Just a little closer, fire-bastards. Just a little bit
closer.
Hidden by lush, dewy foliage, Layel watched as the dragon
army marched through the detestably named Forest of Dragons.
Where they were going, he didn't know. Why they
were going, he didn't know, either. He only knew that he was
going to relieve them of their burden. A youngβ
human?βfemale was bound and gagged inside a portable prison.
That prison was balanced by two wooden beams slung over
several of the warriors' shoulders, swaying with their
movements.
Obviously, she was their enemy.
He didn't know the girl, but a dragon's enemy was his
dearest friend. And he didn't like his friends being bound.
The dragons continued to march forward, slowly, steadily. He
motioned for his own army to hold⦠remain composed. They
obeyed without hesitation. Since that dark day two hundred
years ago, he had happily led his men with an iron
fistβstraight into a never-ending war. His will was not
questioned. Ever. Not without severe consequences.
"β¦ not going to end well," Brand, second-in-command of the
dragon soldiers, was saying. Golden light seeped from the
crystal dome that surrounded all of Atlantis, forming a halo
around his pale, braided hair and disgustingly handsome
features.
Brand was strong, brave, loyal to his king, kind to his
people. A pity he was a dragon. Had he been born even a
demon, Layel thought perhaps he would have liked him. As it
was, he wanted Brand alive long enough to take a mate. A
mate Layel would then steal. Brand would suffer, for a
little while at least, and then Layel would gut him.
Brand had not been one of the warriors present all those
years agoβnone of the warriors here had been present, for
Layel had slaughtered them all. Remembering their deaths, he
smiled. Not all of them had faded quickly. Some he had
lingered over, enjoying their pain, taking his time with
every slice and bite.
Still, killing those responsible hadn't been enough. Not for
the horrendous crimes that had been committed against Susan.
Hadn't he been blamed for the actions of others? It was only
fair to use that same logic against the dragons.
Only when Layel had obliterated the entire race would Susan
be avenged. And only then would Layel deserve to join her in
the hereafter.
Soon, my love. Soon.
"If her sisters see her like this, there will be a war," a
dragon called Renard said.
Renard was a dark-haired tyrant who, Layel knew, had studied
how best to kill every race in Atlantis. The demons, the
nymphs, the centaurs, the gorgons and all the other
creatures the gods had deemed mistakes in their quest to
create humans. Of them all, Renard hated vampires most and
was always eager for a fight.
Eager himself, Layel ran his tongue over his elongated teeth.
"What else could we do?" an irritated voice proclaimed.
Tagart. Untamed, almost feral, with black hair and an even
blacker heart. He was loyal to no one and was even jealous
of his own king. "One more word out of that girl's mouth and
I would have cut out her tongue. We
had to gag her."
All of the soldiers nodded. Each was taller and more muscled
than the last, and each had a long, menacing sword strapped
to his bare back, nestled between the slits that hid his
wings. Layel collected those swords and hung them on his
walls as trophies. He used their bones as furniture.
"Whatever our reasons for binding her, they won't
understand. Even though we're taking her back to them. Kind
of. If we can find their camp." Brand again. "She's their
beloved, their future queen."
Sisters⦠beloved⦠queen.
Amazons, Layel realized.
His lips curled in another slow grin. Fierce creatures, the
Amazons. Devoted to each other, bloodthirsty, though they
mostly kept to themselves unless provoked. Oh, yes. And
vicious. Legend claimed that anyone who threatened an Amazon
would soon find his deepest fear bearing down on him. A
shadow, a determined phantom that would devour him whole.
Yes, the stories of their conquests were endless, though
Layel himself had never fought one, never tasted one. He had
no interest in doing so, either. Always before, they had
been a nonentity to him, unworthy of his time or
consideration, for he existed simply to torment the dragons.
Nothing more.
But now his mind whirled with ways he might be able to use
them. Perhaps he should not liberate this captive, after
all. Perhaps
he should find the Amazon camp, lie
and tell them the dragons meant the girl harm, perhaps meant
to kill her in front of them. The dragons would have their
asses handed to them by little girls. Now wouldn't that just beβ
A loud, piercing war cry sounded.
What seemed like hundreds of warrior women but could only
have been a handful suddenly burst from the trees. They were
scantily dressed, breasts covered by thin strips of leather,
waist and thighs covered by some type of frayed skirt. The
vast expanse of skin visible was painted in blue, the color
marking royalty.
