Atlantis Betrayed wop-8 Read online

  “Of course. Nobody can see me. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  A split second later, she disappeared, for all intents and purposes. He stood holding her ass, his cock buried in her warm, sweet heat, but all he could see of her was a swirl of light and shadow.

  It was simultaneously the oddest and most erotic experience of his life.

  “I won’t come without being able to see your beautiful face, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make an invisible woman have an orgasm right here on my balcony,” he said, teasing her, his fingers stroking harder now.

  She bucked against him, frantic now, trying to get him to move, but he laughed and held her still against him, barely pulsing his cock in tiny movements inside her. The rhythm of his motion matched that of his fingers, and it took only seconds more for her to reach her climax, spasming around his cock like a velvet glove. He nearly came then himself, but instead he lifted her by the bottoms of her thighs so that he was carrying her in almost a seated position in front of him. He made it to the bed in seconds and gently lowered her to her hands and knees and then took a firm grip on her hips and released the power he’d been holding back.

  He drove into her, over and over, and she let go of her shadows so he could see every gorgeous inch of her. Her luscious ass rocked with his motion and she’d thrown her head back so her hair trailed along the curve of her pale, perfect back.

  “More?” He sped up, thrusting harder and faster. “Do you want more of me?”

  “All of you,” she said breathlessly. “I want all of you.”

  He bent down and pressed a kiss to her spine. “I want all of you, too, Lady Fiona Campbell.”

  She cried out, coming again, and he thrust into her, over and over, riding the wave of her orgasm to his own. They collapsed in the bed, exhausted and safe, and she almost immediately fell asleep. He, however, lay awake for a long time, again contemplating the irony of humanity, his most hated foe, giving him such a gift.

  Chapter 27

  Atlantis, the royal suite

  Conlan smiled to see his son mash banana slices into his own hair. “He’s clearly a brilliant child.”

  “Hey, buddy,” his princess and bride said, pulling him down for a kiss. “You did the same thing at your age, bet on it.”

  “I’d do the same thing now, if I thought it would relieve some of this worry.”

  Riley nodded. “Denal?”

  “All of it. Denal, the vampires, the impending war, the jewels for the Trident.” He ran a hand through his hair, wondering when he’d pull enough of it out to go bald. “Hells, what isn’t going wrong? Will I ever be able to live up to the demands of being king? Alaric keeps pushing for the coronation but I don’t feel like I’m even handling the high prince job well yet.”

  “Do you have to become king?”

  “You mean could I abdicate?” He smiled at her. “I tried that once, for you, remember? Poseidon wouldn’t let me go so easily.”

  “What about Christophe and Fiona? Does that worry you, too, my handsome prince?” She cleaned up their sleepy son as they talked, so she could put him down for his afternoon nap.

  “Should it? I don’t know. What right do I have to meddle in the warriors’ private lives? But he has been so close to the edge; so dangerous and out of control with his power. Is he even safe for her to be around?”

  “Maybe only for her, but yes, she’s safe with him. It’s anyone who tries to hurt her I worry about,” she said.

  “They must find the Siren. All hope of Atlantis rising is lost without it.”

  “They’ll find it. Now, come take a nap with us. Even high princes are allowed to rest with their family once in a while.”

  Conlan held his wife and son close while they slept, but his own eyes couldn’t close, nor could his mind shut down. They were so close to retrieving all the jewels. Maybe he should send someone else. Christophe had always been . . . unpredictable.

  And now this new element, this Scarlet Ninja—and the Unseelie Court Fae.

  “I’ll put the word out to na Garanwyn,” he told his sleeping wife. “If the Fae are facing a civil war, the Seelie Court needs to know about it.”

  His tiny son belched, a huge noise for such a small boy. Conlan sighed and nodded. “I feel exactly the same way, Aidan. Exactly the same way.”

  Chapter 28

  Campbell Manor, later that evening

  Hopkins was standing in the middle of the floor when Fiona and Christophe stepped through the portal into her drawing room.

  “Welcome home, Lady Fiona,” he said. “Would you care for tea?”

  She started laughing. “Only you, Hopkins. Only you would offer me tea when I’m stepping through a magic doorway.”

