Atlantis Rising

by Alyssa Day

  “Oh, God,” she muttered. “Empath means you can read my mind?” She stared up past the silky hair, past the perfectly sculpted mouth, and past the cheekbones that seemed carved of granite. Finally, her gaze fixed on the icy black eyes that burned over her. Strange that ice could be so hot, she thought absently, trapped almost mindlessly in his gaze.

  “You did hear me, didn’t you?” she asked, embarrassment nearly an afterthought.

  He touched her cheek with fingers so gentle she nearly shuddered from the sensation, and he spoke inside her mind with a voice that should be outlawed. I can hear your thoughts, but I can also somehow feel your emotions. It’s impossible, but it’s true.

  Whiskey wrapped in velvet. His low, purely masculine voice carried a smooth, husky tone that curled around her nerve endings until her skin tightened with desire. Desire that caressed every erogenous zone she’d never even known she had.

  Desire that he would touch her. Desire that he would keep talking to her on the mental path that no other person had ever shared with her.

  Desire.

  His voice echoed in her mind, rough. Strained. I hear you, and maybe you should think other thoughts. Because something about you is burning me up inside, and I don’t know if I’m up to the challenge of controlling it.

  She sensed his puzzlement, almost as if he were seeking the answer to an unanswerable problem. He stepped closer to her and wrapped one hand gently around the nape of her neck. I need to touch you. I don’t want to frighten you, but please let me touch you. Just my forehead to yours.

  His eyes held a stark plea. Please.

  Trembling, sure she was out of her mind to agree to it, she nodded. She couldn’t help herself. Something inside of her wouldn’t let her run away. Maybe insanity, or maybe just the adrenaline high from surviving two near-death experiences in a single evening.

  But every protective instinct that had served her well in her job—that should have been shouting caution, caution, back away from the superhunk—was screaming yes, yes, yes, touch me, touch me.

  Riley snapped out of her mental ramble, realizing that the hottest man she’d ever seen was bending toward her. Slowly, ever so slowly, he lowered his face toward hers, as if to kiss her.

  Oh, if he’d only kiss her.

  A mere breath away from her, he smiled a slow smile of sheer male satisfaction. It made him look even more the predator he clearly was.

  I’m down with that, aknasha. But first, I want to feel the touch of your mind. With that, he lowered his forehead to hers.

  For the second time that night, Riley’s world exploded.

  Her body stiffened, and she jerked backward so hard she’d have fallen if he hadn’t captured her with strong hands on her arms. He. Him. Conlan. His name was Conlan and he was . . . some sort of leader. Thoughts and impressions leapt from his mind to her own, drowning her in sensations and colors. His . . . thoughts? . . . aura? . . . soul? . . . a vivid blue-green, like a pool of the clearest water or the depths of the sea. But blackness—a boiling blackness swirled in the middle of it.

  Torture. Pain. A name—a face—dark beauty ruined by evil and madness.

  Anubisa?

  She twisted in his arms, trying to escape from the intensity of his mind’s capture of hers, but he held her with arms like steel bands.

  Just as the pain branded in his memories held her in its thrall. Torture, pain, burning—slicing, shredding, searing agony . . . How could he have borne so much pain for so long?

  She gasped, trying to breathe, trying for distance. No longer trying to pull away, but seeking to understand.

  How? How was he inside of her mind? She felt him—she knew him—she understood him on some fundamental level. She could read his fierce determination to discover her, to explore her, to . . . have her? The intensity of his mind scan changed, with all the subtlety of the tidal wave he’d called earlier, into an outpouring of sexual longing.

  A violent hunger, tinged with his shock at his reaction to her. She yanked her head away from his in a desperate attempt to protect herself and thought, for an instant, that she saw blue-green fire raging in the depths of his black pupils.

  She shook her head to clear it, and spoke out loud to try to dampen the hunger rising between them. “Conlan. Your name is Conlan, right? I don’t know how I know that, but . . . mine is Riley.”

