Authors: Alyssa Day

Atlantis Rising (33 page)

BOOK: Atlantis Rising

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“No way am I staying behind, so get that out of your mind,” she interrupted.

“But I need to know you’re safe,” he said in what must have been his “reason with the peasants” voice.

She folded her arms, sent a big wave of stubborn through their bond. “Not. Happening. Besides, look how well that turned out last night.”

She felt the capitulation in his mind before he nodded. “All right. But you stay out of the line of fire, do you understand? If anything happens to you . . .”

She went to him, put her arms around his waist. “I know. I get it. I feel the same way about you.”

Alaric stalked to the doorway, paused to look back at them. Riley saw the wildness in his eyes. “I’m leaving now. I’ll meet you there.”

“You can sense the Trident now?” she asked him.

“No. But I can feel Quinn.” She caught the flash of pain before he slammed shut his own mental shields. Wondered at the cause.

What exactly had happened between Quinn and Alaric during that healing?

She added it to her mental list of “things to officially worry about later” and headed after him to the hallway to get her bag. She had an hour to charge her phone.

Oh. Yeah. And to prepare for the end of the world.

Less than four hours and fifty or so broken traffic laws later, they were on the outskirts of D.C. in a neighborhood so bad even the police didn’t like to hang out there.

Riley could feel Quinn long before they arrived. She sent out a push to try to communicate in words instead of just emotions. Somehow she felt like her talents in that area had increased a little bit since she’d had a chat with a god.

Quinn! Can you hear me?

Riley? How are you—oh, you’ve changed. The power emanating from you is lighting up my corner of the world. What the hell have you been up to?

I had a heart-to-heart with a sea god, who apparently claimed me for his own. Life is . . . interesting.

There was a silence, as if Quinn were choosing her words carefully.

Riley, what is this? Is this big and bad on an apocalyptic level?

Yeah. Yes, it is. I’ll explain as much as I can as soon as we get there.

Another silence. Finally Quinn spoke in Riley’s mind again.

Okay, get here soon. And, Riley?

Yes?

He’s here. Alaric. I can feel him in my blood. He’s . . . near.

I know. We need to talk about that, too.

She cut off the communication, feeling a headache center itself over her eyes from the strain. She may have become more powerful, but unused muscles needed to be trained.

If she lived long enough.

She shook her head, put her hand out to rest it on Conlan’s leg as he drove. He glanced at her, eyebrows drawn together. “Are you all right? Was that Quinn?”

“Yes. We’re almost there.”

He nodded, concentrating on the road and the always hideous D.C. traffic.

Almost there. And tonight the shit hits the proverbial fan. What have I gotten myself into this time?

But she looked at his strong profile and knew there was nowhere she’d rather be.

Conlan took point going into the abandoned building that Riley assured him was Quinn’s headquarters and base of operations for the East Coast cell of her freedom fighters. He couldn’t persuade Riley to stay behind, but he could damn well protect her from at least the front wave of any ambush.

Ven and the rest of the Seven fanned around and behind her, weapons at the ready. “I wonder how long the hubcaps on the Hummer will last?” Ven said under his breath, probably trying to get Riley to smile.

“Oh, they’re already gone, I bet,” Bastien said. “Never liked that car anyway.”

Christophe laughed. “I put a little zinger on the cars. If anybody goes after them, they’re in for a surprise.”

Conlan ignored the banter, led the way down a battered and graffiti-covered staircase at Riley’s direction. Didn’t like it one bit.

They hit the bottom step and found a dozen armed guards waiting for them, all dressed in old jeans and leather jackets. They looked like hoodlums or homeless people, until you noticed the very new, very shiny guns in their hands.

Conlan and the Seven immediately drew their weapons and aimed them. Riley pushed her way through to stand next to Conlan and shook her head. “Nice show, Quinn. Now call them off.”

The man in front, huge and built like a warrior, slowly bared his teeth in what he probably thought was a smile. Civilization was a bare veneer over the savagery in the man.

Conlan knew instantly that this was the leader. Nodded his head to the man. “I am Conlan of Atlantis. This is Riley, Quinn’s sister. If you’re not the people we seek, we’ll walk out of here. Try to hinder us, and you’ll die for your trouble.”

