meant for him to do. He valued his people; they were his greatest weapon against his enemy. And though he had been teasing, knowing well how loyal his men were, he would not tolerate a new king. It was funny, really, since he'd once abhorred his crown. "If they are the warriors I trained them to be," he continued, "they finished slaughtering the dragons and are now celebrating the victory and planning a search for us."
"A celebration we are missing." A dark glaze spread over Zane's eyes, making the irises as black as onyx. He grabbed and threw another stone. "I hate this place. The demons here..."
"Are yours." When Layel had stormed the demon queen's palace to pilfer her treasury after he'd killed her, he'd found Zane waiting in her bed, naked and oiled so that he would be ready for her pleasure. Clearly he hadn't been forced by physical means to remain there, but his relief at her death had been palpable.
Layel didn't know why he'd been there, seemingly willing; he only knew the warrior's hate was as great as his own.
Zane's wide shoulders relaxed slightly. Until both men caught a glimpse of blue hair several feet away. The owner of that hair never came into sight, limbs and shrubs hiding her as she searched for...weapons? A place to stay? No, his first supposition was right, he mused, his traitorous heart speeding up. He would stake his life on it. Did she know he was nearby? Probably.
"What of the little Amazon you nearly ate?" Zane whispered fiercely. "I would like to finish her, as well."
Layel experienced a spark of anger. "She is mine. I will take care of her."
"That, I know. But do you plan to bed her or kill her? You looked ready to do both when she straddled your chest."
"What do you think?" he asked, because he did not wish to lie to a fellow vampire.
"I told you. I think you would like to do both."
"And I think you are in danger of unleashing my wrath." Truth.
"Nothing new there." Unconcerned, Zane tossed another stone. Plop, plop. "Perhaps you can do both."
Surely that had not been wistfulness seeping from his tone. "No." Layel ran his tongue over his teeth. One of his fangs stabbed into the sensitive organ, the resulting bead of blood reminding him that he'd gorged himself earlier, while battling the dragons, yet that hadn't stopped his cravings for Delilah. "No," he repeated for his own benefit. "Too cruel." For Delilah and himself.
"Have you ever tasted an Amazon?"
"No." Every race possessed a unique flavor. The dragons - sulfur. The demons - rot. Centaurs - sweet, almost like honeyed hay. Minotaurs - strong, tangy. Nymphs - ambrosia. But Amazons? What would they - she - taste like?
You will never find out, he vowed. He would die before he placed any part of himself inside that woman. It was time to change the subject. "Come. Time grows short. We'll make spears, daggers and arrows."
"And which do you plan to use on the girl?"
"My bare hands," he said. Even as he spoke, he longed to use his hands in a different way. For pleasure, not pain. Satisfaction, not death. Neither of which he would allow. The fact that he still wished to do such a thing told him beyond any doubt he needed to rid himself of her, just as he'd planned.
Zane gave another of those eerie smiles. "Until nightfall, then."
Layel nodded grimly.
CHAPTER 5
POSEIDON, GOD OF THE SEA, towered inside the coral palace he'd built himself in the center of the ocean, staring into a large, mist-entrenched mirror. Beyond the mist, Paradise and its reluctant new inhabitants were visible, a feast for his gaze.
"They are confused," he said. He'd left them a short while ago, had told them not to worry - hadn't he? - yet their panic had only grown.
A murmur of "yes" arose, the timbres a mix of excitement, resolve and nonchalance.
Four other gods had journeyed through portals in Mount Olympus to join him here. Poseidon turned, studying them as intently as he'd studied the Atlanteans in the mirror. Ares, god of war, possessing a temper far worse even than Poseidon's own. Hestia, plain yet somehow seductive, whose spell-casting abilities were eclipsed only by her determination to make a name for herself by any means possible, fair or foul. Apollo, smile brighter than the sun he controlled, fiercely loyal to those he loved. And finally, Artemis, twin sister to Apollo, as wild as the flowers growing on