  Then, in spite of her fear, she laughed a little. “Wow. Talk about a ‘me, Tarzan, you, Jane’ moment.”

  Then the memories banished the smile from her face. “How could you bear it? So much pain for so long . . .”

  She shook her head, aching for him. Aching for this man she didn’t even know. “It would have driven me insane.”

  He finally spoke, voice flat. “Don’t jump to any conclusions. I never claimed to be sane.”

  Chapter 6

  Conlan threw his head back, gulping in a lungful of air, the ugly reality of his memories stark in the silence between them. She had more courage than he’d even guessed, this small human. With his mind thrust into hers, he’d touched the fundamental core of her—their thoughts nearly melded. The purity of her soul shocked him; his cynicism was centuries old.

  One touch and he knew her, somehow.

  Intellectually.

  Emotionally.

  “Again. I need to touch you again,” he said roughly, pulling her closer. “Please.”

  He gazed down at her, willing her not to deny him. She stared back at him, fear subsiding into acceptance, and then she nodded and closed her eyes, lifting her forehead to his.

  But he didn’t want a mere innocent touch this time. He needed just a taste of her. Just a small taste. He knew he was lying to himself about the small part even as he thought it.

  He didn’t care.

  He swept down to capture her lips with his own. At the first touch of his mouth, her eyes snapped open, and she gasped just enough for his tongue to sweep inside of her mouth and complete his possession. The taste of her sent all sane thoughts out of his head. He felt the energy bursting from him, seeking the elements.

  He didn’t even try to stop it. The sea boiled up over the edge of the sand and underneath them, and the wind whipped itself into a frenzy around them.

  Cyclone force.

  Her body trembled and she arched into him, the softness of her curves enticing, but it was the touch of her mind that drove him toward madness. His body hardened beyond any need he’d ever known, aggressive, dominating, until his clothing was surely going to burst from the pressure.

  He drove his tongue in and out of her mouth, thrusting and retreating in a cadence older than time. Wanting to climb inside of the warmth of her mouth and the haven of her body all at once.

  Sanity tried to rise in his mind and push past his fierce need. Riley. Her name is Riley. She’s human.

  This is wrong.

  She touched his face.

  Sanity never had a fucking chance.

  Even as he pulled her against the hardness of his body, Riley knew she must be dreaming. Nothing, nothing, had ever felt like this. Power surged through her, heat melding her to him.

  She wanted to climb on him, climb inside of him, feel his body rubbing against her, pounding inside of her. The intensity of it shocked her even as she moaned for more, more, more, all reason lost in the tempest of wanting.

  Needing.

  She clutched at his rock-hard biceps, trying to hold herself upright. Maybe trying to pull him closer. She mindlessly moved her hands, put them on his chest, down to his hard, flat, stomach, up to his neck. Drove her fingers into his hair. Closer, closer. She heard a moaning sound, and it was her, her. She was whimpering. If his tongue hadn’t been in her mouth, she’d be begging him to pull her even closer.

  She stopped breathing, focused on his emotions, pulled the colors of them inside her. The blues and greens and the sparkling crystalline passion swirling around, and she was lost in it, lost in him.

  Lost.

  The idea of losing herself snapped
her to a brief rationality. She fought to push back from him, reaching for sanity, battling with ravenous desire.

  Sanity surrendered.

  She made a tiny moaning sound inside of his mouth, and Conlan was lost, too, wanting, craving, needing. Only her. Only her. Now.

  He tried to concentrate on her thoughts to keep from tearing at her clothes like an animal. He sent his mind inside of hers—inside of her soul—and was captivated by her innate goodness, selflessness, and light.

  The epiphany of her purity slammed into him with a force beyond reason. He was paralyzed.

  He was destroyed.

  She wanted him, too.

  Consumed by the twin revelations of her spirit and desire, flaming heat flashed to volcanic intensity inside of him. The passion and elemental energy in the air snapped and crackled around their bodies, incinerating him from the inside out.

  His body went up in flames, and he wanted more.

