by Alyssa Day
There was no other way to say it but baldly. "Riley is aknasha."
He heard the indrawn breaths, saw Alaric's eyes narrow, and waited.
Brennan spoke for the first time since Conlan had walked into the room. "That would explain her reaction after the battle. If she needs guarding, perhaps I would be the appropriate choice, since I have no emotions with which to overwhelm her senses," he said in his quiet voice. "It would make my curse bear some merit, for once."
Conlan narrowed his eyes, searching the warrior's face for signs of bitterness, but there was only the patient calm with which Brennan always faced the world. A curl of anger stirred in his gut at the idea of Brennan—of any male—spending time with Riley.
All righty, then. I need to get a fucking grip.
"Thanks, Brennan. We will discuss our plans in the morning, but I appreciate your offer," he said, inclining his head toward his emotionless warrior.
Then he turned toward Ven. "I need some rest, to complete the healing. Give me until dawn, unless there's some new crisis."
With a last narrow-eyed glance at Justice, Conlan left the room. Heading for Riley, who was sending out flutters of awakening consciousness.
As he walked down the hallway, he heard Bastien. "Ven, what's the deal with this Riley? An emotional empath after so many thousands of years? What the hell is going on?"
Conlan shook his head, pulled by an almost magnetic compulsion toward her room. I wish I knew.
Chapter 12
Alaric waited until he heard Conlan's footsteps reach Riley's room, then turned to face the Seven. "We need to discuss this human—this potential aknasha—and what we shall do about her."
Ven leaned back against a well-stocked bookcase. "You planning to hold this discussion behind my brother's back?"
His voice was calm. The look in his eyes was not. "Skirting perilously close to treason, my man."
"He may not be receptive to reason right now," Alaric returned. "He's not exactly acting rationally about her. Did any of you notice that he never questioned the presence of those vampires?"
Justice turned from the window to cast a sardonic look at Alaric. "Yet, somehow, when I mentioned that he might not be rational, you jumped down my throat."
Alaric shook his head once, dismissive. "This is not a question of whether or not Anubisa compromised him. I told you that she had not, and I stand by my pronouncement. However, his actions in regard to this human female are not entirely logical."
Alexios made a noise in his throat, just short of a growl.
"You, of all people, would deny him a distraction from his nightmares? From the torment that no doubt haunts him, day and night?"
Alaric wondered whether Alexios was talking about Conlan's torment or his own. Wondered if Alexios knew, himself.
Then dismissed the question as irrelevant.
"I would deny him nothing, especially not the vehicle of his ascension. However, every hour that Reisen holds the Trident, Conlan is one hour closer to losing the throne of Atlantis."
Slamming his game piece down on the table, Bastien clenched his hands into fists, enormous arm muscles bunching. "I will reach down into Reisen's throat and rip his kidneys out. I will slice his balls off and use them for earrings. I will personally turn every warrior in the House of Mycenae into a eunuch."
Ven pulled one of his daggers out of its sheath and examined the blade. "Oh, I'm sure you'll have a little help with that, my friend. And, speaking of vamps, what the hell was that about? We've encountered enough of them on our patrols, but we try never to leave witnesses. Why are we suddenly getting attacked by a group of bloodsuckers?"
He stopped, the blood draining out of his face, the lines bracketing his mouth whitening. "Anubisa. She's finally broken the curse that kept her from telling the vamps about us, hasn't she?"
Ven slammed his dagger back into its sheath. "We're fucking doomed."
Brennan, unruffled as ever, stood utterly still. "But were the vampires after us, or is the female the target? That was Terminus leading the pack. He is one of Barrabas's most trusted generals. What use would Barrabas have for Riley? Does he recognize her empathic powers?"
He put his hands together in front of him, steepling his fingers. "We have hunted Barrabas for more than two thousand years, with no success, and the humans elect him to their government. Senator Barnes. You must admit, the irony is delicious."
