Atlantis Redeemed

by Alyssa Day

  She hesitated, then held her hands out to her side and turned in a single revolution until she faced Smitty again.

  “That’s fine, then. Thank you,” Smitty said. He handed Tiernan her clothes back and she yanked them away from him and moved farther back in the cell before scrambling into them.

  Smitty turned to Brennan, saying nothing, and held out his hand. Brennan weighed the odds of Tiernan’s survival if he grabbed the man’s arm and pulled him tight against the electric bars until the high voltage fried the thug.

  “Don’t even think about it, mate,” Smitty said, glancing from Brennan to the bars. “All those guns are trained on the two of you, and she dies first.”

  Of course the man knew what Brennan had been thinking. It’s what Smitty would have considered had the roles been reversed, Brennan realized. His estimation of the man as a threat—which was already high—grew. He tossed his clothes at Smitty, then lowered his head and coughed, holding his hand over his mouth. When he straightened, Smitty was feeling along the seams of Brennan’s jeans.

  “Let me see your hands, and turn around,” Smitty said.

  Brennan glared but did as he said, spreading his fingers wide so Smitty could see that he concealed nothing. “You have my daggers, and nothing else would get past your metal detectors,” he snarled from between clenched teeth.

  “You look like the sort who could appropriate what he needed,” Smitty told him. “You’ll have to tell me how you got those daggers past my screener, though.”

  Brennan laughed. “Sure. Just let me out of here, and we’ll have a long conversation about all sorts of things.”

  Smitty’s grin was a dead thing, like his eyes. “Right. You keep on hoping.”

  He tossed Brennan’s clothes back to him. “Now, if I were the bastard you think I am, I’d keep your clothes, and take your girl’s lovely underthings, too, and let my men here enjoy the view.”

  “You’re a real hero,” Tiernan said bitterly, and Smitty turned to her and laughed.

  “Ah, the little bird has a bite, does she? No matter. After what the doc has in store for you, I think you’ll be chirping a different tune. Maybe even want to get to know me a little better.” Smitty swept a long, appraising look up and down Tiernan’s body, and the rage threatened to burn through the ice in Brennan’s mind, but his control won out.

  By a thread.

  Smitty grinned at Brennan, then tossed him a mock salute. After that, he herded all but two of the guards from the room, ordering others to set up shifts in the monitoring room. Tiernan had been right about the video surveillance, then. Brennan decided he’d wait until Smitty left the room to try to find the cameras. The man was too sharp.

  “Until later, mate,” Smitty said, and then he sauntered out of the room.

  Brennan toyed with the idea of trying to call water in the shape of ice spears, but the constant buzz of electricity reminded him of how futile the attempt would be. He’d have his chance. He’d simply have to be patient.

  “Brennan,” Tiernan said, moving closer to the bars separating them. Her face was still pale, pale white, as if fear had drained the blood from her head. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t do it. I’m afraid that if you hit those bars again, it might incapacitate you, and—I know this is selfish—but I’m afraid to be here alone, if they knock you out. Especially since”—her voice, which had already been quiet, dropped even further until he could barely hear her—“when you wake up, you won’t know me.”

  She stared up at him, and her eyes were enormous in her pale face. “I can’t do this without you. I can’t.”

  Brennan took a deep breath. “You will never, ever have to do anything without me, ever again,” he swore.

  “Now what?” She looked over at the guards, who were mostly ignoring them and arguing about some bet they’d made on sports, from the sound of it.

  “Now,” Brennan said, “we make a plan.”

  Chapter 27

  Tunnels, deep underneath Yellowstone National Park

  Devon might have thought he currently stood in the worst situation in his long existence, had he not previously faced down insane ancient vampires and—only once, but that had been far and away enough—the vampire goddess herself.

  This, however, was running in the top five.

  If all of them made it out alive, it would be the first vampire conclave he’d ever attended where that was the case. Even the notion of vampires, who were notoriously unable to play well with others, forming alliances was ridiculous.

