May in Atlantis: Poseidon’s Warriors

by Day Alyssa

  Then the one who hated her, Denal, yanked the mage's backpack and threw first it, and then his own, through the portal. They also came through unscathed. Before anyone could try anything else, the portal narrowed and then blinked out.

  Erielle bent over, her hands on her thighs, and panted, trying to catch her breath. Holding her magic, based in Atlantis, from this side, was tremendously draining.

  "I just need a minute," she said, pulling deep breaths of sulfur-tainted air into her lungs.

  "We don't have a moment." Gabe pulled his sword. "Stay behind me."

  "In your dreams." She pulled her own sword and stepped up next to him. "I swore to protect you."

  He shouted out a laugh while they watched a small cadre—maybe thirty-of her uncle's minor-demon guards race toward them. "And, so threatened, they laughed at danger, laughed at mortality, laughed at their own fragile egos in the face of the yawning chasm of blank-eyed death."

  "What is that?"

  "Nothing. A bit of drivel from a poet I know."

  "Depressing, isn't he? Even for a poet?" She pulled a dagger with her left hand and stood ready, lightly balanced on her toes.

  "You have no idea."

  "It's only twenty for me and ten for you. We can handle this."

  He laughed; his dusk-drenched eyes gleaming. "You take the ten. After all, I'm the one with the medal."

  "What?"

  But, before he could reply, the demons were on them.

  In the end, they killed fifteen each.

  7

  And, so it went, for three long weeks.

  Twenty-one days of fighting and running and hiding and plotting.

  Two weeks of hiking across hideous purple landscapes, and then another week of trying to find a way into the stone fortress her uncle had built. Three weeks in the blistering hot green sun, which rarely seemed to set. Freezing in the few hours of night. Using their supplies sparingly, and then at ration levels, and then—now—finally running out.

  Watching Erielle get weaker and weaker. Watching her fight like one of Poseidon's finest warriors. Watching her lose hope, day by day, that she'd ever survive to rescue her brother.

  Watching himself, as—day by day, inch by inch--he fell in love with a Fae princess who could never—would never—love him back.

  She was beautiful, and she was brave. She was fierce, and she was fearless.

  She was also dying.

  The atmosphere, or the foul magic—he didn't know what it was. But it was as if once she'd escaped and tasted fresh air and freedom, her body couldn't cope with being back. She was fading away.

  He'd be damned if he'd let that happen.

  "All right. This is it. We're going in tonight, no matter what," he told her. They were in a cave on the far side of the stone fortress, on the opposite side from where the guard barracks was located. He'd had to force her to drink the last of their clean water, before they had to resort to the slightly poisonous streams in this dimension. Then he'd had to force her to nap, but her own exhaustion worked against her very strong will.

  "Gabriel, I don't want to get you killed." She crouched against the obsidian wall of the cave, huddled in a thick coat, fighting not to let him see that she was shivering. They could not afford a fire, and they both knew it.

  Cold was better than dead.

  "We are outnumbered by a factor of hundreds. We can't—"

  "I found a way in."

  Her green eyes glowed, amplified by the glimmering light of dusk. "What? How?"

  "There's a tunnel that lets 'fresh' water in. It must have been buried by a rockslide, so they thought they were safe."

  "And?"

  "It wasn't as buried as they thought." He took another step forward, into the cave, and nearly collapsed on his injured leg, and she leapt forward and caught him.

  "What happened?"

  "I fought a rock, and the rock won." He grinned at his own stupidity and then winced. "A fairly large one fell on my leg. The bone might be cracked a little bit. But that doesn't matter. What matters is that we're getting in. Tonight. We wait three hours until they start going out on patrols, because then the guard at the compound will be significantly reduced. Will you be able to use your magic to find your brother once we're inside?"

  An almost-feral smile flashed across her face. "Yes. And, not only that, but I have healing magic. Let me see your leg."

  "No. You will not waste your energy on this little scratch." He caught her face in his hands. "Erielle. Heal yourself. You're wasting away in front of my eyes, and I cannot live if I—"

  She gasped; a quick inhalation of breath. "If you?"

  He forced himself to stop touching her. "If I let you get harmed."

  The light in her eyes dimmed. "Yes. Of course. Well, as you apparently don't realize, my healing magic won't work on me. So, either let me heal your leg, or be a hindrance to me tonight."

  His hands ached to touch her. He'd never kissed her—not even once.

  How could a man fall in love with a woman he'd never kissed?

  How, but to watch her throw herself into danger, again and again, for her brother? Even putting herself in harm's way to protect him over and over?

  "Yes," he said abruptly. "You're right. Heal my leg, and then we'll go get your brother and get out of this gods-forsaken place."

  He awkwardly pulled his pants down and off and then immediately wished he hadn't when she made a sharp sound of protest.

  "It looks worse than it is," he lied.

  It was exactly as bad as it looked.

  Not a scratch, or a crack, but more likely a full-on broken bone.

  "Your tibia is fractured," she told him. "That's why you have this swelling, and the bruising that will undoubtedly go purple and then black if not healed. Are you ready?"

  "No."

  "Too bad."

