The Vampire's Bride. Gena Showalter
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if she’d already visited it in her dreams. A seemingly never-ending expanse of blue—sky. Fat, puffy white masses—clouds. A glowing orange ball—the sun.
“I think…I think we are on the surface world.” How? Why? “I know we could tolerate the daylight under the dome, but the sun’s light must be stronger. Harsher. And the weapons? Vanished.”
“Surface?” Zane’s mouth fell open in a mirror of Layel’s expression.
“We must find shade. Now.”
“Our battle—”
“Can wait.”
Together they backed up, neither willing to give the other creatures their backs, shield or not, and moved into the thicket of trees. Instantly Layel’s body cooled.
He sighed. “We will remain in the forest until we figure out what’s going on.” Even if that meant avoiding the dragons. Right now they seemed to have the advantage, the sun caressing them like lovers rather than hated foes.
“We should make new weapons,” Zane said.
“Yes.” But he didn’t move another inch. Could barely form a coherent thought. The blue-haired Amazon had just popped to a stand, her eyes wild. She reached for something at her waist—probably a blade—found nothing, and scowled. Like him, like Zane, she patted herself down. Also like the both of them, she found herself completely unarmed.
Someone had taken all their weapons.
He watched as she spun in a circle, studying, gaping. When she spotted the other Amazon, she rushed forward.
“Nola!” she cried, so loudly Layel had no trouble hearing her from his new sanctuary. She bent down, locks of silky hair tumbling over her shoulders, and shook her sister.
The dark-haired female moaned and rubbed at her forehead, eyelids cracking open. “Delilah?”
Delilah. The name played through his mind. Delilah…Delilah…soft, feminine, exotic. A name that bespoke midnight fantasies and insatiable passion. A name that could send the strongest of men to their knees. When the thought registered, Layel stiffened. I will never speak that name aloud, he vowed. Too…dangerous.
“I’m here,” the woman in question said. “Right here.”
The one called Nola massaged her temples, her lips pulled in a tight, pained frown. “What happened?”
No doubt it was a question everyone on the beach would ask.
“I wish I knew.” Delilah looked left and right, searching again, gauging, and then she was staring over at Layel, the shadows nothing to her.
The force of that violet gaze jolted him. Made his muscles jump. For a moment, he was light-headed again and there was a pain in his chest, exactly where his heart resided, as though it were once again healthy and whole. How was she doing this?
Apparently he wasn’t the only one suffering a strange response. The Amazon’s pulse pounded in her neck—he couldn’t see it, but he could sense it, hear it—every erratic beat like a summoning finger. His mouth watered, preparing to feast even though he had gorged himself during battle. When he sank his teeth into that woman he would…His jaw clenched painfully. What are you doing? You will never taste her. Since Susan’s death, the only blood he allowed himself was the blood of his enemies. And the supply was vast. He was never without, didn’t need to take from anyone else.
Who was this Amazon, that she was able to tempt him to forget? She was lovely, yes, but she wasn’t Susan. Would never be his sweet, gentle Susan. And he would not defile his love’s memory with fanciful thoughts of another.
Delilah pounded toward him. “Who did this to us? How were we brought here? Do you know?”
Layel ignored her. Her raspy voice was as seductive as her body and he’d already made the mistake of softening toward her several times. He would not do so again. Being polite to her would encourage familiarity between them when he craved only distance.
“Vampire.”
He turned his face away from her, wondering how she’d breached the invisible wall. Do not even think of her. All of the creatures had risen and were now pairing off, growling and hissing at their enemies, though none could seem to get within striking distance. Unlike Delilah, they were met with the same obstruction he had encountered.
“Demons,” Zane suddenly spat. He marched forward, his intent to slaughter evident with every step, their agreement to remain in the shade obviously forgotten. When he, too, hit the clear barrier, he paused and shook his head. Banged his fist against it once, twice. Paused again. Screeched an unholy sound of frustration. A second later, he attacked the air with a vengeance, screaming curses and promises of brutality all the while, oblivious to the cruel sun.
Layel didn’t even try to rein in the vampire’s rage. They had been together only a few months, and in that time he had learned that Zane could not be subdued until exhaustion gripped him. The male had spent centuries as a demon queen’s consort—willing or unwilling, Layel didn’t know. He only knew the experience had left the warrior wild, uncontrollable, and so volatile Layel only utilized him during battle.
There was no better killer than Zane.
Layel waited until the warrior’s actions slowed and his screams quieted. An eternity, surely. He strode to him, away from the Amazon, and placed a warning hand on one of Zane’s tense shoulders.
Panting, the vampire whipped to face him, fangs bared to bite. Zane stopped himself in time, and Layel withdrew his hand, his point made.
“For some reason, we cannot hurt them.” Yet. “You must remain calm.”
“I want those demons on a pike,” the warrior snarled.
“And I want the dragons’ heads to roll.”
Silence enveloped them as they stared at each other in understanding. Their enemies might be different, but their pain was not. Layel only wished he knew what had been done to the warrior.
Finally Zane nodded. But a muscle ticked below his left eye, contradicting the easy acceptance. “What should we do?”
“We shall learn the layout of this land.” Maybe they would find the perfect place to ambush the others. If the invisible wall did not stop them again. “Maybe as we do so, we will learn the reason we were brought here.”
“Where are my weapons?” Brand suddenly shouted, drawing Layel’s attention. The dragon soldier was searching the sand for his blades, grains flying in every direction. “Tell me or I will burn this—”
“Mine are missing, as well,” Tagart growled. His side no longer bled. Unfortunately, he’d already healed.
“Look!” someone said, their shock cutting through the commotion.
“Is that…Can it be…?”
Intrigued, Layel twisted. He found himself peering at a large crystal dome several miles away, which stretched above the rolling waves and momentarily blighted the luminous rainbow that glittered at the water’s edges.
Atlantis, he realized, dread curling his stomach. How was that possible? It lay far beneath the surface world. But he was looking right at it, standing on land he’d only ever heard stories about. Wasn’t he?
Could their hidden world be tiered, with layers he had not known about? Could he still be inside Atlantis, just in another part? If so, there would be a way home. He had only to find it. Perhaps the same way he’d gotten here—the tunnel that had tugged him down, down, down.
How had he stumbled upon the tunnel, though? A god? They were certainly powerful enough to create such a transport, moving more than a dozen creatures from one location to another in seconds, stealing their weapons and erecting a shield to prevent them from killing one another.
Could it be?
The gods were