Atlantis Rising wop-1 Read online

  "Are you on some sort of medication? Or are all human females as completely illogical as you are?" He looked genuinely puzzled, which almost made her smile.

  "So you spend a lot of time protecting humanity, just not much time having conversations with it. Us. Am I getting the gist of this?" She drained her coffee cup, placed it on the small table next to the wall, and nodded at the door. "Also, are you going to let me out of here anytime soon? Not that being abducted hasn't been great fun, but I have a date with Detective Ramirez."

  She flinched at the sound of the low rumbling growl that started in his chest and worked his way up out of his throat. "You're not going anywhere, Riley," he said. "And if you like this Ramirez at all, you'll forget about going on any dates with him. I seem to be somewhat unstable even hearing of the idea."

  The look on his face was possessive and predatory all at once. He suddenly resembled a feral jungle animal defending its territory.

  She so hadn't had enough coffee for that. "Are you going to start peeing on the walls next, to mark your territory?" she asked, all sweetness and light. "Because we had a tomcat who did that when I was a kid."

  She smiled up at him. "My dad had him neutered."

  One moment, he was standing across the room from her, and the next he was right up against her body, crowding her backward until her butt hit the dresser. "I've already faced one female who wanted to neuter me," he whispered in her ear. "Trust me on this. If I could survive her, my balls are infinitely safe with you."

  She bit her lip, flustered. The scent of him, oddly like sunlight on seawater, clean and bracing, filled the bare inch or two of space between them. She had the oddest urge to bury her nose in his neck and simply stand there, inhaling him.

  She raised her hands to his chest, instead, blocking him. "I didn't—I mean—your balls are safe—oh, heck. All I meant was that I have to go to the police station and make a statement. Detective Ramirez is the lead on the case."

  Conlan's shoulders relaxed, and the aggression he'd been radiating went down a notch. Cautiously, Riley lifted the mental shields she'd placed around her emotions earlier. She and Quinn had practiced for hours as kids, at first building pretend brick walls and then, as they grew older and more sophisticated, pretend titanium doors in their minds.

  Quinn had claimed all her doors were made of kryptonite, but Riley had just laughed. "It's not like we're ever going to face any superheroes, Quinn," she'd said one day when they were on opposite ends of their twelfth year.

  "You never know," Quinn had replied, dark and dramatic as always.

  "What is kryptonite?" Conlan asked, fingers twining around a strand of her hair.

  "What? How did you… oh, right. I opened the door," Riley said, at first startled and then resigned. "Well, since it's already open, let's go for broke."

  With that, she lifted her hands to his face, braced herself, and for the first time in her life sent her emotions, her thoughts, and her curiosity winging inside of another person.

  And was nearly brought to her knees.

  Strength. Courage. Honor. Duty.

  Glimpses of the past.

  A man, graying, with Conlan's eyes, stood next to a woman so beautiful that Riley gasped.

  Mother. Father.

  Shift: A boy, it had to be Ven, and another, the scary healer guy, maybe? She wasn't sure, since the boy with the green eyes so like Alaric's was smiling.

  She didn't think the healer had ever smiled.

  All of them riding horses, laughing.

  Shift: Rows of men, all huge, muscled, gorgeous, naked to the waist, sparring with swords and daggers in some kind of arena.

  Shift: Fires. Knives. Teeth, no, fangs. Pain. Searing, agonizing, ripping pain. She was dying—no, he, he, it was Conlan, they were torturing him, they were killing him…

  "No!" she screamed, her hands falling away from his face as she fell backward into the strength of his arms. "No, no, no, no, no."

  As he lifted her gently, held her in his arms, all she could do was sob.

  Conlan stared down at the woman crying in his arms and felt the walls he'd built around his heart start to crumble. He literally heard the crashing sounds of the bricks and mortar, and all he could think of was how badly he needed to get away from her.

  As he started to release her, she clutched at his arms and looked up at him through pain-drenched eyes. "Damn them for what they did to you. I hope you track them down and rip their bloody guts out. I'm so sorry, Conlan. I should—I should never have intruded on your privacy."