  He spotted Jones over where the powerful vampire was holding court on one side of the long, bare room. Jones was the one who had discovered these tunnels more than a century ago and expanded them with the help of a large work-force of slave labor who later did double duty as food. Now only the bones of the dead workers knew the location of the vampires’ meeting halls, and as everyone knew, dead men told no tales.

  Unless the dead men were vampires. Then the tales were not only told, they were embellished, or exchanged for outright lies.

  He needed Tiernan Butler. Although, perhaps not. Her Gift apparently did not extend to vampires or psychopaths. Since many vampires were psychopaths, he idly wondered if that made their lies more impenetrable to her or if the two conditions canceled each other out. He’d have to ask her.

  If he lived to ask anyone anything, ever again.

  Smith drained the goblet of very fine brandy he’d been sipping and slammed it down on the table. “Who was that on the phone?”

  Devon glanced down at the cell phone he’d just disconnected, then back at Smith. “It was Dr. Litton, our favorite evil genius. He has captured Brennan.”

  “The rich human?”

  “Precisely.” Devon frowned. “I’d specifically told him to hold off and play along, but he claims that the man instigated violence.”

  “I wonder how Litton manipulated him into doing that,” Jones said, sneering. “He is one of the most unpleasant of the sheep I’ve ever had the bad fortune to encounter, but he is a clever little bastard.”

  “Does it matter?” Smith asked. “We have our money now, don’t we? Isn’t Brennan some kind of billionaire?”

  Devon shrugged. “Perhaps. But how pathetic are we that we hide in tunnels and depend on humans for our finances? Which among us is qualified to be a leader if we cannot fund our own plans?”

  He knew that of every vampire in that room, he alone was rich enough to take on any and all political challenge. Everybody else knew it, too.

  Jones spat on the floor. “We know you have money, Devon, you don’t need to drop these heavy-handed hints. But why spend our money when we can so easily control the sheep?” He dropped an arm around his current blood slave, a dim-witted bottled blonde who was the heiress to some kind of soap products fortune.

  Jones had always chosen his food wisely, but in spite of the string of rich women he’d enthralled over the years, he never managed to hold on to much of the wealth.

  Why bother to save money when you could simply enslave another rich woman?

  Devon struggled to keep his expression calm and not show the disgust he felt. “The question at hand is which of us will run for the office of Primator? The concern, of course, is that if the office lies vacant too long, the humans will begin to wonder if there is any need for a Primator at all. And if no Primator, then why a Primus? They muddled along with only two houses of Congress for more than two hundred years, after all.”

  Smith nodded. “Some of the humans are already making noises that we are too violent and unstable to be in Congress. Plus they’re holding town hall meetings across the country, and there is very strong sentiment among those who dare speak up against us.”

  “The humans are less afraid to speak up since the rebels have been so successful on their many incursions against us,” Devon said.

  Jones hissed, his eyes glowing a vivid red. “We must squash these rebels once and for all. They are doing all they can to smash holes in our carefully construc
ted image of ourselves as law-abiding citizens.”

  “If they can get us kicked out of Congress, the laws protecting our rights are going to be repealed next,” Devon said, widening his eyes as if this were the first time it had occurred to him.

  “And the damn shifters will be in line to fill in the gaps. After all, they have powerful lobbies selling the idea that they’re humans, just with a simple difference. A virus that makes them shift shape occasionally. They’re not dead like we are,” Jones said.

  Devon swirled the blood in his goblet, then put the glass down on the table. Cold blood held no appeal for him. “If we control the shifters, all power is in our hands. The rebels will have no chance against an alliance of vampire and shifter.”

  Jones slammed his fist on the table. “Not an alliance. We don’t ally with animals. We must control the shifters through this enthrallment procedure we’ve put so much time and money into. Only then can we count on total power.”

