LITMIR.BIZ

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let’s find the others and go home.”

      WHILE THE BATTLE CONTINUED to rage, Layel searched the clearing for the blue-haired warrioress but saw no sign of her. He was surprisingly disappointed, which was completely unacceptable. First desire, now a craving to see her?

      Hopefully she had been slain. Yes, hopefully, he thought, though some hidden part of him screamed no. Better she die in battle than torment Layel’s mind a second more. His thoughts belonged to Susan. Only Susan.

      “I should have known you’d be nearby,” a voice snapped behind him.

      Layel rotated and found himself facing both Brand and Tagart. Finally. Oh, finally. They were still in human form, more vulnerable to attack. He grinned slowly, raising one arm and pointing, blood dripping from his hand. He’d abandoned his blades a while ago, preferring to make the kills more personal with nails and teeth. “You.”

      “Yes, me. It’s time to end this, Layel,” Brand said.

      “Your friends tasted good,” he said, wiping his mouth and knowing he smeared more crimson across his face. “But I think the two of you will taste better.”

      A black curtain of rage fell over Tagart’s blood-splattered features. The warrior’s stomach was sliced open and bleeding, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Killing you is going to be a pleasure, vampire.”

      “A pity you think so, as you’ll never be granted the opportunity to see it through.”

      A muscle ticked below Brand’s eye. “You’ll suffer for all you’ve done to our friends and all you plan to do to us, vampire. You know that, do you not?”

      “I know nothing of the kind. It’s because I suffer that I’ve done all I have to your friends. And, yes, I have loved every moment of this.” Layel might have killed the dragons that raped and burned Susan, might have taken some of them to his dungeon and tortured them for weeks before delivering the final blow, but he didn’t think he would ever tire of hurting their brothers by race.

      Truly, he lived for one purpose: to wipe out their entire lineage.

      “You invite war!” Brand snapped.

      “Funny, I thought I had invited it two hundred years ago. Did you just now receive your invitation?”

      “I did. And here’s my acceptance.” Tagart stalked several steps forward before Brand grabbed his arm, holding him still. The dark warrior looked ready to shake off his commander’s grip and attack.

      “Not yet,” Brand said. Then he roared loud and long, morphing into his dragon visage. His clothing ripped away, floating to the ground, and green scales overtook his skin. A snout lengthened his face, claws stretched from his fingers and his teeth sharpened to dripping points. Wings sprouted from his back, gossamer and clear, deceptively innocent as they spread toward the trees. Tagart’s transformation quickly followed.

      “Come and get me, little hatchlings,” Layel told them.

      A spew of fire, then Brand and Tagart were flying toward him. Layel sprang at them, ready, so ready. “Susan!” he shouted. His war cry. A constant reminder of what had been taken from him, of what he fought for, of what he would die for.

      Except he never reached the warriors.

      Midway, Layel’s entire world blackened and crumbled piece by piece into nothingness. Nothing around him, nothing in front of or behind him. The ground, his only solid anchor, opened up and swallowed him, his body suddenly careening down a long, dark void. Round and round he twirled. Grunting, he flailed for another anchor but discovered only capricious air.

      Ignoring the panic sweeping through him, he forced his breathing to slow, his heart to cease its erratic patter. Transport. Now! He tried, but a moment passed and nothing happened; he continued to fall, his body a solid mass. Teeth grinding together, he spread his arms and attempted to fly. But the invisible chain tugged him down…down…down…never slowing, refusing to relinquish its hold on him.

      Shock and rage joined the panic and sped through him with sickening intensity. He didn’t know what was happening, didn’t know how it was happening. Only that he could not stop it.

      His hand slapped into something hard. A man, he realized. A man’s chest. The male grappled for him, fingers clawing for purchase. Layel hissed, his arm soon ripped to shreds. Thankfully, he spun out of reach—and slammed into the softness of a woman’s body. She gasped, the sound low, frightened. How many? he wondered, even as he hit—a horse? There was a whinny.

      Someone screamed. Someone else whimpered. All the while they continued to plummet, no landing in sight.

      IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FOREST, Delilah shoved Lily behind her back. Danger suddenly lurked nearby. She could sense it, almost smell it as a presence, a power, thickened the air.

      “What’s wrong?” Lily whispered, her terror palpable.

      “Stay behind me.” Delilah reclaimed the daggers she’d used to slay the dragons, her grip tight. Where are you? She scanned trees, leaves, shadows. There, to the right, something was rattling branches together. Her lids narrowed, eyes focusing, but she couldn’t make out a form. Just—

      A gasp tore from her lips as that something sprang into view, as clear as the air she breathed but thicker, like water. She had no time to react, no way to attack. Then it was there, right in front of her, consuming her, sucking her into a black hole.

      “Lily!” she screamed, daggers ripping from her hands as she thrashed her arms, desperate for some type of security. She found nothing. Only air. The more she tumbled, the more wave after wave of dizziness assaulted her, slamming with enough force to double her over. Shouts, grunts and groans pierced her ears, as discordant as the bells that tolled when an Amazon died.

      “Lily!”

      “Amazon,” a familiar male voice called, rising above the chaos.

      “Vampire?” Her heartbeat should not have calmed. The sweat just beginning to bead over her skin shouldn’t have cooled, but it did. She shouldn’t have been relieved, but she was. As she grappled for him—a touch, she only needed a touch—her head slammed into what must be a jagged rock and she grunted, thrown from the vampire by the force.

      Stars winked over her eyes, the white lights thickening, expanding, becoming all that she saw. Somehow that light was more terrifying than the darkness, a ray of hope dashed in the cruelest way.

      “Reach for me,” the vampire commanded.

      “Can’t,” she tried to say, but the word congealed in her throat.

      In the end, she didn’t have to reach for him. She hit another wall and flew forward. Their bodies collided, knocking the air right out of her lungs. Instantly the terrible white faded into welcome darkness. All of Delilah’s muscles slackened and her head lolled against something hard. The vampire’s fingers latched around her arm, hot and strong and more necessary than breathing. She wrapped herself around him, wanting to cling to him forever.

      Take what you want. It’s yours. The sixth commandment rang in her head. She knew beyond any doubt its Amazon creator had not meant snuggling against a male and placing her safety in his hands. Still she held on. Don’t let me go, she thought before slipping into the oblivion.

      Chapter Three

      LAYEL BLINKED open his eyes, murky light coming into focus, a combination of bright and dark, clarity and haziness. Fighting confusion, he groaned against a sharp ache in his temples. Where was he? What had happened? He’d been on a battlefield, yes?

      Yes, he thought, absolutely sure. The scene flashed through his mind: him, rushing toward his enemy, blade raised. Brand and Tagart in dragon form, flying at him, death in their golden eyes. And then he’d been plucked into nothingness.

      Now he was…lying down, he realized. Atop sand. Another ache,

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