Instead, he blew out a long-suffering sigh and tried again. “Flynn. I’m Flynn. Somebody must remember me. It’s only been ten years or so.”
“Maybe Marcus?” one of the guards said, scratching his head and then putting his hat back on. The blue-and-gold braid on the new Atlantean guard uniform was a bit much if anybody asked Flynn, but sadly, so far nobody had. He felt practically underdressed in his jeans, T-shirt, and beat-up leather jacket.
The head-scratching guard pointed. “There he is now.”
An older man who looked familiar to Flynn was headed down the path from the direction of the palace. The man walked in that ground-eating pace of an old soldier and wore plain black pants with a deep blue shirt—no gold braid in sight. He’d probably been one of Poseidon’s Warriors for a long time. Yes. It was definitely Marcus. He’d had little patience for Flynn and Dare’s pranks back when they were kids. Suddenly Flynn wasn’t all that sure he wanted to be recognized, at least not by Marcus, who was clearly still the captain of the guard.
Marcus’s sharp gaze studied Flynn as he reached him, and a hint of recognition crossed his face. Surprise was there, judging by the way the man’s eyes widened.
But recognition too.
He stopped in front of Flynn. “I’ll be damned. Dare and Liam’s brother. Flynn. We thought you were dead.”
Flynn, who’d been about to say something, he didn’t know what, just stood there with his mouth hanging open. “Dead? You thought I was dead?”
Marcus shrugged. “You’ve been gone with no word for a long time.”
“I saw Dare just five or six years ago,” Flynn began hotly but then realized it was the height of stupidity to argue with the captain of the guard about whether or not he was dead, when he was clearly standing right there. Instead, he’d get some useful information. “Are either of my brothers around?”
Marcus’s eyes widened again, just that slight fraction. “Right. Of course you wouldn’t know. Your brother Dare and his wife Lyric are off on another sea voyage, and Liam’s on a mission. His wife Jaime—I guess that’s your other sister-in-law—is probably in the palace. She’s the queen’s official event planner now, or some such thing.”
The crowd was building up behind them though, so Marcus waved him through without any further bombshells, and Flynn walked off toward… what?
Where?
Did he even have a family home any longer?
Sister-in-law. Sisters-in-law, plural. He hadn’t thought—hadn’t realized—but of course his brothers would have moved on without him. And they thought he was dead? True, it had been years since he’d tried to contact them. At least five or six years since he’d run into Dare, back in Dare’s pirate days. Flynn had heard things about him though. Dare and Luna were visible, especially since he carried a sea spirit on board with him. And now, evidently, a wife.
Flynn had always thought, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he and his brothers would be reunited one day. He’d known that his parents had died years before, both from complications stemming from their love of drink. But he’d wanted to come back and be part of his brothers’ family again.
We thought you were dead.
Either they’d forgotten about him or didn’t care. It would have been easy enough to track Flynn down. Not a lot of men traveling the world called themselves Flynn of Atlantis, after all. You’d think that when a man got married, he would at least try to track down his brother.
Maybe not so much when the brother had abandoned both of them to the caring attentions of a violent father and useless mother.
He shoved the thought away. No use to speculate now. Probably at least one of the happily married couples was living in the old house, so he sure as the nine hells wasn’t going to visit there. What did that leave him?
A pub.
Seemed like nobody knew who he was anymore, so he could catch up on some news or gossip or sailor talk—sailors loved to talk—about what exactly had been going on since Atlantis joined the world again, without having to answer difficult questions about his own whereabouts. Sounded just about perfect, and a beer wouldn’t hurt either.
Mind made up, he decided on the Sea Shanty. It had always been one of his favorite hangouts and had the added advantage that his old man, the ever-so-particular drunk that he’d been, had refused to ever enter it over some perceived slight from the owner. Flynn had far too many memories of dragging his unconscious father home from far too many pubs to want to revisit any of them and take a bad trip down memory lane, as the humans liked to say.
