who kept his eye on the prize and did what was necessary to win it. In this case, the prize was Delilah's heart.
"We should find and kill the beast," she said, sitting up.
He kissed her softly. Her skin was cold, and she did not respond as she once had. "I love you," he told her, words he'd never thought to utter again.
She opened her mouth - to rebuke him, he was sure, so he placed a finger over her lips. "Shh. Don't waste your strength."
She shrugged as if she didn't care one way or another, but there was something in her eyes...a spark of something hot. Was she feeling? Was it possible?
"Close your eyes and rest, sweet." He draped an arm around her, surprised when she obeyed. "You're safe."
"I am tired," she said with a sigh. Just like that, her body sagged into unconsciousness. There were no fears to keep her awake, no desire to cause her to ache. Only a void to tug her under, into nothingness, as if she had lost even her will to live. Had he imagined that spark?
Layel swallowed the hard lump in his throat and stood. Darkness was thicker than a blanket as he strode forward, pushing through the trees, not noticing as the branches slapped and cut him.
When he was far enough away that Delilah wouldn't be able to hear him if she awoke, he dropped to his knees. He jerked the shirt from his torso and tossed it aside.
Hestia, the bitch, clearly wanted Delilah to win. And though it angered Layel to agree with her, his wishes now aligned with her own. Layel had thought to win the competition himself, but now knew he couldn't do it. If Delilah won, she would keep her life and could demand as her boon the return of her emotions, her will to live. But he would die. There had to be a way to save them both.
"Hestia, goddess of hearth and home," he cried. "I come before you as your humble servant, my heart heavy and my greatest wish to beg an audience."
A minute edged by, then another. There was nothing, no pickup in the wind, no dancing of the trees, no singing of insects.
"Please," Layel gritted out. He had hated the gods all these years. After Susan died, he had begged like this, pleaded for her life, and he had been ignored. Now he had Delilah and he intended to keep her for as long as he lived. As far as he was concerned, the gods owed him one. "Show yourself!" he shouted then, respect and decorum forgotten. "You want victory? Well, you will not get it. Not without my aid. You will lose. You will - "
"I will not lose," an angry voice said from behind him.
Layel was on his feet and spinning in an instant. His heart hammered erratically when he saw that Hestia stood before him, draped in a white robe and holding a spear. The goddess glowed with the force of her power, obviously no longer content to hide behind a veil of secrecy. But though her might had never been more evident, Layel was encouraged by the fact that she had heeded his call.
"Forgive me for my outburst." He forced his head to bow. For Delilah. "I was desperate to reach you."
The goddess sighed and was suddenly right in front of him, her sandals pressed against his boots. She smelled of the sea. "What do you want from me, vampire king?" Though he never saw her move, she was behind him again when the last word was spoken.
His jaw tightened. "I ask that you return Delilah's emotions to her."
"Why would I be so foolish as to agree to that? With them as her guide, she chose you over victory. An intolerable decision."
"Yes, but without them, she chooses nothing. She is no use to you now. She doesn't want victory. She wants only to sleep."
His knees were suddenly kicked from behind and he found himself kneeling again. He didn't fight, didn't complain. He simply ran his tongue over his teeth, the sharpness of them slicing. A pity it was his blood rather than Hestia's, but he knew he could not hurt the goddess without severe consequences.
"Better. I like you like this, vampire. Even a king should learn to show proper respect to the gods."
I hate you. What have you ever done to earn my respect? "Would you be willing to consider a trade?"