  And then, instead of holding her hands a few inches away from his skin, like the Atlantean healers did, she grabbed hold of his leg with both hands. He had to stuff his pants leg in his mouth and bite down on it to keep from screaming.

  Then a searing heat like he'd never felt started at his foot and burned its way all the way up his legs, until he feared for his balls and other very important parts.

  He yanked the cloth out of his mouth. "Erielle!"

  "Shh," she said.

  "Shh nothing! You're—" But just then, a tremendously soothing coolness raced down his leg, in the opposite direction, and all the air left his lungs in a whoosh of relief.

  As he watched, the bruising faded and then disappeared. The bone visibly straightened itself beneath his skin. Any and all pain vanished.

  Finally, when he was starting to feel the opposite of pain, which in his case, with her hands on his bare leg, apparently meant happy and horny, she removed her hands and sat leaned back.

  "Thank—"

  "No!" She leaned forward and put her fingers on his lips, silencing him. "Never thank a Fae. It gives us power over your life in ways you cannot foresee."

  He took her hand and—to the nine hells with the consequences—kissed her fingers. "What if I want you to have power over my life?" he asked, whispering the words. "What if I ask you to let me hold you, just for the next couple of hours, until we go rescue Ferrian. After that, I know you'll be out of my life forever. Is there any chance you can just let me hold you? Just for a little while?"

  She traced his face with the hand he didn't hold, and then she smiled. "We could do that. Or, we could skip the poetry and the cuddling and just get naked."

  "Princess," he said fervently. "Your wish is my command."

  8

  He didn't wait for her to ask again. In seconds, his clothes were completely off, and his hands were all over her, stripping her bare, caressing her. Claiming her.

  Branding her skin and her heart and her soul with his touch, exactly as she'd wanted from almost the moment she'd first seen him on that training grounds.

  He could never love her; he thought of her as the enemy. Sh
e knew that in each of the shards of what was left of her heart. But this—this she could have. One last memory of him to sustain her for the time she never saw him again.

  Or one last memory of him to take with her into the afterlife, when they died trying to find her brother.

  "Kiss me now," he growled, and she caught her breath when he yanked her to him and fell back onto the pallet of clothing and grass they'd been sleeping on. "I want to fuck you until you can't think of anyone or anything but me, but first I want to kiss these beautiful, sinfully seductive lips for an hour or so."

  And so, he did. Maybe not for an hour; maybe for an eternity. He kissed her until she whimpered in want—in need. He kissed her until her lips were swollen and she couldn't tell where her breath ended and his began.

  And then he kissed the rest of her body, and she forgot her name.

  She touched his hot, smooth skin over his collarbone, muscled chest, and sharply defined abdominal muscles, while he kissed his way down her neck and then lavished so much attention on her breasts that she nearly came to orgasm just from his lips on her nipples.

  She stroked his biceps, his triceps, and his shoulders, while he kissed his way down her stomach to her core, and then she cried out when he plunged his tongue into her, licking and sucking, kissing and biting, until she couldn't think, couldn’t breathe, could only feel and feel and feel—could only rise a sharp crest of pleasure until she broke and reformed, shattered and was rebuilt, fell and fell and fell until he caught her.

  And then he started again. But this time—this time—he flipped her over and stared down at her with such fire in his brilliantly purple eyes that she almost told him.

  Almost told him: that she loved him.

  That his courage and selflessness during this fight had broken down the wall she'd built around her heart.

  That she never wanted to go back to her cold, lonely, life of isolation in the Fae lands.

  That she never wanted anyone else but him.

  But she could not tell him any of that. Could not put an unwanted burden on this man who'd offered everything and taken nothing.

  So, instead, she gave.

  "I need you inside me," she told him.

  With one smooth, powerful thrust, he entered her so far and so hard that he filled her completely, body and soul. She arched her body up to meet him, and he made a low, guttural sound so filled with triumph and satisfaction that she almost came again just hearing it.

  Then he pulled almost all the way out of her and drove back in, deep. And again and again and again, until he kept his promise. He made her forget anything and anyone but him, and she cried out his name as she came again, so hard and so long that she was gasping for air and clutching him when he pushed into her one final time and came for so long that he lay shuddering in her arms when he finished.

  Long minutes or hours later, when she was finally capable of speech again, she told him the other most important thing she needed him to know. The one she could actually share.

  "If it comes to a choice between saving me and saving Ferrian, you will save him."

  His eyes narrowed, and she could read the refusal starting to form there.

  "No. You cannot deny me this one thing. I will beg you if I must."

  He bent his head to her and kissed her, long and deep. "You will never beg anyone, Princess. We'll save Ferrian first, I swear it."

  For what might possibly be the last half an hour of her life, she held the man who had become her everything.

  And then they dressed and went to battle, and she remained silent, because there was both too much to say and too much to conceal.

  She was taking the man she loved with her to face death to rescue the brother she loved, and she would make that same decision over and over again. That made none of it hurt less.

  "Saying 'thank you' gives you power over my life?" He grinned at her and then pulled her to him and kissed her again; a kiss of promise and hope when she had little of either.

  "Yes."

  "Good to know. Let's do this thing, Princess."

