The Vampire's Bride. Gena Showalter
Читать онлайн книгу.
passed, two. As he’d hoped, the fog thinned and his thoughts realigned. Had he been injured fatally before reaching Brand and Tagart and now rested in eternity?
Not yet, he nearly screamed. I am not ready. I have not avenged Susan.
Calm. Think. He had been injured, he remembered that. Cut in the chest, one arm shredded. If he was alive, those injuries would still be present. Shaking, he slid one hand under his shirt and rubbed up and down his chest and arm to be sure. Scabs greeted him, and his mouth curved into a half smile.
So…what had happened? he wondered again.
In and out he breathed, the scent of salt and coconut filling his nose. Familiar. The crash of turbulent waves resounded in his ears, washing against the shore. Again, familiar.
Once more he opened his eyes. Slowly this time, allowing the light to reach him gradually. At first he saw only white, puffy…things floating across a limitless expanse of blue. Not familiar. The half-smile mutated into a deep frown. Usually a crystal dome surrounded Atlantis, arching and jagged. Where was he?
Focus. Gingerly, he sat up.
Spots of gold and rose flickered before his vision. In, out, he continued to breathe. When the spots faded, lush palm trees in different shades of green and white, from the brightest emerald to the palest jade and ivory, came into view. He turned his head—and had to massage his temples to tame another sharp ache. Soft sand stretched into clear azure ocean, the water undulating into foam, misting, blushing under the stroking beams of a bright orange…ball.
A ball that burned his skin far worse than the dome ever had, he noted, frown intensifying.
His eyes watered so badly he had to cast his gaze back to the sand. That did not lessen the burn, but the burn soon became the least of his worries. Bodies were scattered throughout the sand. Unconscious. Dead?
Layel remained in place and studied the male closest to him. Zane, he realized, who was no longer cut and bruised. The warrior’s chest was rising and falling, proof he still lived. Thank the gods. Next he saw—he tensed. Several feet away, Brand lay sprawled on his back. Though he had morphed into a dragon during the battle, ripping away his clothing, he was now human and dressed. Beside him sprawled Tagart. Human and dressed, as well.
As though it had never left him, only ebbed to the back of his mind, rage tore through Layel. Rage that their fight had ended so abruptly, rage that the dragons were not dead.
Whatever had happened to bring them to this strange land, Layel suddenly didn’t care. The dragons had to die. Should be dead already. Scowling, he jumped to his feet. He swayed against a surge of dizziness, unsteady, but stumbled forward anyway. He reached for his daggers, every ounce of his determination pulsing from the tips of his fingers.
The blades were gone. A growl echoed in his throat, growing louder, fiercer, when a quick body-pat revealed every piece in his arsenal was gone.
He didn’t slow. Using his teeth to rip out their jugulars would work just as well. Still, a few weapons would have been nice. Just in case. No matter, though.
Almost upon them…almost…he slammed into an invisible barrier.
Every bone in his body vibrated from the impact, and that cursed dizziness again swept through him. He blinked in confusion, lifted his arms and pressed at the air. What in Hades? There was some sort of…shield?
Yes, yes, he realized. That’s exactly what it was. Clear, unseen, and yet solid, preventing him from moving another inch. He banged his fists against it, but it held steady. He clawed at it, but it did not crack. No, it snapped two of his nails from their beds, causing blood to flow down his hands. He rammed his shoulder into it, nearly dislocating the bone, but the shield did not even shake.
Damn this! He would not be denied. Would lose a limb if necessary. What did physical pain matter when faced with such a delightful outcome? As he threw his body against the barrier over and over again, he glared at his still-sleeping enemies. Never had a time been more ripe for vengeance. Soon…
Next to the dragons were two Amazons, one of whom happened to be his bloodthirsty, blue-haired wench. Not mine, he corrected instantly, fervently. But he couldn’t deny the sight of her caused his breath to heat and singe his lungs. Couldn’t deny his blood quickened.
As he’d fallen through that dark void, he’d heard her raspy voice and had grabbed on to her limp body. She’d been warm and soft, a torment to him. And yet, he’d been oddly protective of her, cradling her against him, marveling at her sea-kissed scent as he recalled the way she’d looked at him on the battlefield, as if he were a miracle and a devil wrapped in the same tempting package.
He didn’t recall letting go of her, yet they had clearly been parted. Now, he drank her in when he should have looked away.
She appeared rumpled, as if she’d fallen asleep after a vigorous hour of lovemaking and had only now awakened for more. Her eyes were slightly uptilted, the lids at half-mast and shadowed by long dark lashes. Her nose was small and dainty, her lips still red and lush. And her skin…more was revealed, smooth, amber-rich, each pulse point hammering deliciously. A large bruise covered the left side of her jaw. Her breasts—
Do not think of her like that, you disgusting pile of dragon droppings. Females were off-limits to him.
Layel tore his gaze from the Amazon and renewed his study of the other creatures, only then realizing he’d stopped pounding at the air shield. All were beginning to stir, sitting up and rubbing their faces. He might not be able to reach them—yet—but he could hear them. Moaning soon overshadowed the hum of the waves.
There were two nymphs, a male and a female, pushing to a stand and staring at the beach of creatures in confusion. Around them were one pair each of minotaurs, demons, centaurs, formorians and gorgons, the snakes atop the latter’s heads hissing and baring fangs much sharper than Layel’s. Two of each race. Why two?
What in Hades is going on? he wondered yet again.
The Amazon scrubbed a hand over her delicate face, barely painted now with the remnants of swirling blue designs. Those designs etched onto her temples didn’t smear. Were they tattoos? She was blinking, as though she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.
You’re looking at her again. He growled and returned his attention to the dragons, his rage intensifying. He shoved at the invisible wall. Still there, still unyielding. His fingers were bloodied and tattered now, nearly useless. His shoulder was completely out of its joint.
He needed to think, to plan. More than that, he needed to find shade. What skin was bared now felt as if it were blistered. Probably was. Hating the thought of retreat, hating himself, he edged backward, trying not to draw unwanted attention as he stopped beside Zane and crouched, gripping the vampire’s shoulders and shaking.
Zane’s eyelids popped open and he hissed, swinging a claw in reflex. Quick as a heartbeat, Layel bowed his back, managing to evade a fatal slice to the throat. “Calm,” he commanded quietly.
Seconds passed as the vampire oriented himself. “What happened?” Zane demanded roughly, on his feet a moment later. The consummate warrior, he braced his legs apart as his hands fisted at his sides, prepared to initiate battle. His eyes were dark, flat, and he looked hungry for blood. Like Layel’s, his skin was red, beginning to blister.
“I’m not sure.” Layel rose and motioned to the others with a tilt of his chin. “One moment we were fighting, the next we were not.”
“What is this place?” Zane’s gaze circled the surrounding area. “Why do I feel as though I’m on fire?” He patted himself down, snarled. “And where are my weapons?”
Something Susan had said long ago, after they’d made love out in the open, under Atlantis’s sparkling dome, suddenly drifted through Layel’s mind. His mouth fell open in astonishment. I wish we could travel to the world of my people. Just for a little while. With all the stories my family used to tell me, I think we would love it.