His mother, at least, had been courteous enough to get drunk at home.
From out of nowhere, a wave of remembered rage and shame slammed through him so powerfully that he could taste the rusty metal edges of it in his mouth. Suddenly, he fiercely wanted to go back to the dock and tell some of those starry-eyed tourists that Atlantis might look like a pretty tale from one of their bedtime storybooks, but he’d be happy to take them to see her seedy underbelly.
Right. Enough of that.
He turned abruptly to take the left-hand path toward the Sea Shanty, only to run right into someone coming from the opposite direction.
“Watch where you’re going,” Flynn snarled, still sunk in angry memories.
The other man, dark-haired, also dressed simply in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, had merely grunted at the encounter and kept walking, but now he stopped dead and swung slowly back around. “What did you say to me?”
Flynn groaned mentally. No wonder it had felt like he’d run into the side of a building. If he had to run into somebody, it couldn’t have been any ordinary Atlantean citizen out for a walk. Oh, no. Not with the shit luck he’d been having lately.
No, he had to run into one of the king’s elite warriors.
And then mouth off about it.
Flynn had been in Atlantis for just over thirty minutes, and he was already ass-deep in alligators. And the alligator in front of him looked like he’d be happy to teach Flynn a very painful lesson.
In the mood he was in, Flynn was almost tempted to try teaching a lesson of his own.
But no. Denal was a member of the king’s most-trusted Seven. And Flynn had better things to do than spend the night in jail, even Atlantean jail, which would seem like heaven to human prisoners but which, in the end, was still captivity.
No more captivity. He couldn’t take it. So instead of mouthing off again, he tried diplomacy. He bowed slightly, a perfectly correct Atlantean court gesture that he performed exquisitely even after so many years of not doing it (except in Japan that one long, drunken week). “I’m sorry. It was my fault.”
Denal said nothing, but his eyes narrowed and a muscle in his jaw twitched.
Time to get moving. Fast. Flynn stepped carefully off the path and around Denal at a safe distance and started to head toward the Sea Shanty, because now he needed that beer more than ever.
An arm shot out to bar his way.
“I. Asked. You. What. You. Said. To. Me,” Denal said, biting off each word. “I’m not in the mood to be ignored. And maybe you’d better think before you speak, because it’s been a very bad day.”
Flynn’s blood started to boil in his veins. He actually thought he could see smoke rising from the surface of his own skin, he was so angry. There was respect, and then there was acting like a scared jellyfish. He was not about to put up with any crap from the man, Poseidon’s Warrior or not.
He shoved Denal’s arm out of his way, becoming aware, even as he did it, that a few people had started to gather near them and were staring at them. Probably placing bets on any possible fight. He’d lay odds they were betting against him. Most did.
Most were surprised.
He took a deep breath of the sweetly scented Atlantean air so near the gardens and tried to calm down.
It didn’t work.
“I haven’t had a great day myself, friend,” he told Denal. “Why don’t we just call it even and move on?”
Unbelievably
, Denal smiled. It was the kind of smile that would frighten small children and drive grown men to drink. It was a smile filled with unholy glee and the certain knowledge of someone’s—Flynn was pretty sure it was his—imminent injury.
“Did you just challenge me?” Denal rolled up his sleeves and took a step forward. “That sounded like a challenge to me. Hey, I almost want to thank you. This is going to be a pleasure.”
Fighting his own instincts as hard as he could, in spite of the ugly realization that he’d look like a fool and a coward to the gathering crowd, Flynn held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Look. I said I’m sorry. Why don’t—”
He never even had time to duck before the fist hit him right in the jaw.
When his head quit ringing, he launched himself at Denal. “You slimy pile of whale shit!” he roared. “I don’t care who you are. I’m gonna crush you!”
Before he could lay a finger on the warrior though, Denal’s flying kick smashed into the side of his head and knocked the words out of Flynn’s mouth.
He considered it a personal triumph that he didn’t hit the ground, but it was a close call. He lashed out blindly but missed by an Earth mile.