  They left the backpacks and the extra clothing in the cave. The time for supplies was over. This was do or die.

  Why was she so miserably sure that it was, in fact, die or die?

  In the end, though, as in so many things, it was more about the journey than about the destination.

  9

  "It took me three damn weeks to get to you, and this is all you got?"

  The Fae Lord who'd killed Gabe's brother had been asleep in bed with three human women who were clearly prisoners, judging by the collars around their necks and the alacrity with which they jumped away from Zaran when Gabe and Erielle showed up.

  "His magic works no better here than mine, but he enslaved mages and forced them to obey his commands until they died of it," Gabe's princess told him, as she stalked around the bed, holding the tip of her sword at her uncle's neck.

  "Please," Zaran begged.

  He was pathetic. A vicious, power-mad monster who used the strength of others to accomplish his goals.

  "Why did you take my brother?" Erielle dug the point of the sword into Zaran's neck. "What was he to you?"

  He scowled. "I knew you'd come for him. I just didn't realize it would take you so damn long. The brat has been a giant pain in my ass. He escaped months ago. Like sister, like brother, I guess. He's probably dead in the desert somewhere."

  She started laughing. "He's not dead, nor is he in the desert. Ferrian, you can come out now."

  The wardrobe in the corner of the room swung aside, and a boy of maybe eight or nine years rushed out toward his sister and then froze.

  "Don't play with him. He's more dangerous than he was before. He's been learning poisons—watch out!"

  Too little, too late.

  Zaran twisted in his bed and threw a dagger across the room at Ferrian. Gabriel, though, was already in motion. He'd kept his eyes on Zaran at the moment of distraction created by the boy's entrance and immediately leapt into action. By the time Zaran let the dagger fly, Gabriel was in the air.

  The weapon, aimed so accurately at Ferrian, struck Gabe in the chest instead.

  He felt the poison start to work instantly and collapsed into a heap on the floor.

  Before the burning pain started to race through his body, he saw Erielle swing her sword in one smooth, true motion, and then he watched as Zaran's head flew through the air toward the other side of the bed.

  "Justice for my brother," she cried out, and then she dropped the sword and her brother raced into her arms.

  "And for mine," Gabe said, smiling a little. He yanked out the dagger, pulled off his shirt, and pressed a wad of the shirt fabric to the wound. "Could use a little healing here."

  A hollow, clanging sound boomed throughout the fortress, rattling the walls with its percussive sound. Erielle threw the heavy wooden bar over the door. "That might slow them down."

  "It must be some kind of 'ding, dong, the witch is dead' alarm," he said, having gone to the queen's movie night a few times.

  "What?"

  "Never mind. Heal now, chat later, Princess."

  Erielle, her eyes shining with unshed tears, raced over to him. "You saved my brother's life. This poison—I can smell it. It's particularly deadly to my kind. Ferrian would have been dead in seconds."

  While she talked, she was pulling the fabric away from his skin and putting her hands directly on his chest. Again, the cycle of pain and heat and coolness. Again, the healing.

  They heard the uproar in the stairway, and Ferrian rushed over and clutched at his sister's arm. "We have to hide. I've been hiding in the passageways and tunnels since I escaped, stealing food to survive. I knew you'd come for me. But if they find us here, and him dead … it will go very badly for us."

  The boy was terrified, and Gabe didn't blame him.

  Ferrian pulled his sister toward the wardrobe. "They don't know about the tunnels. Come on."

  Gabe tossed her the portal sto
ne. "Here's a better idea. Let's get out of here. Now."

  She nodded and concentrated, and in seconds the portal formed a blindingly bright blue circle directly in front of them. Through it, they could see two of the Atlantean palace guards yelling and running toward them, and this time they could hear them, too.

  "Now!" Erielle yelled at her brother, who hesitated, too terrified to know what to do.

  Gabe picked the kid up and threw him through the portal. "See you on the other side, little prince."

  Then he motioned to Erielle. "You next."

  "No! We go together."

  "I could stay here and become king of the demons, though," he joked, because laughter was the opposite of hopelessness, and he was going to take the woman he loved to safety.

  She grabbed his hand and glared at him. "You're an idiot."

  Together, they leapt through the portal just as the door broke open. Gabe waved at the demons who skidded to a stop, confused, and then started screaming with rage and—surprisingly enough—jumping up and down on Zaran's headless body.

  The second they were through the portal, Erielle made it vanish, and then the three of them sat on the beautifully green grass of Atlantis, stared up at the incredibly blue sky, and laughed like a trio of lunatics while the guards stared at them in disbelief and then headed off at a run to inform the palace.

  "Who's your boyfriend" Ferrian asked, staring at Gabe. "He's a badass."

  Gabe reached out and ruffled the boy's hair. "I like this kid."

  "He's not—he's a friend," Erielle said quietly, but when he looked at her, he thought that maybe, just maybe, there was more in her eyes. So, he said the words he'd been wanting to tell her for what felt like so very long.

  "Hey, Princess." He took her mouth in a long, gentle kiss.

  "Thank you."

  Her eyes shone with the tears she'd kept from falling in the demon dimension. "Oh, Gabriel. I love you, too."