  His need turned voracious. Just one touch. A single taste.

  A taste that went on forever.

  His hands caressed her spine, pulled her hips closer to his heat—his need. His mind and body screamed for this one moment when passion, not obligation or duty, was allowed to rule his actions.

  Her scent, the silk of her hair, the warmth of her skin next to the sea-spray chill of his own all combined to blast duty out of his mind.

  He wanted, no, needed to carry her down to the sand and take her body, over and over, pounding into her warmth with the relentless fury of the surf. His heightened senses scented her desire, rising to match his own, even as she clutched at his shoulders. His hands shaped her curves, touched her softness, molded her body to his own so tightly that she must surrender to his claim.

  Something primitive—feral—raised its head inside of him and demanded that he do just that.

  Stake his claim.

  Leave his mark on her.

  His mark. The flames. Suddenly, he realized the mark of Poseidon on his chest was burning into his flesh almost as it had the day he’d sworn his oath. A reminder? He tried to think, to study the sensation, but his body was drowning in raw need.

  Lost in the miracle of her mind and her body, he kissed her, claiming her with his mouth. His hands tightened on her until she cried out a little. The tiny whimper wrenched him out of his mindlessness and he stilled, sanity trying to resurface.

  She pulled her head back, eyes dazed and lips swollen. “You’re hurting me,” she whispered.

  He released her instantly, hands trembling, cursing himself for having caused her pain. “I’m sorry—damn it. I’m—there is no excuse.”

  He bowed his head, breathing hard. Self-loathing iced over any remnants of passion. He bowed deeply and then raised his gaze to hers. “Please accept my apologies. I have never—no. I’m as much of a brutish asshole as the scum that just ran away from here.”

  She smiled a little, the edge of fear receding from her eyes but still present in her mind. She was trembling. Maybe as much from fear as passion, now.

  He was lower than scum.

  She tried to speak, breath coming rapidly and clearly trying for calm. “I don’t . . . I can’t . . . you can’t . . .”

  She heaved in a deep breath and backed away from him. “What the hell was that? I don’t do things like that. I mean, I just did, so you must think—but I don’t. Oh, stop babbling, Riley.”

  She gave him another shaky smile, still breathing hard. “Since you probably saved my life and all, you’re forgiven for, well, practically assaulting me right here on the beach. Not that I wasn’t cooperative, or whatever. But I have to leave.” Riley backed carefully away from him, seeming not to realize that he lingered in her mind.

  Honesty. Even embarrassed by what she thought of as her own wanton behavior, she was honest enough to admit to him that she’d felt the same raging desire. His respect for her bravery increased, even as he had to fight his body’s demands that he sweep her back to his palace and hold her captive for a year.

  Or two.

  Preferably naked at all times.

  Conlan felt the fierce smile spread across his face. She was courageous, and beautiful beyond belief, and she was aknasha.

  It was his duty to study her. To spend a great deal of time with her.

  To rationalize the hell out of the fact that I want to get her naked and underneath me. In my bed. Here on the sand. Anywhere. Just soon.

  Now.

  He sucked in a deep breath, fighting for control. The Trident. He had to find the Trident. He’d tuck her safely away in Atlantis in the meantime.

  He thought of the warriors standing guard, training—hell, just the thought of other males walking around anywhere near Riley—and his breathing tightened in his chest.

  Okay, so she could stay in the temple.

  With the priests. The celibate priests.

  Away from Alaric, oath of celibacy or no.

  Riley took another step back, and he still could sense her confusion. She doubted her sanity. Exhaustion was overwhelming her. The night’s events had battered her—he’d battered her.

  He couldn’t regret touching her. Kissing her. But he regretted pushing her already stretched resources even further. An alien sense of tenderness washed through him. He wanted to protect her.

  Even from himself.

  He smiled down at her, but it wasn’t enough to reassure her. Riley nearly stumbled in her haste to get away from him. “I have to go home. It’s late. The curfew and all. I have to—good-bye.”