The man gave an almost-imperceptible signal, and the men with him lowered their weapons. “Quinn! Looks like it’s family reunion week,” he called out.

He held out his hand to Conlan. “Jack Shepherd. I help out.”

Quinn walked out of a small door behind Jack, arguing with somebody on the telephone. “No, it’s now or never. I need that stuff tonight. Or by morning at the latest.”

She held her hand over the receiver, nodded to Riley, looked at Jack. “Dawn?”

He nodded, body radiating a fierce tension. “Dawn. If your friends agree that it’s better to hit the bloodsuckers at daylight?”

Conlan inhaled deeply, subtly called power. The elements sang to him, but the earth’s song was the most piercing. He looked at Jack. “And how about you? Is it better for you and the other shape-shifters to hit at dawn, too?”

Chapter 34

While Ven and the Seven made nice with Quinn’s strike force, Conlan, Riley, and Quinn and her buddy the alpha werewolf sat around a scarred metal table on chipped and battered wooden chairs.

Quinn looked at Conlan. “He’s not.”

“He’s not what?”

“He’s not a werewolf, if that’s what you were thinking. He’s . . . Jack, is it okay if I tell them?”

Jack shot a hard, measuring stare at Conlan. Oh, yeah. The man was definitely a warrior, no matter what kind of animal he turned into under the moon’s pull.

“Fine. I guess knowing about Atlantis is about as tit for tat as we can get on this op,” he said.

Quinn smiled briefly. “He’s a weretiger. Not indigenous to North America. But when the vamps—”

“When the bloodsuckers destroyed my entire streak—my family group—I decided they were going to die. And the best way to take them down was to come to the source,” Jack said, voice bleak.

Riley sent an affirmation through the bond. The man was telling the truth. That was good enough for Conlan. “We need to recover the Trident. Its power in the hands of Barrabas or—gods help us—Anubisa could well signal the beginning of the next Cataclysm.”

Quinn nodded. “They have your people, too. Daniel told us he’s planning a coup, and we—”

“Daniel?” Riley interrupted. “Who is he, and why do we trust him?”

“Good question,” Jack growled. “He’s one of Barrabas’s top generals, and I
don’t
trust him. Ask your crazy sister what the hell she’s thinking.”

A dark, swirling shadow swept through the room, driving an icy wind before it. Before he’d even materialized, Quinn stood up, hands outstretched. “Alaric.”

He swept down, took her hands, and pushed her back and away from the shape-shifter.

Jack obviously didn’t care for that at all. He was on his feet, gun in hand, in the blink of an eye. Conlan had nearly forgotten how fast shape-shifters could move.

From the look of it, maybe weretigers were the fastest of the bunch.

“Step away from the lady, magic boy,” he growled, in a low, rumbling roar.

Next to him, Riley shivered at the jungle sound resonating through the small room. Conlan jumped up, flashed across the table to face Jack. “Calm down, he’s with us.”

“I don’t care who he is, he needs to keep his hands off my partner, or he’s going to be fertilizer.” Jack’s eyes glowed an eerie yellow-green shade and the pupils lengthened to slits.

Quinn’s voice came from behind Conlan. “Jack, stop it. This is Alaric, and he healed me from that gunshot wound. He has . . . civility issues.”

Heat and light shot through the room, and Conlan didn’t have to turn around to know who was generating it. “Alaric! A little control, if you please. We’ve got a lot to deal with, here.”

Alaric’s voice was rusty, strained. “A word, if you would, my lady. I need—I need—” He broke off, breathing harshly.

Riley started to go to Quinn, but Conlan stopped her with a hand on her arm. This was something Quinn and Alaric had to figure out before they could all work as a team to storm the Primus. Riley glared at him, then felt his emotions and signaled that she understood. Nodded and sat back down.

Quinn finally spoke, her voice unbearably weary. “Yes. We need to talk. Especially since that’s all we will ever do with each other. Come with me. The rest of you, please just wait. Get to know each other.”

She laughed. “Eat a cookie.”