Justice smashed his fist into the back of the couch. "You've got a fucked-up sense of delicious, warrior. All that means to me is that he's more visible these days. The better for me to find him, catch him, and cut his ugly head from his ugly damned body."
Brennan moved his head a fraction of an inch and pinned Alaric with his gaze, ignoring Justice entirely. "Further, the question remains, Alaric. Do you yet lack the energy to scry for the Trident?"
Closing his eyes, Alaric sent his senses reaching out into the night. But the energy required to remove the poison from Conlan's bloodstream had drained his resources. He felt nothing—not even the slightest resonance from the Trident.
And the loss of it was like a gaping wound in his soul.
My duty. Mine as high priest to safeguard the sea god's Trident.
My failure.
He opened his eyes, feeling the weight of everyone's gaze upon him. "I must rest. I can feel nothing of the Trident's power. Reisen and his warriors are certainly shielding themselves from me, but I should be able to sense the location of the Trident when I have recovered from the healing."
Further considering, Alaric finally shook his head. "I have no idea what to think about this attack. But know this: if Reisen has somehow allied himself with the undead, Poseidon's vengeance will be vicious beyond the meaning of the word."
From the couch, where he huddled on one side, Denal laughed bitterly, then pounded his fist against his leg. "Vamps, Reisen. A human who shows more courage than I. I'm utterly useless. First, I failed to protect my prince, and then I allow our priest to waste his energy healing my worthless head."
Justice leaned forward and smacked Denal in the side of his now-healed head. "Yeah. Good job on your first mission, Junior."
Denal leapt off the couch at Justice, but Alaric had endured enough of them both. Almost negligently, he waved one hand, causing Denal to hang mid-leap, frozen in the air.
Justice whistled, but stepped back from Denal. "Nice trick, man. Can you teach me how to do that?"
Alaric's view of the room shimmered to emerald green, and he knew the limits of his self-control had finally been breached.
Brennan stepped forward. "The sea god's power is shining fiercely from your eyes in warning, high priest. Perhaps I may intervene and escort you to your rest?"
Christophe grinned. "Yeah, catch a chill wave, dude. Don't go all 'power of the gods' on us."
Brennan's lack of any emotion, combined with Christophe's irreverence, returned a measure of calm to Alaric. The green glow receded from his vision. He stared at each of the Warriors in turn, and each bowed to him.
All but Ven, who simply quirked a smile. "Yeah, yeah, you're the big bad—you're the dark bogeyman. But we still haven't figured out what we're going to do about this female. Plus, Barrabas is going to get his panties in a serious twist once he finds out we sliced and diced his general."
Alaric released Denal, who thumped to the floor.
"We'll take the female to Atlantis, to the Temple. We will study her and find out if she truly is aknasha. Moreover, we will research the ancient scrolls for talk of the soul-meld," Alaric replied, suddenly touched by the icy fingers of fear.
"The what?" Bastien asked, brows drawing together.
Alaric studied them, weighing how much to disclose. If Conlan had found soul-melding—last written of more than ten thousand years ago—with a human, Atlantean tradition would be rocked to its very foundation.
Everything would change.
Everything.
He fought off the premonition, squared his shoulders. "It is nothi
ng to worry about at this juncture. As to the vamps, we will continue to defeat them, as we have done for millennia."
He paused, then slowly nodded his head. "And the female? If she poses any threat to Conlan, we will kill her."
Riley woke from an uneasy sleep in which harsh-faced men with glowing eyes tried to murder her. She twisted to look at her alarm clock to see how long she'd managed to rest this time. Except her alarm clock wasn't on her nightstand.
Come to think of it, that wasn't her nightstand.
She jerked up, suddenly entirely awake, and wrestled with the quilt that pinned her to the bed.
Not her quilt. Not her bed.
Where the hell am I?
When the door started to open, she let out a little cry and rolled off the bed, quilt and all, immediately raising her head to stare across the bed at the intruder.