  As he moved to follow her, he sensed that Ven and the Seven had finally broken through the waves, and that Alaric was close behind. He knew that he could track her from a distance. He’d scanned the area to confirm that the attackers were long gone.

  But it took everything in him to stand still and let her go.

  Just long enough for her to reach her home. She’d want to pack some of her things.

  He didn’t know how long he’d keep her in Atlantis.

  Something deep inside him protested at ever letting her go.

  Not for long, this time at least. I’ll be at her side in less than an hour. The rest—the rest I’ll have to figure out later.

  He refused to think of his duty. Of his intended queen he’d never met.

  As he watched her run from him, his mind supplied her name, almost caressing the syllables. He whispered it aloud. “Riley.”

  When his body hardened even further at the mere sound of her name, a stark truth slammed into him. She was no mere empath.

  She was his.

  Conlan shook his head. Stupid. Futile. His duty was clear. Noble lineage. Destined royal breeding program.

  His lip curled. Royal stud farm.

  His gaze went back to Riley, spotlighted on the edge of the beach where she’d turned to stare back at him. Tentatively, her mind reached out to his. Good-bye, Conlan. Thank you.

  You’re welcome, Riley. But there’s no way that it’s good-bye.

  As she disappeared into the night, he raised his arms and hurled a wave of fierce joy into the sea, and a family of passing dolphins threw themselves into the air in celebration—an arabesque of shared delight. The air resonated with the vibrations of Poseidon’s power.

  Then, without warning, weakness and dizziness crashed through him. Conlan stumbled backward and then fell to the sand.

  And fear for Riley shot through him.

  He shook his head back and forth, trying to clear it. He hated the idea, but he had to do it.

  He had to call for aid.

  Ven! I need . . . I need your help.

  Chapter 7

  Some hundreds of miles away, the Lord High Vampire Barrabas raised his head, scenting the air. Something—what? Just for an instant, he’d felt a disturbance in the elements beyond anything . . .

  “But, Senator Barnes, as leader of the Primus, you must—” the human said, cringing.

  Barrabas hissed at him, hating the false name. Barnes. A pathetic excuse for a name.

/>   He knew, however, the ill-advised nature of claiming his legacy. Many still remembered his history-cursed name, and the events that Pontius Pilate had set in motion that day.

  Soon. Soon he would come into his own, and then the name of Barrabas would be hated and feared with such magnitude as to make what went before seem as nothing to these sheep.

  The sheep in front of him prostrated himself right there on the concrete floor of the Primus’s central underground chamber.

  “As leader of the Primus, I must do whatever I want to do,” he sneered. “The other two houses of Congress will do exactly what I tell them, won’t they?”

  The human groveled and crawled backward out of the room, probably considering himself lucky, given what he’d witnessed.

  The vampire’s gaze flicked to the congressman from Iowa and the senator from Michigan who had been causing such problems. They dangled, feet off the floor, arms threaded through the shackles bolted into the wall.

  The females of his blood pride flitted around them, slicing delicately into the skin of the chained men and sucking at the blood running down their naked forms. The Iowan still moaned, though the other had long since gone silent.

  Barrabas considered and discarded conclusions regarding the relative strength of their party affiliations based upon their stamina, and then he flung himself into his thronelike chair. Eyes narrowing, he focused on the disturbance he’d felt in the elements.

  “What could have such power?” he muttered, fingers drumming on the arm of the chair.

  The door to the chamber slammed open and his second, Drakos, soared into the room. “Did you feel it, Barrabas?”

  Barrabas nodded, a nearly imperceptible movement of his head. “I felt it. What was it?”

  Drakos floated down to the ground, silvery hair settling around his shoulders. Barrabas was not unaware of more than a few of his women sneaking avid gazes at his general.

  Something will have to be done about Drakos. He grows nearly powerful enough to challenge me. Perhaps it is time for a new second.

  But aloud he only replied to the spoken question. “Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. Send out the vanguard. We cannot afford to be distracted now.”