Atlantis Unmasked Page 13

“Shouting at the TV again, are we? Does it do any good? And if that chair needs the hell beat out of it, let me know. I’m in,” he drawled.

  She glared at him, too furious to be embarrassed. “Another one, Sam. Like the attack on that Harley biker bar out West last week by the bear shifters. Another so-called rogue attack that nobody gives a damn about, because they’re practicing their technique on the outlaws.”

  He straightened, all humor vanishing from his face. In that instant he underwent a drastic shift from affable good old boy to the man who’d led teams into and out of almost certain death, over and over, during his Special Forces tenure.

  “When? Where? Tell me,” he demanded.

  She nodded her head toward the newscast playing out on her computer screen, and he reached for the mouse and turned up the volume. Together they watched as an earnest-looking young reporter cornered a big, casually dressed man who was stepping out of the front door of a building. The label in the corner of the screen told them it was the Big Cypress National Preserve Ranger Station.

  “Can we have a moment of your time?”

  The man lifted his head and, obviously scanning the camera crew, shrugged. “Apparently so.”

  The eager-beaver reporter, probably no older than twenty-two, pushed his microphone almost into the man’s face. “As the alpha of the Big Cypress Panther Shifter Pride, what do you have to say to those who accuse your pride members of being behind the vicious attack in Miami during the night, Mr. Ethan?”

  Something in the man’s eyes changed, and Grace inhaled sharply. The reporter was a fool. That man was a predator and he was very much on edge. Maybe a hairsbreadth away from ripping out Junior’s throat.

  Sam nodded, making a humming sound in his throat that she’d come to associate with approval. “He’s a pro, Grace. Watch him. Be a good man to have on our side, this Ethan.”

  It was true. As she watched, Ethan’s face smoothed into an expression of calm composure, his eyes giving away nothing. Anyone watching would think they’d imagined that moment of threat.

  Anyone who hadn’t trained for battle for ten years.

  “We find the incident in Miami to have been extremely regrettable, of course,” Ethan said, all but radiating compassion, concern, and a certain gravitas that made her think of politicians or judges.

  If this man ran for political office, he’d win by a landslide. What a poker face.

  “However, none of my pride brothers or sisters were involved. In fact, we were all at our headquarters, enjoying a very large celebration last night. We’re planning a wedding, you see,” he confided with a modest grin on his face that won over every woman watching. The man was flat-out gorgeous.

  Evidently he won over the reporter, too, who completely threw his previous line of questioning out the window and practically started bouncing up and down. “A wedding? Is it yours? Who is the lucky woman? We at MDTV will want to cover the social event of the season!”

  Just then, a tall, tawny-haired woman dressed in a ranger uniform banged the door open, stormed out, and shoved Ethan. Hard. “If you think I’m wearing white lace on my six-foot-tall body, you’re—” Suddenly she broke off, noticing the reporter and camera. “What’s going on?”

  Sam whistled, nodding his head at the woman on the screen. “That’s my kind of woman. Gorgeous. All fire and temper. Bet she’s a spitfire in bed.”

  Grace shushed him. “I want to hear this. Maybe we should meet this Ethan and his ranger fiancée and see what they know.”

  But the station cut out of the interview into a breaking news update. One of the men killed in the attack had just been identified as Carson Fuller, a “Miami real estate tycoon.”

  Sam snorted. “Tycoon, my ass. Typhoon is more like it. Fuller has a habit of doing dirty land deals and always coming out on top. Word in Georgia is that he’d gone into a new arrangement with a group of vamps. Maybe even Vonos himself.”

  Grace clicked her computer off and shut the cover, her mind racing. “Wouldn’t that be interesting? If Vonos is behind the experiments with the rogue shifters, and this Fuller happened to cross him on some land deal, then how easy it would be to have him murdered. But they said drug dealers. Was Fuller into drugs?”

  “Nah, he was all about the real estate. What he sold was clean and legal. It was just his methods that weren’t.”

  Grace felt Alexios before she heard or saw him. A tingling sensation climbed up her spine, and she actually shivered. If she didn’t get this under control soon, she was going to embarrass herself even more than she had last night.

  “Whose methods?” Alexios asked, standing in the doorway, a forbidding expression on his face. He folded his arms across that broad chest and gave Sam a narrow-eyed glare. “Don’t you have work to do?”

  Sam grinned at him and casually put an arm around Grace’s shoulders. “Oh, me and this li’l gal were just discussing vampires and kitty cats,” he said, putting a lot more Georgia than usual in his voice. “Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about.”

  Sam had spent most of the past three days poking at Alexios in ways the old soldier clearly found to be very funny, but Grace had no idea why. All she knew was that she was getting tired of it.

  Alexios didn’t move a muscle but suddenly seemed to loom large over the room. He pointedly stared at Sam’s arm as if he’d like to cut it off with one of his daggers. “Perhaps, as your ally, I should be involved in strategy discussions.”