  She slowly reached up to touch the scar at his throat. "I'm so sorry," she repeated, whispering. Then her eyes narrowed and she met his gaze again, her expression ferocious. "I hope I get a chance to run into any of the ones who hurt you. They won't hurt anybody else, ever again."

  He blinked, unable to remember when words had touched him the way hers did. She wanted to protect him. She wanted to avenge him.

  The cracking sound of those walls he'd built up inside himself turned into an avalanche.

  He tightened his arms around her again, burying his face in her hair. "Never apologize to me for your grace and your light, mi amara aknasha."

  She pulled away a little and looked up at him through the tears running down her face. "What does that mean?"

  He shook his head, the lump lodged in his throat rendering him unable to form the words in English. She'd really think he was insane if he let her know he'd called her his beloved empath.

  Speaking of insane, he probably had about ten seconds before Ven came pounding on the door. He sucked in a huge breath and pressed a kiss to her forehead, then dropped his arms and stepped back. "Riley, I know this must feel like you got dropped into the middle of one of those horror movies Ven loves so much, but you have to trust me—"

  Riley flashed a brilliant smile at him, wiping the tears off her face. "Trust you? Are you kidding? After what I just saw, I'd trust you with my life."

  Relief washed over him, loosening the clenched muscles in his neck and shoulders. "Good," he said, trying to smile. "Because you may have to."

  Chapter 17

  Riley followed Conlan down a long hallway lined with classic horror movie posters. She stopped, laughing, in front of the toothy tomato decorating the Attack of the Killer Tomatoes poster and then turned her gaze to The Blob.

  "Steve McQueen," she mused, tracing the edge of the frame with one finger. "I loved this movie."

  Conlan held his hand out to her and grinned. "You and my brother are going to get along just fine."

  As they rounded the corner into some kind of large games room, she jerked to a stop at the sight of the crowd of enormous men who sat, stood, leaned, and basically filled up every ounce of space. Well, the men and the cartons, boxes, and trays of food that covered every spare inch of surface. The room looked like an invading army had stopped by for breakfast.

  God, they were huge. No wonder they needed to eat all that food. It probably took a zillion calories a day to feed each one of them. She closed her eyes for a moment, reaching inward to be sure her titanium-door emotional shields were firmly in place. She didn't want a repeat of the night before.

  Almost to a man, they all shot up to attention and stared at her, most of them grasping the handles of the daggers they wore.

  Would you like some coffee with your instruments of death? She covered her mouth to try to stop it, but she had an insane urge to laugh. Stress giggles, Quinn called it. Except Quinn rarely got them.

  Riley always did.

  She tightened her hold on Conlan's hand and lifted her chin to face them, the flash of hysteria draining away at the sight of the deadly intent on their faces.

  "This is Riley Elisabeth Dawson," Conlan said. "She is aknasha, and she is welcome among us. Please accord her all courtesy.

  "Riley, let me introduce my warriors. These are the Seven, my most trusted comrades. You know Ven, of course," Conlan said, gesturing to his brother.

  "Ah, yes, the classic movie
buff," she said, smiling. "Steve McQueen rocks.'"

  Ven grinned at her from across the room, holding up a half-eaten bagel in salute. "You are clearly a superior judge of films, Lady Sunshine."

  Conlan continued. "Lord Justice."

  The one with the long braid of blue hair and the sword, still strapped to his back, nodded, unsmiling. She nodded in return. The man would be drop-dead gorgeous if he ever smiled. She glanced at the sword. Maybe he preferred just being drop-dead.

  "Bastien."

  The giant leaning against the far wall, a doughnut box clutched in his huge hand, smiled at her. "My pleasure, Lady Riley. Anybody brave enough to jump on top of a bloodsucker, unarmed, to defend my prince is golden with me."

  She felt her cheeks heat up again, all the way to the tips of her ears. "Just Riley, please. And thank you. It was maybe more stupid than brave, though."

  Another warrior, with an easy smile and a mischievous look to him, bowed. "Christophe, my lady. And most of battle is more stupid than brave, is it not? 'Tis why men wage it, not women."

