Atlantis Betrayed wop-8 Read online

  The vampire shrieked so loudly something in her ear canals popped with the pain, but she held on desperately to its shoulders as it released Sean, flailing around and clawing at the smoking ruin of its face and eye. The holy water carved crevasses in its flesh, and she threw herself away from it as it fell to the ground, screeching and hissing.

  She dropped the empty vial, still holding on to the shadows that concealed her from sight, smell, and sound, and ran to the left a few paces away from the dying vampire. The rest of them had to know someone—or something—had attacked from behind, and she didn’t want to be caught in a blind sweep.

  “Princess, I’m going to kill you when we get out of here,” Christophe yelled, fury riding the planes and angles of his face.

  He launched himself into the air, pure blue-green fire shimmering in glowing streams around his entire body, and tackled three of the vampires who’d decided to leap over her car toward him and Sean. It was like watching a martial arts film where the action star was a master sorcerer. He twirled in midair and leveled a flying kick at the first vamp’s throat, then followed it up with a dagger in its heart as it fell backward. Before that vamp even hit the ground, Christophe grabbed the head of the second vamp and slammed its face down onto his knee so hard that the resulting crunch sounded like lightning snapping a dead tree trunk. Energy pulsed between his hands, brief but fierce, and the vamp’s head imploded, then disappeared.

  Fiona didn’t have time to watch any more, though, because one of the vampires was sniffing the ground, crawling on hands and feet like a deranged hound from hell. Its body moved in ways that bodies were not meant to move, as though it were boneless or at least had a flexible spine.

  “I know you’re here, Princess,” it hissed, the sibilants hanging in the air. “Playing with toys you shouldn’t have? I’m going to crunch on your bones when I’m done draining you dry.”

  She waited, silent as the grave she had no intention of going to—at least not today—until it was in range. Then she hurled the contents of the second vial into its face and threw herself back and to the side as fast as she could, to escape the reach of its arms as it threw its body forward in a last, desperate leap even as it screamed and squealed its way to a horrific death.

  Over the drops of water that had fallen to the pavement a faint golden glow hovered for an instant before winking out, and she had a heartbeat of crystallized time in which to wonder what God thought about blessed water being used to kill. But then Christophe pulled her up and into his arms, crushing her in a fierce embrace until she thought her lungs might burst.

  “Don’t ever, ever, ever, do that again,” he commanded, somewhat ruining the severity of his command by compulsively kissing her again and again.

  She pushed him away after a minute or so, shoving against the rock-hard wall of his chest. “Really? Don’t join in the fight when people I care about are in danger?” She glared up at him. “Have you met me?”

  Then she ran to Sean, who was leaning back against the car, bent over and breathing hard, and threw her arms around him. “Are you okay? How bad is it?”

  She pulled his head up so she could examine his neck. The wound was ragged but only dripping, not spurting, blood.

  “Thank God, thank God, thank God,” she said, over and over. “If you died because of me—”

  “I’m too tough to kill,” he said, managing a grin. “Anyway, this wasn’t because of you. Far as I can tell, it was due to those vamps. Six of which I killed, by the way.”

  He straightened, puffing out his chest, and she couldn’t help it. She pulled him to her and planted a big kiss on his cheek. Even in the dim light, she could see him flush hot.

  “That, youngling, is why men the world over will do anything for a beautiful woman,” Christophe said dryly. He gently nudged Fiona aside to examine Sean’s wound. “You’re going to have a scar, but it’s not bad. Unfortunately, better clean it out.”

  He turned to Fiona. “Do you happen to have any more of that holy water, Invisible Girl? Sooner is better.”

  “This is going to hurt really badly, isn’t it?” Sean’s throat worked but he tilted his head so they could get at his neck.

  “Like all the fires of the nine hells are searing your flesh,” Christophe admitted, far too cheerfully. “Every warrior worth his daggers goes through it at least once, although our remedy isn’t quite the same as yours.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Trust me, you don’t want to know.” Christophe looked around them, his eyes narrowing. “Anybody notice something odd here?”

  “You mean, we’re still in London, one of the busiest cities in the world, and nobody else has come down this alley during this entire time?” Fiona nodded, pulling another vial of blessed water from her sleeve and holding it up to Christophe, who nodded. “Yes, I noticed. In fact, how are they—”

  “Accomplices,” Sean said. “It’s how we used to do it. Bloke at each end when there was going to be trouble. We’d call out a warning.”

  “A warning is one thing,” Christophe said. “An empty alley for the better part of half an hour is another. I’d guess sorcerers. If they’re enthralled, we’re either in big trouble, or they’re dead. Interesting that they thought we knew where the Siren is. Must mean the vampires don’t have it. Or at least this group of vamps.”

  “Let’s do this,” Fiona said. She took a deep breath as if she would feel her own flesh sear. She wished it could be. She deserved it, not Sean. Her games as the Scarlet Ninja were what had put him in jeopardy.

  “Just do it, Princess. Quick and get it over with,” Christophe said, not unsympathetically. “The anticipation is almost worse.”

  She held her breath and upended the vial over Sean’s wound, which sizzled and hissed like butter on a hot griddle. Sean sucked in a sharp breath and then said a few words she hadn’t known he even remembered from the old days.