  Grace suddenly, finally got it, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at her own cluelessness. For some strange reason, Sam was trying to make Alexios jealous and—even more bizarre—it seemed to be working.

  She shoved Sam’s arm off her shoulder and glared at both of them. “Cut it out. Right now. I don’t know what kind of stupid game you’re playing, but I’m not in the mood to be the monkey in the middle.”

  She rounded on Sam. “You’re old enough to be my father, for Pete’s sake. What are you trying to prove?”

  Sam grinned and spread his arms wide in a “who, me?” gesture, then jerked his head toward Alexios. “Hey, he’s old enough to be your great-grandpappy three times over, if what he told me about Atlantis is true.”

  “You—I—” Grace sputtered, but couldn’t quite come up with a reply to that before Alexios turned on his heel and left, flinging his last words over his shoulder at her.

  “Your friend Michelle is in need of you. I thought I’d give you the message before my advanced age made me incapable of remembering it.” Then he stalked off down the hallway toward the courtyard muttering something about monkeys.

  Sam burst out laughing, almost doubling over with the force of it. “That boy sure is fun to pester,” he gasped, once he could get words out again.

  Grace planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Why? Why do you want to pester our best trainer and strong ally? Now that you know about Atlantis, you must understand why he’s so important to us.”

  Sam wiped his eyes, still chuckling. “Yes, sweetheart. I know why he’s so important to the cause. But I also figured out how important he is to you. I’ve seen the two of you circling each other like buzzards for three days now.”

  “Buzzards? Wow.” She slapped a hand to her chest. “Be still my heart. When Sam goes for the compliments—”

  “Okay. Horny buzzards. I saw you in the sparring ring last night before I left for supper, Grace. It’s a wonder this old fort didn’t burn clear down from the heat of the sparks you two were putting out. I was half afraid I’d find the two of you shacked up in your bedroom this morning.”

  Heat flamed in her cheeks, and she pushed past him to leave the suddenly way-too-cramped office. “That didn’t happen. Not that it’s any of your business. And I’d appreciate it if you’d leave poor Alexios alone.”

  He followed her into the courtyard, chuckling again. “That boy ain’t ‘poor’ anything. He’s one of the best fighters—hell, make that one of the best men—I’ve ever met, and that’s sayin
g a piece. If anybody deserves you, Grace, it just might be Alexios.”

  She sped up, leaving his outrageous comment unanswered. There was nothing she could say. Whatever Alexios might deserve wasn’t the question. It was more that whatever Grace had to offer, he wasn’t interested. Last night’s play in the ring hadn’t meant anything to him but just that—play. After driving her nearly insane with wanting and need, he’d abruptly disappeared.

  Kissed her on the forehead, for Pete’s sake. She smiled a little at the thought of “Pete.” Anyway, it wasn’t, she tried to convince herself—had tried to convince herself all night long—that she’d wanted him to kiss her.

  She escaped her dark thoughts and raised her face to the bright morning sunshine.

  “Grace! Lovely! Let’s go have some breakfast with these boys,” Michelle said, her arm through Alaric’s like the two of them were having a stroll through Buckingham Gardens or something.

  Grace had to smile. There was just something about Michelle. Everybody loved her. Even scary Atlantean high priests, judging by the half smile on Alaric’s face.

  “No time,” Alexios snapped. “Grace has training to do, if she’s quite done socializing.”

  Grace clenched her fists, ready to jump right in his face, but then she realized something that made heat rush through her in an entirely different way. He was jealous. He was jealous.

  She flashed her most dazzling smile, suddenly feeling lighter than she had in months. Men weren’t jealous over casual flings, or women they just wanted to play with.

  “Alexios is right,” she said, still smiling. “Michelle, you and Alaric go. We have so much work to do here. I’ll catch up with you afterward, and we’ll go to dinner together, okay?”

  “I’m disappointed, but I understand,” Michelle said, rushing over and giving Grace a hug. “Back soon.”

  Grace watched Michelle tug a slightly bemused-looking Alaric away, then turned to Alexios, still smiling her biggest smile.

  He narrowed his eyes. “What are you up to?”

  “Who, me? Up to something?” She batted her eyelashes outrageously. “Don’t be silly, Alexios. Now why don’t you get your, hmmm. What was the expression? Oh, right. Pretty little ass in the ring, and let’s put these guys through their paces.” With that, she took off, practically running, toward the recruits standing around the practice ring.

  Alexios stood staring after Grace, unable to move. Unable to do anything but stand there like an idiot. She was taunting him.

  She was taunting. Him.

  He’d left her alone, untouched, the night before like he was some kind of damn eunuch, so now she thought she could taunt him with impunity. Either that or she and Sam really did have something between them.

  The thought burned through his gut like a slice from a poisoned blade. No. Surely not. Grace had far too much integrity to toy with him if she were involved with the human.

  Didn’t she?

  He realized he was gripping the handles of his daggers so tightly that his fists ached, and he forced himself to relax. To recite the focus chant aloud. Out loud, for the first time in more than a century, because he could chant in his mind all he liked but it didn’t help him find his calm center.