Denal circled him, fists up, with that horrible smile still on his face. “Bring it already. What happened? Did you turn into a frightened little boy when you were playing with dragons, Flynn?”
Flynn.
Denal knew his name. Knew who he was. Knew where he’d been. The realization sharpened Flynn’s addled thinking.
“Just keep thinking that,” he advised and followed up with a roundhouse punch that caught Denal on the chin and knocked him back a pace.
Denal wanted trash talk? Okay. Flynn would be happy to oblige.
“Sure you don’t want run to the palace and hide behind the queen’s skirts?” he taunted. “I’d be surprised if you even remember how to fight by yourself without Conlan and Alaric and the rest of the Seven to wipe your nose when you cry.”
Denal bellowed something unintelligible and faked a punch, followed by a lightning-fast kick. Flynn saw the kick coming in his peripheral vision though, so he managed to block it, and then he countered with a spinning kick of his own to Denal’s head.
This one connected.
Denal’s head snapped back, but then, bizarrely, he laughed. “Nice one,” he sneered. “Try that again, I’m begging you. I’m gonna break your leg. I’m gonna break both of your legs.”
Flynn wasn’t sure if he or Denal would be lying dead on the ground within the next five minutes, but he found he didn’t care. Beating the shit out of one of Poseidon’s finest seemed like a fine way to burn off some of the frustration that he’d been feeling ever since Kyla died. “Let’s go.”
Before either of them took a single step forward, a woman walked right up to them and said hello.
The lilting feminine voice was like ice water poured on the rage that had been flooding Flynn’s body only seconds before. He and Denal both stopped, inches from each other, fists still raised, and turned to look at the woman who’d spoken.
“Hello,” she repeated to the stunned men when neither answered her. “Excuse me. Have either of you seen my book?”
Flynn had never seen her before, but he knew at once that she wasn’t Atlantean. She was human, and very pretty in a beachy kind of way. She had long white-blond hair, cornflower-blue eyes, and a friendly smile. She actually had flowers—Atlantean daylilies—braided into her hair, and she wore a white dress with a belt of multicolored ribbons.
When you put it all together, she looked like she’d stepped out of a painting by some obscure French artist.
And she was still standing there, smiling at them. He abruptly felt ridiculous, fighting like a child over a toy, and he lowered his hands and backed away from Denal. He also suddenly realized that he wanted, desperately, to make sure that she found anything she needed, and that he would help her in any way possible, because she made him… Happy.
What in the nine hells was going on?
He couldn’t help it though. He had to smile at her. “I haven’t seen a book, but I’d be glad to help you look,” he said stupidly, grinning like a fool. What was happening to him?
“Oh, that would be wonderful if you could. I’m Sunny,” she said in that silvery voice that he wanted to wrap around himself and roll around in.
Really, this was getting ridiculous. Was it a spell?
Somehow, even though he knew that something was wrong, she still made him feel dazed and incredibly happy. She had an indefinable quality of joy that made him feel a blissful sort of contentment just from looking at her. No, that wasn’t it. Just from being in her presence.
She had a… peaceful effect on him, and that it worked on this day of all days meant that she was probably playing with some serious magic or else she was a succubus. Maybe? A Fae princess?
No. Definitely human.
He shook his head to try to shake off whatever altered mental state she’d sent him into and started looking around for the book. Probably better not to look directly at her anyway. Belatedly, he realized two things: first, a crowd of children had followed her, smiling and giggling and chattering; and second, whatever effect she clearly had on everyone else there wasn’t working on Denal at all.
The warrior was scowling at Sunny even more fiercely than he’d glared at Flynn, and that was saying something. Apparently whatever peaceful happiness Sunny spread to everyone around her hadn’t affected stone-faced Denal in the slightest.
Suddenly Sunny gave a little cry of delight and clapped her hands. “Oh, I see it. There it is on the bench. Thanks though!” With a parting smile, she retrieved her book and headed off toward the palace, still followed by the children.