  “More,” Christophe said.

  “But—”

  “More.”

  She opened her last vial and poured it directly on top of the bubbling mess on Sean’s neck, feeling the hot tears escaping her eyes. By the time she’d finished the vial, it poured clear and all signs of steam or infection had disappeared.

  “That should do it,” Christophe said, nodding once. “When it doesn’t react any more, it’s cleaned out. Now we get out of here.”

  “Home. Sean needs to rest. And you’re bleeding, too.” Relieved of the worry over Sean, she was swamped by fear for Christophe. She tore open his shirt like a wild woman to look at the wound in his chest.

  He caught her hands in his own and kissed her knuckles. “I’m fine, mi amara. A scratch. Atlanteans heal faster than humans, too. Now we need to get out of here. Sean?”

  Sean nodded and headed for the vehicle blocking their way, while Christophe headed for the one parked in the middle of the street.

  “Search for anything interesting,” Christophe called, and Fiona ran around her car to the SUV on the other side, leaping over the piles of still-dissolving slime that was all that was left of their attackers. A great many people were warning them away from the search for Vanquish. The important questions were why and who had it.

  She made quick work searching the SUV, and found nothing, which was what she’d expected. The percentage of vampires who bothered to register with authorities and get any kind of official papers was still frighteningly small. Why lease a car when you could enthrall a human into giving it to you?

  She made sure not to leave her fingerprints anywhere, slammed the door shut, and returned to Sean and Christophe. “Nothing.”

  “In either of these two, either,” Christophe reported.

  Sean shook his head, strain showing clearly on his face. “Not this one, either.”

  “Now. We leave now,” Christophe said.

  “I’m driving,” Fiona announced. “Sean, you rest in the back.”

  Sean tried to protest, but Christophe opened the door to the backseat and pointed,
and Sean half climbed, half fell into the car, the reaction from the battle finally hitting him. Christophe closed the door and turned to Fiona.

  “I still need to go to those pubs and find out what in the hells is going on,” Christophe said.

  “Not without me.”

  “It’s not like I will allow you to drive home unaccompanied, either. Not after that attack.” He tilted her chin up with his finger and kissed her.

  “I’m not a fan of the word ‘allow,’ but I’ll admit the more the merrier,” she said.

  “Please, then. Please get in your vehicle now and drive home as quickly as you can, in a straight line.”

  She opened the door and paused. “Wait. Where are you going to be?”

  He pointed up, then leapt into the air and, right in front of her eyes, transformed into a sparkling cloud of mist that soared into the air over the car and hovered there.

  Please drive now, she heard in her head, and she didn’t have any energy left to debate the possibility or impossibility of telepathic conversation. She just slanted her body into the car, turned the key in the ignition, and drove.

  Chapter 21

  Campbell Manor

  Christophe waited, watching her every minute, but the shaking didn’t start for a while. First, she’d seen Sean safely into Hopkins’s care. Declan was sleeping, but she’d gone to his room and checked on him even after Hopkins reassured her. Denal sat in a chair by Declan’s window, daggers resting on his lap. He rose when they entered the room, but Christophe had already communicated with him so he knew there was no threat.

  She leaned over and kissed her brother’s forehead, smoothing a strand of hair away, and Christophe was struck by the realization that she must have done the same so many times as the boy grew up. Declan didn’t wake, but he smiled in his sleep.

  Fiona raised a hand to Declan but didn’t speak; she just turned and left the room. Christophe followed her, desiring with every fiber of his being that he could protect her from what came next, but helpless to understand how. If only Conlan were here, or Bastien. They were so much better with women and emotion.

  He had never so desperately wished he knew how to comfort another.

  She made it to her room and then to the shower, peeling her clothes and wig off along the way and letting them fall to the floor in a trail of discarded disguise. Moving robotically, stumbling as she walked, Fiona turned the water on to full heat and then climbed into the billowing steam in her glass-enclosed shower.

  That’s when the shaking finally began.

  Full-body shudders wracked her body as she leaned against the wall, and the glass trembled with the force of her pain. Christophe stripped out of his own clothes in an instant and entered the shower, pulling her into his arms.

  “Shh, mi amara. Shh. It’s over now. Let it out, let it all out, but it’s over now. It’s all over. Shh. I’m right here for you.” He smoothed her hair away from her face, over and over, as she sobbed as if her heart were shattering in her chest.

  “He could have died. He could have died. Did I rescue him from his murderous father only to kill him myself? He’s only twenty-two years old, Christophe, and he could have died.” A fresh wave of grief and reaction took her, and he could do nothing but hold her, rocking back and forth, until it subsided a little and she could listen to him.

  Listen to reason.

  “You can’t take the blame for that attack. They said they wanted me to stop asking about Vanquish. They didn’t even know who you were, in that wig and makeup. Me. Not you. It is I who bear the blame.”

  She lifted her face to him, her eyes reddened with pain and fury. “No. No. Let’s put the blame where it belongs. On those bastards who stole the sword, and murdered the guards. On those vampires who attacked us.”

  “I’m wondering if they’re the same.”