"It's you," she gasped, as Conlan filled the doorway. Every muscled inch of him, standing there in nothing but his pants and his unbuttoned shirt. She couldn't help it; she stared. The man was pure muscle from the vicious-looking scar at his throat, to his chest, all the way to his chiseled abdomen, and further down to his…
She jerked her gaze back to his face, her cheeks burning, and tried for a little "I wasn't checking you out" bravado. "This stalking thing has got to stop."
His lips quirked in a half smile, then his face arranged itself back into seriousness. "I'm here to offer my thanks, my lady."
Completely aware of how ridiculous she looked, sitting on the floor trapped in a quilt, Riley tried for dignity. "What's with the Camelot speech? One minute you sound normal, and the next you sound like Sir Lancelot or something."
She pushed her hair back away from her face, wondering just how bad she looked. Not that this was exactly the time to go all girly, but she was feeling a little insecure in front of Adonis or whoever the hell he was.
He laughed a little, and the sound of it stilled her whirling thoughts—stole inside her, wrapping itself around empty spaces.
It didn't make sense—none of it made sense.
How could someone she'd just met fit like a puzzle piece matched to her own jagged edges? She'd never believed in love at first sight, or destiny, or pretty much anything to do with romance.
She saw the results of so-called love every day at her job. Saw, and tried to pick up the pieces. It was enough to send Cupid to the gin bottle.
But there was something about this man…
"You're right," he said, walking farther into the room, pushing the door shut behind him. "We forget, sometimes, the modern speech we've learned over the years. Especially in times of duress, when we revert to formality as a matter of protocol."
He bowed his head. "I offer my apologies, nonetheless. You deserve more from me than I have words to give."
She could feel a torrent of emotion from him, as if a door opened and his feelings poured through. Remorse. Sorrow.
Aching, biting pain.
She lifted a hand to her head, expecting the barrage of emotions from the others to thunder through her head any minute, but, thankfully, the emotions of everyone else seemed to be muted, subdued. Her mind was packed with cotton wool, shut down. In self-defense?
Why couldn't she remember what had happened? She'd seen Conlan through the window, and then… "Where am I? Why has my head gone all fuzzy? Why are you—oh, heck, will you turn around for just a moment?"
He raised one of those elegant, dark eyebrows, then nodded once and complied.
"You are in a safe place. Your head is no doubt recovering from the barrage of emotions thrust into it earlier," Conlan answered. "I asked my warriors to shield their emotions from you. I should have realized it would be painful for you to be subjected to so many of us at once. I'm sorry for that."
She fought her way out of the quilt and stood up. "You don't have to keep apologizing, Conlan. Just maybe tell me what the hell is going on."
Much less embarrassing to face him eye to eye, rather than looking up all six and a half feet of him.
"Okay, Conlan, you can turn around now. And I'd really like some answers. First, are you—"
Midsentence, the gauze over her mind lifted and her memory returned in full. The battle. The sword. Conlan falling—lying so still.
Her eyes widened, and she started walking, then running, around the bed toward him. "Oh, holy crap! You—you were dead! Or almost dead! Why are you standing up? You should be in a hospital!"
She reached him and grabbed the edges of his shirt, yanking them back to look for the hideous sword wound that must be…
Had to be…
Wasn't there.
"It's not there," she said slowly. "How is that possible?"
Almost dazed, she placed her palm over his heart, waiting. Then she felt it. The thump of his heartbeat. The muscles of his chest tightened under her hand, and she looked up at his clenched jaw, then jerked her hand back.
"You're not a vampire, because you've got a heartbeat," she said. "Are you a shape-shifter? What kind of furry are you going to get?"
Backing away, she looked for windows, another door, maybe a zookeeper.
Any kind of help.
He laughed again. "I'm not going to turn furry, brave one. I am nothing you know."
"You can say that again," she muttered.
