The Vampire's Bride

I’m coming, sweet. I’m coming. Where are you? Where—

A terrified scream pierced the air, an answer to her prayers. Her nightmares.

Lily! Still sprinting, Delilah unsheathed the remaining daggers at her waist. She burst through an emerald thicket—and found Lily being held down, her ankles tied, her arms flailing as she tried to free herself from the men subduing her.

“Let me go!” she shouted.

“You brought war to our doorstep, girl. Now you’re going back to our king whether you want to or not.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks; she whimpered. “I just want to go home.”

With a leap, Delilah was there. She elbowed one man in the temple, spun and kicked the other in the neck. Both crashed to the ground with dazed grunts. She didn’t give them time to recover. Arms crossing, she tossed her remaining blades. They embedded in each target’s chest. There was a gurgle, there was a howl, then both men slumped over, every beat of their hearts edging them closer to death.

“Lilah,” Lily cried, removing the ties at her ankles. She scrambled up and threw herself into Delilah’s waiting arms. The girl was shaking, sobbing, those warm tears still trickling down her cheeks.

Delilah remained on guard as she stroked a hand through the girl’s silky hair. “I’m here now. Everything will be fine.”

“I didn’t mean…the blood…my fault…” Lily said between sobs. “I just wanted to be strong like you. Prove myself. Explore. When I stumbled upon the dragons, I decided to ambush them and bring home their claws as proof of my skill. I’ve been practicing on my own, but they wouldn’t fight me back. Just took me to their home and locked me up so I’d stop trying to hurt them and they could figure out what to do with me. I’m sorry. So sorry. I just…I’m not a child.”

“I know, sweet. I know.” Anything to calm her. Even a lie. Lily was dissatisfied with her life? Before disappearing, Lily had offered nothing but smiles and laughter. She’d been a radiant glimmer of light among otherwise dark, violent warrioresses. She’d been doted on, coddled, and she’d seemed to soak up the attention.

“If someone dies because of me…”

“You know better.” Delilah cupped her jaw and lifted until they were peering at each other. Watery green eyes stared up at her, branched with red, slightly swollen from her tears. “Your sisters will be fine. They are warriors to the core, and the fire-breathers will not defeat them.” And what of the vampires?

Her pulse gave another of those strange flutters, the blood instantly heating in her veins.

Lily shuddered. “Promise?” she asked weakly, hopefully.

“Your need for a promise is insulting.”

“I’m sorry. I would never insult you on purpose, but I’m also scared for the dragons. They didn’t hurt me, were actually kind.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Her voice hardened. “They should have let you go immediately. Instead, they kept you. Locked you up. Your mother has been wracked with worry.”

“But—”

“If we are lenient in this matter, other races will think such treatment of you will be tolerated. We will be seen as weaklings, and we will find ourselves under constant attack. Therefore we must fight now to prevent worse conflicts later.” The lesson had been beaten into her until it was as natural as breathing.

A sniffle, a nod.

“Now. It’s my turn to extract a promise from you.” As she spoke, she scanned the forest. So far, there had been no indication they were being watched or followed. That didn’t mean they were completely safe, however.

Lily nibbled on her bottom lip but nodded.

Oh, this girl, Delilah thought with a sigh. Tomorrow, she was going to issue a request to the queen asking that Lily be trained for combat. She didn’t want the girl fighting, but she did want her better able to protect herself. “Promise me that you will never leave our home without permission again.”

“Promise,” was the instant reply. No hesitation. “I’ve never been so frightened, Lilah. Men are not the frail, feeble beings I thought they were.”

No, they weren’t. The vampire…Delilah tightened her grip and tried to blank her mind. “If you break this promise, baby girl, dragons and vampires aren’t the only thing you’ll have to fear. Understand?”

Lily shuddered. “Yes.”

“Then 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.