  His bright blue eyes gleamed with humor. "I'd be honored to share my breakfast with you, lovely one, aknasha or no."

  Conlan growled, low in his throat, but with such resonance that it reverberated through the room. "Stay away from her, Christophe. You'll play none of your wooing games with her."

  Riley rolled her eyes and yanked her hand out of his. "Wooing games? You're talking like Lancelot again. And I never liked Lancelot. Smarmy, underhanded guy."

  Ven started laughing. "Oh, that did it. You're a Steve McQueen fan, and you just smacked high prince big britches down. My heart is yours forever."

  Riley grinned, inexplicably feeling incredibly safe surrounded by a couple thousand pounds of Atlantean warriors.

  Conlan growled again and took her hand back. "As I was saying, the one who thinks he's a ladies' man is Christophe, and this is Alexios."

  A man who stood in the corner, half behind a bookcase, nodded his head to her and bowed slightly, but didn't speak. When he lifted his head, she caught sight of ferocious scarring on his face, but he quickly ducked his head so that his amazing golden hair covered it. The morning light from the window lit up his mane of hair like a crown.

  She blurted out what she was thinking. "Wow. Movie stars would pay a fortune to have hair like that. You are so lucky."

  Alexios lifted his head again, eyes narrowed, mouth flattened in a grimace. His scars showed up in harsh relief in the sunlight. "Lucky? Perhaps once, long ago. You'd do well to remain far from me and my version of luck."

  She recognized the pain in his eyes and, almost without thinking, dropped her shields a fraction and reached out to him.

  Then jerked back so hard she slammed her back into the wall. "No, no, I'm… I'm so sorry," she whispered.

  She crashed her mental shields back down. "I am sorry for your pain and your loss, Alexios" she said, her voice gaining strength. "Please don't give up hope, though. There is always a chance of a better tomorrow."

  "Stay out of my emotions, empath" the warrior growled. "You invade my privacy."

  Conlan tried to pull away from her, body tensing, but she stopped him with pressure on his hand. She considered telling Alexios it had been accidental, discarded the idea for truth, and held her head high. "You are completely right. And I apologize for that, as well."

  Alexios paused for a moment, surprise widening his eyes, and then he bowed to her. "Your apology is accepted. As Bastien stated so elegantly, your courage yesterday has purchased you much forgiveness with me."

  Conlan squeezed her hand. She sensed the pride and relief he felt, wondered at the strength of the feelings.

  Even through her shields.

  Another warrior stood up from a wing chair and walked toward her, then stopped and bowed. His face was all sharp planes and hard lines, and waves of black hair swept back from all that hard masculinity to his shoulders.

  He had the palest green eyes she'd ever seen—a color that made her think of springtime. "I am Brennan, Lady Riley. You have my gratitude, as well, for your courage last night. I would ask a favor from you, if I may."

  Conlan asked before Riley could get the words out. "What kind of favor, Brennan?"

  Brennan inclined his head toward Conlan, then turned back toward Riley, eyes intent, yet oddly devoid of any emotion. The guy had to be a great poker player.

  "Contrary to Alexios, I would ask that you scan me and let me know what you might learn of my emotions," he asked in a perfectly flat, perfectly calm tone of voice.

  It sparked her curiosity. "Why would you ask that? Is this some kind of a test?"

  He tilted his head to one side. "Perhaps. But a test only of myself and not of you. Will you grant me this small favor?"

  Riley looked up at Conlan, who nodded, jaw tightening. "Only if you want to do it, Riley."

  She hesitated, then nodded. Pulling her hand from Conlan's, she held both hands out at her sides, closed her eyes, and opened her mental door. An odd buzzing assailed her senses, as if the mental currents of the Atlanteans in the room were being broadcast in stereo at her, but from a distant location.

  She focused on Brennan and shut out the feedback noise. As she'd done with Conlan, she sent her senses winging inside of the warrior who stood so still before her, though she flinched a little, anticipating the force of his emotions.