  “If they already have the sword, why would they care about us?”

  “It might have been misdirection. But we don’t need to worry about this now. Now you should rest.”

  “No,” she said again. “Now I want you inside me. I want to feel something other than horror and fear and rage.” She lifted her arms and put them around his neck. “Make me feel, Christophe.”

  And so he did. He lifted her in his arms and joined his body to hers, taking her there in the steaming heat. He directed the channels of water to swirl around her and caress her even as he held her and murmured nonsense words into her ear and thrust steadily home. She cried a little as she held him and kissed him, and the shudders of reaction gently, gradually, turned to trembling of a different sort entirely.

  Their joining was not about passion and possession but a declaration of need; the simple need to experience warmth and light. To face their own mortality without doing so alone. He’d wanted sex after battle before, on many occasions. It was a purely chemical reaction to the adrenaline charge of a fight.

  This was utterly, completely, different. This was seeking comfort and the welcome of home. He was fiercely proud to be the one she needed, and as if in reaction to the thought, the barrier between her soul and his began to open, surrounding them with heat and light. Her soul danced around her, a shifting dream of blues. But the lovely colors were darkened; tinged with black shadows and the somber gray of grief. It caught him off guard and he ceased to move within her.

  She lifted her head from his shoulder, her eyes dazed and unfocused, and he decided to delay the choice. The time wasn’t right—he’d once thought the time would never be right—for the soul-meld. He used every ounce of focus and discipline he’d ever learned to shut the doorway to his soul. To keep her own at bay.

  The icy chill of loss swept through him, and he wondered if the miraculous gift of the soul-meld, once offered and rejected, would ever be offered again. But Fiona lifted her lips to his and he sought refuge in her warmth and her passion, and he achieved his release as she cried out her own climax. When he finally released her, they quickly finished their shower, dried in huge towels, and he carried her to bed, pulling her into his arms and tucking the coverlets around them.

  He closed his eyes and concentrated, setting magical wards around the room so none could enter it without his admittance, and then he kissed her.

  “Rest now, beautiful one. Tomorrow we will figure this all out.” He kissed her again, and then, wrapped around her warm, still-trembling body, he watched her for a very long time, until she fell into a troubled sleep. When her steady breathing finally told him she’d succumbed to her exhaustion, he lay there, content simply to hold her, until dawn brushed its golden fingers against her windows. Then, at last, he, too, fell asleep.

  * * *

  Fiona woke up enveloped in warmth and the sensation of perfect safety for the first time since she’d taken up the role of the Scarlet Ninja. She blinked, disoriented by the large, muscular arm resting across her naked breasts, and then memory flooded back and her face and other, more intimate, parts of her warmed. Christophe. The shower. The way she’d practically begged him to make love to her.

  Well. They were beyond petty embarrassments now. She was not a girl on a blind date. She was a grown woman. He was most definitely all man. Together, they’d battled vampires and survived. Anyway, he’d been more than willing.

  “The thoughts running through your mind must be fascinating, if the expressions crossing your face in such rapid succession are anything to judge by,” he said. His voice was a rumble in his chest against her side and made her want to rub her face against him like a kitten.

  “I was thinking about last night. The vampires. And the shower, and the museum, to be honest,” she confessed, her cheeks flaming again. Evidently whatever caused her to blush had not yet caught on that she was a grown woman.

  “Ah, yes, the museum. One of my favorite memories of all time,” he said, chuckling. “And yet waking up here with you counts as its equal.”

  She turned to look into his eyes. “Why? You must have woken up with many women before.” She didn’t want to thin
k about it, but she had to face facts, especially if he really had seen more than three hundred birthdays. Even one or two encounters a year and that added up to . . . insanity.

  She couldn’t think about that now or her brain would catch fire.

  “Never, in fact.” He pulled her even closer and kissed her nose. “I don’t sleep with women.”

  “Right. So you’re a monk?”

  “I have had sexual encounters, but I have never slept with a woman before this night. I’ve never met a woman I trusted enough to let down my guard that much.” Sincerity and something else was in his gaze. A little embarrassment of his own, maybe?

  She stared at him, fascinated. “Never? In all those years?”

  “Never.”

  “I—I don’t know what to say,” she admitted. “I feel honored.”

  “You’re the one who honors me, Princess,” he said solemnly, but then a wickedly evil grin lit up his face. “If you want to honor me again, right now, you can climb on top of me and—”

  “I get it, I get it.” She leaned in to kiss him and took her time about it. When she pulled back, she took a deep, shaky breath. “You do amazing things to me, Mr. Atlantean warrior.”

  “Wait. Sean!” She pushed away from him and sat up, clutching the sheets to her chest. “I can’t believe I haven’t checked in on Sean.”

  “He is doing well,” Christophe said. “I have already communicated with Denal. Sean’s wound has begun to heal, perhaps due to the liberal application of blessed water so quickly applied.”

  She leaned back against the pillows. “That’s good. I guess I can wait a bit to check on him in person.”

  “He, Denal, and Declan were planning a marathon battle of some video game after lunch,” Christophe informed her, leaning over to kiss the top of her breast. “I think we can safely skip that.”