“Well, now I feel too stupid to live for getting involved with this fight,” Flynn told Denal when he could wrench his gaze from the woman and her flock of children. “But I’m no coward either. If you still want to go through with this idiocy, we should move it to a more secluded location.”
Denal’s gaze whipped back to him, and the warrior smiled again. This smile though held no glee, evil or otherwise. Instead, it was one of the most bitter expressions Flynn had ever seen on an Atlantean face.
“I have a better idea,” Denal said. “You’re coming with me. We’ve got a mission.”
Flynn blinked, wondering when he’d fallen down a hole out of Atlantis into The World Is Insane land. “You are very mistaken. I’m not one of Poseidon’s warriors. That’s my brother Liam. And, from what I hear, maybe my brother Dare now as well. I’m just—”
Denal threw his head back and laughed. “Boy, are you wrong. I just drafted you. Welcome to Denal’s Doomed Dozen. Man, were you in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Flynn had absolutely no idea what was going on, so he guessed his best idea was to follow Denal and keep quiet until he could figure it out. Ten minutes, two KEEP OUT signs, and a guardhouse later, they arrived at the warrior training grounds.
Flynn had been there before, of course. All young men of a certain age wound up there as teenagers, eager to prove their mettle and beat each other into pulp for fun.
It was a guy thing.
But he’d never once gone there with any real idea of becoming one of Poseidon’s Warriors. He wasn’t the law-and-order kind. He wasn’t a rule follower. He definitely wasn’t a person to take orders or commands, even from kings or princes.
Or so he’d told himself. But long years away from home had led him to perhaps a slight recognition of a few painful truths. Just the smallest bit of self-awareness.
It hadn’t been that he wasn’t interested—he’d been sure he wasn’t good enough.
Why wait for someone else to tell you that you don’t measure up when you can take yourself out of the running? He’d managed to figure out a way to slip through the enchanted portal that used to be Atlantis’s only connection with the world above the ocean. He’d been barely twenty, but he’d figured things out. He’d learned about Earth, and
humans, and jobs, and money. He’d learned about girls.
He’d learned about crime and getting caught. He’d learned about jails when he came very close to being put in one. He’d come into his powers of transforming to mist much earlier than most, maybe as a way to avoid his father’s fists, and had used that magic to escape what had been very well-deserved punishment for a stupid, petty crime.
He’d escaped the town, the country, and that entire side of the world. A few months later, in a dockside town in Europe, he met another wandering soul. Someone as lost as Flynn had been. Kian had become closer to him than the brothers Flynn had left behind.
But it didn’t matter now. Kian would never forgive him for leaving, especially the way he’d done it. Kian would never forgive him for Kyla.
Flynn would never forgive himself.
He suddenly realized Denal had stopped, and managed to drag himself out of his mental ramblings before he stumbled into the warrior again and caused another brawl. One unplanned beating in a day was really his limit. His head was still ringing from that kick.
“Why are we here?” He looked around and saw that the place was mostly empty. “And where is everybody?”
Denal swept an arm out, indicating the large, empty space. “We have it all to ourselves for the moment. Aren’t you special?” Then he stalked off toward the armory, which had always held real weapons as well as training ones back when Flynn was a kid, shoved open the door, and vanished inside.
Flynn decided he’d had enough of blindly following Denal around, Poseidon’s Warrior or not. He walked over to a wooden bench on the perimeter of the square marked off for sword bouts and sat down. He turned his face up to the sun shining down on Atlantis, which he hadn’t felt on his skin in more than a decade, closed his eyes, and decided to wait and see what happened next.
When he heard footsteps approaching from the opposite direction in which Denal had gone, he opened one eye.
The newcomer was tall and lean with the sun-streaked blond hair and lanky build of a surfer. “Hey, man. Do you know what we’re here for? Poseidon told me—”
My Paranormal Valentine: A Paranormal Romance Box Set Page 21