  “If it were my place, I would be asking where you’ve been for the past several hours. I might ask where Denal is. I might ask how you stepped through a ball of light to appear in the middle of the drawing room. But I won’t ask any of it. So I repeat, would you care for tea?”

  Only a slight reddening of his face and his exceedingly clipped tone gave away how worried he must have been, and she felt like an utter heel. She hugged him. He stepped away, but not before she saw the relief on his face.

  “I do adore you, Hopkins. And I owe you an explanation. Why don’t we have tea, and I’ll tell you all about Atlantis. How is Sean, and where is Declan?”

  “Sean is fine, healing rapidly. Sunday is his day off, of course, so he’s off with his friends somewhere. Declan is doing the same. I made up a story about you showing Christophe the sights of London when he asked where you were.”

  “Thanks. I wouldn’t want him to worry, and I’m sorry I made you do so.”

  They followed Hopkins into the kitchen, and he set about making sandwiches while Fiona filled the kettle and put it on to boil. While they ate, she told him about Atlantis, and after the first thirty minutes or so, he finally quit treating her as if she were mad. Christophe sat silently, eating several sandwiches, and let her tell the story. A couple of times she caught him examining her as if she were a new species of butterfly and he a scientist. It was oddly disconcerting.

  “I can hardly believe you were really in Atlantis,” Hopkins said. “Maeve a Fae princess. Now, that I can believe. I always thought there was something off about her.”

  Christophe’s expression darkened. “If she harms him, she will answer to me. I have little love for the Unseelie Court.”

  “I truly believe she won’t,” Fiona said.

  “I hope you’re right.”

  He didn’t sound convinced, but to be honest with herself, neither was she. The Maeve who could hold such secrets so closely for so long wasn’t the woman Fiona knew.

  “I’d love to see it someday,” Hopkins said. “I’ve long been a student of mythology—although, we’ll have to reclassify, won’t we? You’ve just changed everything. Fiction has become fact.”

  “The world should be used to that, after vampires and shape-shifters revealed themselves,” Christophe said. “But we’re not openly announcing anything until we can raise Atlantis to the surface to take its place in the world once more.”

  “It seems like a lot of people know,” Fiona said doubtfully.

  “Yes, but what can they say? Atlantis exists? It would show up as a tabloid story.” Christophe shrugged and, standing, took the plates to the sink and turned on the faucet. “We still have to retrieve the Siren and two other gems before Atlantis can rise.”

  “I can understand your urgency,” Hopkins said, jumping up to help clear their few dishes. “Even after you gave us your proof, we didn’t believe you. I’d so very much like to see it.”

  “That can be arranged,” Christophe said, grinning. “Be nice to me and you’ll get your chance.”

  “Then again, I’ve heard Morocco is an interesting place to visit,” Hopkins replied, not missing a beat.

  Fiona laughed at the two of them and crossed over to the sink where Christophe was washing their dishes. She picked up a hand to
wel and began to dry them.

  “Lady Fiona,” Hopkins said, sounding shocked. “A lady does not do dishes.”

  “You know, that’s silly,” she said. “I have to eat. Why should I be exempt from cleaning up after myself? If you really want to help, will you please figure out another disguise as good as the Uma Thurman look? We’re heading out to a werewolf pub, and this time we’re taking the Ducatis.”

  Chapter 29

  The Melting Moon

  Christophe parked the motorcycle next to Fiona’s and removed his helmet. There was something very sexy about her on a bike. Raw power controlled by a delicate, graceful woman.

  Come to think of it, that came uncomfortably close to describing their relationship. He was certainly acting completely out of character lately. Wanting to actually sleep with a woman; his reluctance to leave her; even defying Conlan and Alaric—

  Nah. That last was pretty normal.

  Her eyes sparkled, framed by long, lush lashes and sparkly makeup. She looked like a celestial fairy from a bedtime tale. A wicked one. She carefully shook out her hair.

  “I like you as a redhead. Hot and spicy,” he said, his voice pitched low.

  She flashed a sexy “come hither” smile. “Really? Tell me more, big boy.”

  “Smile at me like that again, and you’ll see how big I can get,” he growled. “Everything about you makes me hard. I’m worse than a youngling with his first woman.”