  Devon inclined his head. “Of course. Why do you think I am spearheading this effort? I merely was pointing out that the effort must look like an alliance to the outside world, or a panic would ensue. Ultimately, we are no match for missiles fired from air force jets or bombs dropped on our strongholds. Human technology has come a long way from stakes, burning torches, and pitchforks.”

  A couple of the older vampires in the room shuddered, probably at centuries-old memories of angry mobs of villagers holding just those weapons.

  “What about Atlantis?” Jones suddenly asked.

  Devon went still. “Atlantis?”

  “There are too many rumors of vigilante warriors claiming to be Atlantean for us to ignore it,” Jones insisted. “Certainly they were involved in that raid on the Primus.”

  Devon laughed politely. “Did they bring the boogeyman with them? Or possibly the tooth fairy?”

  Jones snarled at him, baring his fangs. “Mock me if you will, but I know what I’ve heard, and only a fool ignores a very real threat.”

  “When I hear of a very real threat, I’ll certainly pay attention. For now, can we put aside the idea of underwater fish men from the lost continent that Plato probably made up in the first place and get back to our plans?”

  “I’ve had enough of talking about it,” Smith said. “I say we vote. Right here and right now. Devon for Primator. None of the rest of us has the political connections or the money.”

  “That will change when we have this Brennan’s money in our control,” Jones challenged.

  Devon shrugged, feigning a casualness he did not feel. “I don’t want the job, but I’m willing to take it if you want me. Remember, though, that any vote is subject to one major contingency.”

  Some of them looked puzzled, and others looked scared, but only one of them had the courage to speak the name.

  “Anubisa,” Deirdre said, strolling over to Devon out of the corner from where she’d been studying the room. “Our not-so-benevolent goddess. Are you willing to be front and center on her to-do list, my love?”

  Devon bowed over her hand and kissed it. “Anything for you, my darling.”

  She threw back her head and laughed, and the sound of it shivered ice down his spine. “Let’s vote, then. All for Devon for Primator?”

  Every hand in the room went up, save for Jones’s; he only glared at Devon.

  “If you want the job, please take it,” Devon said, bowing gracefully.

  Jones shook his head. “You know I don’t. I just don’t want you to have it, either. You’re a slippery son of a bitch, and I can smell something wrong about you. I just don’t know exactly what it is, yet.” He studied Devon for another minute, but then shook his head. “When I find out, I’m going to enjoy ripping your heart out of your chest.”

  Devon smiled. “I look forward to the challenge.”

  Deirdre folded her arms over her chest and looked at Jones. “Vote. Enough with the drama. Yea or nay for Devon for Primator.”

  Jones slowly raised his hand, and then turned his thumb up.

  Devon didn’t let any of them see the relief that nearly weakened his knees, but he did bow to the room in response to the scattered applause.

  “Congratulations, Primator,” Deirdre said, casting a mocking glance at Devon. “Will we now get a sheep in every pot?”

  “I thought it was chicken?”

  “I don’t like chicken,” she said, shuddering delicately. “All those nasty feathers.”

  “Shall we go meet our new benefactor?” Devon held out his hand and Deirdre lightly put hers in his. He’d pay, later, when they were alone, for putting her in this positon. Making her touch him.

  “In a while,” she said, showing her fangs. “All this talk of chickens and sheep has made me . . . hungry.”

  “Dr. Litton is waiting for us,” Devon reminded her.

  “Let him wait.” She took his hand and made a show of dragging him toward the door, intent on eating something. Probably him. He plastered a fake leer on his face and confided as much to the vamps he passed on the way out, inviting the laugh.

  Before they exited, he looked back at Smith and Jones. “We’ll meet at the lab tomorrow night.”

  Smith nodded, but Jones just stared at him from hooded eyes.

  When they hit the hallway, Deirdre continued to drag him along for quite a bit before she ducked into a side hall and jumped away from him, shuddering with disgust and frantically wiping her hands on her pants.

  To remove any trace of the feel of him, undoubtedly. He ignored the familiar pain and pretended not to notice.