  Then gasped at what she found. Or, rather, at what she didn't.

  Her eyes snapped open in shock. "How are you doing that? How are you shielding your emotions so completely that I can't feel the slightest glimmer of them?"

  The warrior looked down at her, eyes still calm. "I shield nothing. Would you try again?"

  She blinked, not understanding. "Would you mind if I touch you?"

  From beside her, Conlan made that strange growling noise again. Then he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her tightly to him.

  "Honestly! I've had enough of this territory-marking crap from you," she said, elbowing Conlan in the side and pulling away from him. "Get over yourself. This is interesting."

  Brennan raised one eyebrow, and somebody in the room barked out a laugh. Riley ignored them both. "May I?" she asked again.

  Brennan nodded once and closed his eyes. Riley took a step closer to him, close enough that she could reach his face with her hands, but not so close that Conlan would have another Tarzan moment. She lifted her hands and placed them on Brennan's cheeks.

  Closing her eyes, she sent her senses probing inside of him, more forcefully than before. Searching, seeking, delving for the slightest hint of color—the tiniest trace of emotion.

  There was nothing. The depths and shallows of his soul were as clear as crystalline mountain water. As transparent as melted glacier ice.

  There was nothing. No feelings. No emotions. "It's as if your soul has died—your humanity has died—but your body doesn't know it yet," she whispered, regretting the words as soon as they'd slipped out.

  She lowered her hands, backing away from him. "What are you? How can your soul be empty of all but your intellect?"

  Brennan smiled, but not the slightest touch of it reached his eyes. "I am cursed. I had hoped that one who is aknasha would find some trace of the emotions that I'd prayed one day to regain. But if it is not so, then you are correct. I am merely a dead man imitating the actions of the living."

  The utter absence of feeling behind the words, which should have been screamed in agony and sorrow, underscored what he'd told her.

  Impulsively, she placed a hand on his arm. "I don't understand much about this aknasha business. But if anything about this ability I have—well, if in any way I can figure out how to use it to help you, I promise to do my best."

  Behind her, Conlan inhaled sharply, and she turned to him, ready to argue. But the look in his eyes had nothing to do with possession, and everything to do with awe. "You honor us, Riley. We bring vampires to your home, abduct you in the middle of the night, and treat you like a prison
er, and yet you have the grace to offer your help to my warrior brother."

  She blushed and rolled her eyes. "It's not that big a deal. I just—"

  "You just offered your help, again, after you may well have saved my life last night. Believe me, it is a very big deal."

  Brennan bowed deeply to her. "And to me, a great honor indeed that you would offer."

  Before she could think of a reply, she heard the sound of a throat clearing behind her. She turned back toward the room, and the man she'd seen lying injured on the ground the night before stood in front of her, daggers unsheathed and crossed before him.

  "I am Denal, Lady Riley. And your courage and selflessness shall be the source of the songs of poets for centuries to come," he said, voice fervent.

  Then he dropped to one knee before her. "I hereby declare myself to be Lady Riley's champion and defender, if she will have me."

  She watched, speechless, as he held his daggers out to her, handles first, and bowed his head. She swung her head to look at Conlan, hoping for advice on how to handle the situation, but he merely lifted his shoulders briefly and said nothing.

  Taking a deep breath, she opened her mental shields again and fought that curious feedback buzzing, then took the measure of the man kneeling in front of her. He was the polar opposite to Brennan—Denal was all flashing emotion and eager notions of honor, duty, and chivalry.

  She smiled a little, wondering if she'd ever been so very young. Then the smile faded, as she realized that he might in fact be a lot older than she was.

  This Atlantean stuff was complicated.

  But he was still kneeling, still waiting. The sense of anticipation was thick in the room. As she looked around the room, she realized every one of them was waiting to see how she would handle Denal's declaration.

  Taking a deep breath, she took the proffered daggers. "I, well, thank you, Denal. In dangerous times like these, I can't think of a more valuable offer than protection. You—"

  She glanced around again, trying to think of the proper words. These guys seemed big on formality and ritual. Finally, she settled on simplicity. "You honor me."