As Quinn and Alaric left the room, Conlan achieved a moment of clarity. The realization that Quinn had trapped Alaric in her empathic net as surely as Riley had done to Conlan.

But certain sea creatures founder and drown in nets.

And Alaric was looking like one of them.

Then they were gone, leaving him alone with a creature that everything in his heritage told him he should destroy.

Riley watched them leave, then heaved out a sigh. She leaned forward, elbows on the table, and smiled at Jack. “So. Tell us about being a tiger. Where are you from?”

Alaric faced Quinn on the roof of the building. Fighting desperately for self-control. For calm.

For the courage not to fall on his knees in front of this human female and beg for her touch.

How Poseidon must be laughing at his high priest now.

She watched him, wariness in every line of her body. “You’re the most powerful with the magic, aren’t you? I can feel it singing in your veins, thrumming underneath my skin. What did you do to me when you healed me? And thank you for that, by the way.”

He stalked her, paced in an ever-diminishing circle around her position. Knowing he should stop.

Unable to do so.

“I did nothing unusual, although current events suggest that Riley may have aided in your healing,” he said roughly. “What was unusual was what you did to me.”

She wasn’t even beautiful. He’d always thought he’d fall someday, into grand and gloriously unrequited love with an amazing beauty. A goddess among women.

Among
Atlantean
women.

Yet this scruffy human—this
rebel
—wasn’t anything like what he’d imagined. She was so thin as to look starved, all huge eyes with black circles under them over hollow cheeks. Her short hair looked like she’d cut it with that knife she kept in her pocket. Her clothes were no better than what he’d seen on beggars on the streets.

He wanted her so badly it was an actual physical pain squeezing his balls.

“I don’t know what you think you see, but I’m not like my sister,” she said, voice and emotions filled with sorrow. The heat and colors of her emotions swirled around him, tortured him. Wine red, dusky gray, and the blue of the sea at twilight danced into him, through him, piercing him with poignancy.

Bringing tears to his eyes.

He fought them back. Fought against the silken net she so effortlessly wove around his heart. Around his soul.

The woman who could tame a sea monster.

And he, the monster.

“You’re nothing like your sister,” he agreed. “And yet you’re exactly like her. Foolishly idealistic, the both of you. She saves crack babies, and you save the world.”

Feint, attack. “Did you know that Riley gave up her life for two of our warriors?”

She paled even beyond the marble whiteness that was her skin. Her perfect skin.

The skin he wanted to taste.

“What?” she gasped. “But, wait. You said ‘gave up her life.’ She was pretty clearly alive in that room.”

“Yes. Poseidon plays with semantics as easily as he plays with destinies and lives. He took her for his own.”

She scowled. Took a step closer to him. “What the hell does that mean? Is some ancient pervert of a mythological god going to try to rape my sister? Because I’ll kick his fishy-tailed ass for him.”

Alaric flinched at the blasphemy, then a thunderbolt of epiphany smashed into him. He’d fight Poseidon himself to protect Quinn.

He was ruined.

Strange that the word she’d used to describe herself flowed so easily into his mind.
Ruined.

“Why are you ruined?” he asked abruptly. “What were you talking about?”

It was her turn to flinch. She whirled on her heel to stare out at the view. Abandoned buildings and junked cars held nothing to capture her attention, but something in her memories evidently did.

He silently moved until he was immediately behind her. Could feel her body heat warming the iciness of his skin. The frozen tundra of his heart.

Knew he had to get away or get burned.

Before he could move, she turned back again and nearly ended up in his arms. They were so close a mere breath separated them.

A breath and eleven thousand years of dogma.

“The rebel and the priest,” he rasped. “What a pair we are.”

Her eyes were huge in her starved face. “But a
pair
is what we could never be. I’ve done things . . . black and unforgivable things. In the name of freedom.”

He put a hand up to touch her face, stopped with his fingers an inch away from her skin. “And I’ve done nothing. In the name of a god.”

He flashed back a dozen or so paces, stood staring at her. Letting the full impact of his hunger and his wanting thunder toward her.
Into
her.

BOOK: Atlantis Rising

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