  She finally stopped the compulsive wiping and looked up at him. “What’s the plan?”

  “We can’t talk here. They could walk out any minute.”

  “We’ll hear them,” she said impatiently. “I’m watching the corridor, too. The plan?”

  He listened for any sound of pursuit, but when he heard nothing, he shrugged and told her. “Their cover was blown or, if not, it doesn’t matter. They’ve been captured. They’ve probably got allies coming, if they’ve had a way to contact anybody. We need to make plans, fast,” Devon told her. “In my rooms, not here.”

  When they turned to leave the hallway, Jones was standing right past the corner, flanked by a half dozen of the vampires from his blood pride. Devon noticed right away that they were all wearing heavy leather gloves, and he knew, instantly, that this was going to be bad.

  “Did you think one as powerful as myself couldn’t mask the sound of approach?” Jones stared at Devon as if he really expected an answer.

  “I didn’t think you were powerful enough to wipe your own ass without assistance,” Devon said, shrugging. “Surprise.”

  Jones snarled and his eyes glowed a fierce scarlet, but Devon had miscalculated. He hadn’t provoked Jones into a personal attack. Jones made a hand gesture instead, and his minions came for Devon and Deirdre, who was making a steady growling noise, low in her throat, behind him.

  Devon had been right. They had silver chains. It was bad.

  Chapter 28

  Litton’s holding pens

  Tiernan knew if she couldn’t find a way to help Brennan calm down, he would lose it and kill himself battering his poor, abused body against those electric bars.

  The room was a steel-and-concrete box, and the ceiling sloped oddly, making her think the structure wasn’t much more than a cave or tunnel, as opposed to the foundation of an actual building. She’d heard rumors of a system of tunnels under Yellowstone, but it was usually in the same papers that ran with sightings of Big Foot, or celebrity alien babies, so she’d never paid much attention.

  “Brennan, he was telling the truth. Smitty. When he said he doesn’t hurt women, I mean, but the rest, too. Maybe we can use that,” she whispered, keeping an eye on the guards.

  “It won’t matter, if he has his way,” Brennan growled, his eyes glowing hot green. “You’ll be enthralled and he won’t need to hurt you.”

  She flinched at the idea, but then blinked. She suddenly
understood why he’d spent so much time shielding his eyes or looking down at the ground. “Your eyes. Is that why he said you aren’t human?”

  Brennan’s eyes faded to an ordinary, non-glowing green. “No. I can hide the power at will. He suspected something since I could withstand multiple contacts with those electric cell bars.”

  “We should be okay until morning, don’t you think?” She glanced at the guards. “They don’t seem interested in bothering us, at least for now, thank goodness.”

  “Smitty warned them off. He has an interesting value structure, for a mercenary killer.” Brennan’s gaze was never still, as he scanned every inch of the room. “You should try to get some rest,” he said abruptly.

  She almost laughed. “Like I’m going to be able to sleep now? Trapped in the mad scientist’s evil lair? I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole, but instead of Wonderland, I’m in the middle of one of those really bad horror films.” She pulled her knees up against her chest and rested her head on her folded arms. “If a killer tomato shows up, I’m out of here.”

  Brennan stared at her and then shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Probably better that way,” she said, closing her eyes. A shiver suddenly raced through her body and she curled herself up even tighter. The concrete floor was cold and the room was freezing. She just hadn’t had time to notice it before.

  A moment later, something soft and warm landed on her head. She smelled Brennan and knew it was his shirt before she even opened her eyes. Pulling it close, she allowed herself a brief respite of imagining that the warmth of the fabric was the comfort of being back in Brennan’s arms. Then she forced herself to let go—both of his shirt and of fantasies of what she could never have.

  She held it out to him, trying not to stare at his muscular, bare chest. “I can’t take this. You’ll freeze.”

  He shook his head and shoved the long waves of his black hair away from his face. “My body temperature runs hot. I have no need of that and it might help you.”