"Big mistake, dragons," a woman shouted.
"Your
last mistake," another called.
What a bright day this was turning out to be. Layel would
not have to search for the Amazons, after all.
Blades were anchored to their muscular arms and legs, and
death radiated from their fierce expressions. Most were as
tall as the dragons, but a few were petite, almost⦠fragile
looking.
In the span of a single heartbeat, a battle was raging
between the two races.
Weapons were twirling, men and women grunting and blood
splattering. The metallic scent wafted to Layel's nostrils,
sweet and tangy. He breathed it in deeply, felt it sweep
through his entire body, fuse with sinew and bone and ignite
a guttural hunger.
"Now!" Layel shouted to his men.
Together, they rushed forward. How he would have loved to
simply materialize in the midst of battle, but he could not.
None of them could. Well, not if they hoped to survive. A
vampire could materialize anywhere he wanted with only a
thought, but there were consequences. Once they reached
their destination, they were drained. Exhausted. Unable to
move for hours. Escape was the only time the ability proved
useful, and he didn't want to escape this.
As he reached the dragon masses, sword swinging, slicing,
light from the upper dome warmed his sensitive skin, all the
hotter as it blended with the dragons' kiss of fire. He did
not allow either to slow him, however. Sweat streaked down
his chest and back. His wrist flicked left and right in
constant motion, giving his blade a fluidity that cut
through dragon flesh as smoothly as if it were cutting
through water.
He reveled in every drop of crimson that he spilled,
rejoiced with every body that fell. Every pain-entrenched
shout brought a new smile to his lips. More than anything,
he loved seeing his opponents' golden eyes as their minds
registered his blow. They always widened; horror always
filled them. The light inside always died right along with them.
Later, when the fighting was done, he would have to stalk
through the masses and remove their heads. Dragons, like
vampires, healed quickly. He liked to eliminate any
possibility of regeneration. But right now, with fire
dancing in every direction, he could only cut their decayed
hearts in half.
Two dragons rushed him from different angles.
Ducking low, he arced his sword forward with one hand,
slashing through one warrior's stomach while withdrawing a
dagger from his waist with his other hand, then reaching
out, leaning⦠stretching⦠and stabbing the second warrior in
the groin. There was an unholy scream.
Both warriors collapsed.
Grinning, he leapt back into motion. Someone swept in front
of him and managed to nick his side. He hissed, saw that one
of his men, Zane, was already chopping his way forward to
aid him. Layel didn't go in for the kill himself but kicked
the dragon in the stomach, sending him flying in Zane's
direction. Seeing this, the battle-hungry vampire spun,
sword singing with lethal menace.
Seconds before the dragon's head rolled, he unleashed a
blistering stream of flames. As the body dropped, those
flames found a target on Layel's cheek. He wiped at the
charred, sizzling skin. Felt a warm trail of dragon blood
drip down his arm. Grinned again. He still held the dagger
and the blade gleamed a vivid crimson.
"You are well, yes?" Zane asked him, breath sawing in and out.
He nodded.
More. Need more. Needed to inflict more
injury, more carnage. His focus landed on a nearby dragon
already engaged in a fierce fight with a vampire. Layel
stalked forward and swung, gutting the creature without
warning. There was a grunt, a jerk. The body toppled. Did
Layel mind striking from behind? Never. Fighting fairly
would ensure nothing but failure.
Another dragon railed at him. Moving faster than the eye
could see, he stabbed the bastard in the belly, pulled out,
stabbed in the heart, pulled out again and stabbed in the
neck. Only three seconds had passed. Too quick, too easy, he
thought.
More.
Brand, ripping an Amazon off his chest and tossing her to
the ground, came into view. Yes, Layel thought, tracing his
tongue over his sharpened teeth in anticipation. That one.
That one would die today. No more waiting. He would not
simply incapacitate the bastard; he would kill.
Layel kicked and bit his way through the ranks, gaze locked
on the dragon captain. Halfway there, he heard a growl
behind him, pivoted to dispatch the threat swiftly and
return his attention to Brand. But his sword slashed and
clanged against another sword, jarring him. No easy,
unprepared kill this time, apparently.
He blinked as an Amazon swirled in front of him, swinging at
him a second time.
Clink. Scowling, he blocked her
third thrust.
Clang.
"I do not wish to hurt you," he gritted out.