  Hells, around Grace he didn’t have a calm center.

  But Alaric had freed him. Told him the oaths he’d sworn were only to himself. That Alexios would know if he were ready to relinquish them.

  He watched Grace move around the ring, shaking hands with the recruits, offering encouragement. Smiling. Laughing. She’d left her hair down and loose. He wanted to believe she’d done it for him. It floated gently around her with every breath of breeze, with every step she took.

  Oh, yeah. He was ready. He could keep her safe from his own black urges. He would keep her safe.

  “I saw a smile like that once,” said Sam, who was suddenly standing right next to him, though Alexios hadn’t heard him approach. “It was on a jungle tiger that was fixin’ to pounce on a gazelle.”

  Alexios deliberately widened his smile, never taking his eyes off Grace. “I know a tiger and am therefore honored to be compared to one.”

  Sam nodded. “Yep. Except whadaya know? Damn poachers shot the tiger mid-leap, before he could hurt that doe. Craziest thing.”

  Alexios turned his head and met the man’s gaze. “Am I to understand that you are issuing a warning? Be careful how you respond; I am sure that Grace would be unhappy to be compared to a helpless prey animal.”

  “I’m sure she’d kick my ass for me,” Sam replied, unperturbed. “This is between us, though, and you don’t strike me as the type to run and tell tales.”

  “But?”

  “But I care about that gal, and she doesn’t have any family to stand for her so I thought I’d step up. If she wasn’t as tough as she is, I’d be telling you this with a shotgun in my hands.”

  Alexios inclined his head. “I respect you for that. But you should know that I have no intention of hurting Grace. Not now, not ever.”

  “Maybe not. But she’s a woman who doesn’t give her heart or her body lightly. If you just want a fling with some random human gal, go elsewhere.”

  Alexios finally turned so that he was facing Sam and stared straight into his eyes. “If I wanted a fling, I would.” Then he bowed to the old reprobate and headed for Grace.

  His Grace. Whether she knew it yet or not.

  Chapter 12

  The Bunnery Restaurant

  Alaric stared down at the mug of steaming black tea and the white napkin on the wooden table in front of him and wondered how, exactly, the human had maneuvered him into breakfast.

  At a restaurant named the Bunnery.

  Ridiculous humans and their need to name everything.

  Alexios and the Seven would mock him forever for this one. Not that he, as high priest to Poseidon . . . The unfamiliar laugh worked its way out of his throat, interrupting the disdainful thought. He didn’t have room to stand on pomp and ceremony when he was about to eat something called a cinnamon bun.

  “You smiled again,” Michelle said, clearly delighted. “That’s twice! We’re making some progress here.”

  “Why, exactly, are my facial expressions of interest to you?” It would never occur to him to care whether another smiled or not.

  Except for Quinn, a dark voice whispered in his mind. A smile from her would be a gift beyond price.

  “Well, I’m responsible for you now, since you saved my life. Everyone knows that,” she said, looking down at her own mug.

  “I believe you are misinformed as to the nature of that concept. Would it not be I who am responsible for you? Also, was there not the promise of pancakes?”

  “As soon as they call our number.” She smiled and pushed elegantly styled dark curls, so different from Quinn’s jagged mop of hair, off of her brow. Everything about her, except for her slight form and dark hair, differed so much from Quinn.

  Michelle’s taste in clothing was clearly fashionable for this time period. Quinn wore items that may as well have been stolen from homeless people. Michelle’s nature was open and friendly, where Quinn was dark and distrustful. Cynical and solitary.

  Nothing about Quinn, in fact, should have made every thought of her sear her image—her scent—her taste into his very soul. He clenched his fingers more tightly around the mug, and the liquid within it began to boil and circle rapidly in a counterclockwise direction.

  Suddenly, a delicate hand touched his arm. “You’re thinking of her again, aren’t you?”

  Startled, he released the mug and looked up at Michelle. “Who?”

  She smiled, but this time her smile held sadness. “Quinn. I had heard . . . well, never mind, silly gossip. Can’t you go to her, work things out?”

  He drew his dignity around himself like one of his priestly robes. “You know nothing of my situation,” he said, almost sorry for the way she flinched at the arrogance in his tone. Inexplicably, he liked this human and did not care to harm her, but . .
. “You presume too much.”

  “I know. I have a terrible habit of that. Not very British at all, sticking my nose in other people’s business, is it? It’s just that I’m rather good at getting my friends’ situations sorted out, even if I’m total rubbish at doing the same for myself.”

  A woman at the back pass-through window called out a number, and Michelle popped out of her seat. “That’s us.” Before he could follow her, she was back with a tray of food. After they’d settled again, something Michelle had said caught at him. “Your friends? You consider us to be friends?”

  She blinked, a forkful of pancakes held in midair. “Of course we’re friends. Not very many people have saved my life, you know. You’re in a very elite group of three. You, Grace, and Alexios.”