilah reached her sister’s side—only to realize proudly that she needn’t have bothered. The Amazon shot to her feet and met the dragon warrior’s fists with a high kick. He grunted, stumbled.
Nola is fine, and you have a mission. Delilah turned, eyeing the macabre scene before her. Blood, grunting, collapsing bodies. All necessary. She had come here for a specific reason: to find and rescue her sister by race, Lily.
Where are you now, sweet Lily? Before attacking the dragons, Delilah had seen her in the cage. Since then, there had been no sign of the girl. Come on. Show yourself. Lily had disappeared a week ago, and they’d tracked her to the dragon palace and followed the warriors into this forest. Better to ambush them there. Whether the dragons had taken her or she’d gone willingly was not important. They had bound her hands and mouth. They had imprisoned her.
For the first, they would suffer. For the second, they would die.
Lily was a child, an innocent, and their future queen. Delilah—and all Amazons—doted on the girl. At thirteen, she was charming, precious, amusing. Everything the rest of the Amazons were not.
Bring my baby home, the queen had instructed Delilah, her chin trembling. Seeing the usually staid Kreja near tears had been a torture all its own. You know what to do with those who harm her even in the slightest way.
Every warrioress fighting this battle would do anything, everything, to preserve Lily’s sweet innocence—if the dragons had not destroyed it already. If they had…Fury clouded Delilah’s vision, winking red and black.
Concentrate. Several warriors had already morphed into their animal form, flesh replaced with scales, serrated tails whipping back and forth, wings flapping and claws slashing. They would be harder to kill that way, but she relished the challenge.
From the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of white hair and glowing crystalline eyes framed by long black lashes. Features almost too pretty to be male. Sensual, exotic. Her heart gave a strange leap. The vampire who’d knocked her to the ground. He could have been the god of wickedness and temptation, and she would not have been surprised.
What was his name? The question whispered through her mind before she could stop it. He doesn’t matter, remember? Why, then, could she not tear her gaze from him?
He disappeared in the midst of the crowd. Two enemy warriors clomped toward him, their bodies monstrous and scaled, faces elongated and teeth like sabers. Would the vampire be strong enough to fight them both?
As excited as she was by the thought of his success, a part of her was…scared? Her brow furrowed. No. That wasn’t possible. Nothing scared her. Not battle, not pain, not death. Yet she couldn’t deny the unsteady rhythm of her heart just then. What if the vampire was struck down? There were so many around him, all going for his neck.
Delilah’s attention again snagged on Nola, who still fought a few inches away and was not faring as well as Delilah had hoped. Nola was not one of her closest friends, was too solitary to have any friends, but the tribe came first. Always.
Shoving the vampire from her mind once and for all, Delilah leapt at the dragon engaging her sister, propelling him to the ground and allowing Nola to finally sink her blade into his chest.
He roared. “Damn it, woman!” He lay there, panting, intermittingly staring at his chest and Nola with fury, but he didn’t get up again. “That hurt.”
“Good.” Ninth commandment: never leave a fight without first injuring your opponent in some way. Delilah whipped around, ready to fell another. But once again, she found herself searching for the vampire. Not forgotten, after all. Surrounded by countless adversaries as he was, he would surely be cut down. Despite the prowess he’d demonstrated, he was only a man. A breathtaking, commanding man, but as fallible as all his brethren.
Panting, Nola followed the line of Delilah’s gaze. “Shall we cut out his heart?”
“Don’t even scratch him. The vampire is mine,” she said, the words tumbling from her before she could stop them. Fifth commandment: what’s yours is your sisters’. Nola had just as much right to him as she did.
There was a shocked pause. “The chaste Delilah finally chooses a male? I must meet him.” Nola rushed forward and inserted herself into the throng of Amazons, dragons and vampires. The latter two attempted to shoo her away while continuing to fight each other. Their lack of attention cost them, and they began falling like raindrops during a storm, her sword flashing like lightning.
Did Nola plan to win the vampire for herself? At first, Delilah stood unmoving in astonishment. Stoic Nola always kept to herself, had never fought for a male prisoner and only warred when commanded, despite her growing skill. By nature, she was a watcher, not a doer. She would not want the vampire. Would she?
Perhaps I am not the only one fascinated by his strength. Seething with sudden fury, Delilah stalked forward. What she would do when she reached the thick of the fray, she didn’t know. If only cleaving Nola’s head from her body were an option.
The illicit thought had her gasping. Were she to say something like that aloud, she would be sentenced to death.
Someone pushed her to the ground before she’d gotten halfway to her target. The vampire had done the same and it had excited her. This…didn’t. She rolled to her back. There was no time to rage, though, as this newest threat leapt on top of her and pinned her. She looked up and saw that it was the last dragon she’d stabbed. He’d already partially healed—and clearly wanted more. She wiggled her arm free to slice him.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said, fingers clamping around her wrist.
“Oh, yes, I do.” She worked one of her legs between them and kicked him in the face. His body twisted to the side, lifting his weight, freeing her. She stood, kicked him once more, aiming for his oozing wound. He jerked, then stilled, eyes closed. Satisfied he wouldn’t come for her again, she marched away, catching sight of the vampire and watching him move with lethal grace and fluidity, his weapons extensions of his arms, as if he had been born with