Suddenly, shockingly, he knelt in front of her. Even kneeling, his head came to her chest, reminding her again of his size and strength.
Not exactly the kind of stranger you wanted to be alone in a room with.
Except—except she'd been inside of his mind. And there was nothing but integrity in what she'd felt of his emotions. She didn't know how she knew that, but she did.
He looked up at her, his black eyes intent. He was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen—more handsome than she'd ever imagined a man could be. Maybe she was dreaming.
The tiny flame of blue-green she'd thought she'd imagined before flickered in the center of his pupils. "I am sworn to be a protector of all humankind, and—but for one brief lapse of time—have fulfilled this role for centuries. Yet tonight, in one moment, you showed more courage and bravery than I have ever known."
She started to speak, but he stopped her by taking her hands in his own. "You have my gratitude, and you will be under my protection for now and until the waves no longer touch the shore."
It had the feeling of a promise—the feeling of a vow.
Suddenly, Riley was having a hard time remembering any reason why she shouldn't want to hear promises or vows from this man. Except… except… something he'd said—
"Humankind? Well, it was pretty clear out there that you weren't human, what with the balls of vamp-incinerating energy. So just what the hell are you?" she said, breaking out of the trance his words had put her in and backing away.
Conlan smiled and rose gracefully to his feet. "I'm not of any of the nine hells," he said. "I am Conlan of Atlantis."
Riley burst out laughing. "Oh. Right. Of course you are. And I'm Alice of Wonderland."
She shook her head. Old Alice had it right. Curiouser and curiouser.
Chapter 13
Conlan put his hands behind his back, clasping them together. He couldn't let her know the self-control it was costing him to stand in this room with her.
Alone.
With a giant bed taking up most of the floor. Every part of his body tensed at the thought of wrapping her back up in that quilt.
Wrapping her up in his arms.
What in the nine hells was wrong with him? He was worse than a randy recruit coming out of training. He'd never reacted this way to a woman.
Any woman. Especially not a human. Even one who looked flushed and sleepy and exactly as she would look in the morning after a night of pleasure in his arms.
Focus.
His thoughts flickered to the Atlantean maiden who had been selected for him.
The woman he'd never met—who'd never met him.
More archaic Atlantean politics, cold and
dead.
Unlike the woman who stood in front of him, warm and alive.
"Hot, even," he murmured.
Riley only stopped moving away from him when she backed into the bed. His gaze was drawn down to her legs. Miles of legs. Endless legs wrapped in snug, faded denim.
He wanted her legs wrapped around his waist.
Breasts tempting even under that oversized shirt, generous enough that he could see them press against the fabric when she moved in certain ways. He'd felt them against his chest on the beach. Her waist curved in perfectly. Just the right size for his hands.
She was lush and luscious. Not a stick figure of a woman like the type popular this decade. He could hold her under him, drive into her without the worry of breaking her, fill his hands with her—
"Atlantis. Right," she said again, jerking him out of his fantasies and maybe even stopping him from coming right there in his pants.
He cursed under his breath in ancient Atlantean.
"And you can stop that right now," she continued, cheeks pink again. As pink as they'd been when she looked at his chest. The thought of it sent heat crashing back through him, and he took a step toward her.
"Stop what?" He took another step.
Her voice was breathless, husky. "Stop staring at my legs. Stop looking at me like I'm on the menu. Stop coming closer. Stop being so… so… so over the top."
"Over the top?" Another step.
She held her hands up as if to ward him off, though he was easily another five steps away from her. "And stop repeating everything I say," she said, stomping her foot.
It made him smile. So fierce! No wonder he couldn't shake her from his thoughts.
He was in trouble.
He didn't care.
"If I promise to stop repeating your words, may I take another step?" he asked, drinking in the sight of her. In the golden glow of the bedside lamps, her hair was firelight on amber. Sunshine on the golden dome of Poseidon's Temple. Eyes as blue as the ocean surface at twilight.