"How admirable," she replied drilyβbefore swinging at him again.
He twisted to the side, barely escaping the sharp tip. Had
she just mocked him?
Wind gusted past them, lifting her cerulean-colored hair off
her face. Suddenly Layel was granted a full view of
breathtaking, incomparable beauty. Beauty even the war paint
couldn't hide. Beauty that nearly felled him. Definitely
rendered him dumb, for he ceased moving. Brand who?
Layel hadn't taken the time to appreciate the beauty of a
woman in two hundred years, yet he was helpless to do
anything but drink this one in, this fantasy come to life.
It was as though she exuded somethingβ¦magical? Something
that forced the eye to her. Something that would not release
its hold. But Amazons weren't able to weave spells. Only
dragons could.
He continued his scrutiny of her, searching for signs of a
dragon relative. Her eyes were so bright a violet they
sparkled like freshly polished amethysts. Long black lashes.
Slightly rounded cheeks. Flawless, bronzed skin where the
paint had washed away. Unlike most of her hulking sisters,
she was of the petite variety, barely reaching his
shoulders. No, no dragon.
From her fluid grace to her perfect curves, she was sensual
and exotic, ready for a bedding rather than a battle.
"You should not be here. I could have killed you, woman." He
didn't mind killing females, had done so on many occasions,
but it would have been a shame to destroy something so
lovely. His jaw clenched as he realized exactly what he was
thinking. Damn her. He did not regard women with any kind of
desire. Not anymore.
One corner of her lush, red mouth kicked up, causing his
stomach to tighten. "Please," she said, voice sultry, like a
dream. "You'll need a few centuries' more sword practice
before you have the skill to eliminate me, vampire." She
swung at him yet again, this time aiming for his neck.
There were no creatures faster than the vampires, and he
managed to arch backward with swift precision as the blade
soared just over his nose. "And you fancy yourself my tutor?
I think not." But he admired her confidence.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded. Another swing.
Another block. "Helping you."
A tinkling laugh escaped her, floating over his skin with
the surety of a lover's caress. His stomach tightened again.
He scowled, mouth thinning over razor-sharp teeth. How was
she affecting him like this?
He had not experienced even a single wisp of need
sinceβ
do not think of Susan. You will lose focus.
Growling, he swung at the Amazon. She blocked the harder
blow and frowned. Better. A frown was better than a laugh.
And so he did it again. Slashed at her, using all of his
might. When their swords next met, both of their bodies
vibrated from the impact.
Her delicate nose twitched. In irritation? Amusement? Delight?
Surely not the latter two.
"This is how you help me?" she demanded.
"No. That was me, helping myself. Now this is me, helping
you." With a swift jerk of his arm, he tossed his
dagger. The tip embedded in the neck of the dragon racing
toward her from behind. "See the difference?"
She spun, surveyed the fallen, dying warrior. When she faced
Layel again, there was no longer any question about what
emotion she experienced. Irritation. "Well, we don't need
your help and will not grant you any type of boon for
offering it."
"Your gratitude is humbling. Fortunately, cutting out the
hearts of my enemies is boon enough for me."
The pink tip of her tongue emerged and traced over those
lush lips, smearing war paint. All the while she eyed
his lips. Had his words⦠excited her? Shock rooted
him in place, staying his sword. Such depravity should have
disgusted her. And her excitement should have disgusted him.
Should have.
He hissed at her, suddenly as desperate to get away from her
as he was to dispatch the dragon army. "Get in my way again,
Amazon, and I will take
you down." Perhaps he would
not need to, he thought, before he could turn from her.
Already another dragon closed in behind her.
Layel's vehemence seemed to shake her out of her inactivity.
She returned his hiss with one of her own. "Try, and you'll
die like the dragons." As she spoke, she stabbed behind her,
sinking the apex of her sword into the very dragon that had
been sneaking up on her. She gave a twist of her wrist,
digging her weapon deeper, causing even more pain for the
injured man.
Her gaze never left Layel.
The warrior fell to the ground, a final gasp echoing from him.
Layel didn't waste another moment. He moved around and
behind the woman and her lethal beauty, knowing he was
nothing more than a blur to her. She didn't have time to
turn when he kicked out his leg. Contact. Her ankles knocked
together. She grunted and toppled to her knees. But she was
back on her feet in the next instant, spinning around and
glaring at him.
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