  She tucked her helmet under her arm and put a hand on his chest. “I like it.” She kissed him, but he forced himself not to linger over the taste of her lips. Not in the parking lot of a shape-shifter pub.

  “I’ve never been here before,” she said, looking up at the pub’s sign. A full moon, painted a stark white against the dark wood, dripped a single crimson drop onto the words “The Melting Moon.” “Beautiful sign. I wonder how old it is. Pub signs have become a hot collectible, did you know that? Some of the old names are so evocative, like this one. I always like the ones with animal names and figures. The White Boar, the Blue Sow—”

  “The Red Dragon,” he said, smiling at a distant memory.

  “Oh, you’ve been in a few pubs in your centuries, haven’t you? It’s hard to remember that you’re so ancient.” She dodged when he tried to grab her.

  “I’ll show you ancient later when I get you alone and naked.”

  “Now, there’s a promise I like,” she said, putting her arm through his. “Come on, let’s go and meet some werewolves. Maybe we’ll meet an American one, here in London. Get it?”

  He didn’t understand why she started laughing when he shook his head.

  “I’m not sure there will be any American wolf shifters here, and they prefer that term, by the way. The word ‘werewolf’ is a grave insult. Most stay near their home packs.”

  She laughed harder, and then she started humming something about werewolves in London. He was beginning to realize he understood far less about women than he’d ever suspected.

  The first thing he noticed when they walked into the pub was the spicy, almost pungent scent of wolves. Lots and lots of wolves. The crush of bodies in a fairly small space made him twitchy, but they needed information and he’d learned that this was the home base of the London pack alpha and her mate.

  “Are you sure this is the right place?” Fiona had to speak almost directly into his ear to be heard over the din of conversation and the pounding beat of rock music. Her warm breath on his ear made his cock twitch, and he firmly told it to behave.

  First he was talking to pigeons, now body parts. This was not good.

  “I smell human.” A shifter who looked about the size of an orca lurched over from the bar to stand in front of Fiona, swaying and drunkenly leering at her. “Want to give me a little taste, sweetkins?”

  She took a step back and tilted her head to look all the way up into the drunk’s face. “Right, then. Definitely the right place.”

  Christophe sighed. “I knew I’d wind up in a fight if we came here, but I didn’t think it would happen this early.”

  “I knew this was too much cleavage,” Fiona said, peering down at the creamy expanse that her very low-cut shirt exposed.

  “Oh, Princess. I hear the words ‘too much cleavage,’ but my brain doesn’t understand the meaning.” He winked at her, so hopefully she got that he was kidding and not turning into a lecherous pig. Although lately, around her . . .

  “I’m taking your woman, funny boy,” the shifter mumbled. “Wanna play with the pretty human.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Fiona said, all haughty lady of the manor. It was kind of hot, especially combined with her sex-kitten disguise. “Please address your comments to me. The human does not want to play with you. Be on your way.”

  She made shooing motions with her hands, and Christophe sighed again. Like waving a red flag in front of a Minotaur. The shifter, predictably, snarled, showing a tangle of yellowed and broken teeth.

  “Dental care, my friend. The great blessing of the modern age,” Christophe advised him.

  The enraged shifter turned his attention away from Fiona, fisting his enormous hands. If he landed a punch, he might knock Christophe into next week. Best not to let him land a punch.

  He stepped into the arc between the man’s burly arms, and before the angry drunk could form his next thought, Christophe had one dagger digging its tip into his throat and a second into his balls. The shifter made a noise between a yelp and a squeak, higher-pitched than Christophe would have thought the hulking man could utter.

  “You’ll leave the pretty human alone now?”

  The shifter nodded carefully, since his motion caused the dagger to slice a bit of the flesh from his neck. “Just funning,” he muttered as his blood trickled down his skin.

  Christophe moved back and out of arm’s reach before returning his daggers to their sheaths, being sure to let everyone in the crowd gathering around them see the many weapons strapped to his body. Then, just for extra insurance, he channeled enough power to cause his eyes to glow a bright green.

  The crowd around him jostled to get away.

  “We don’t want any trouble, sorcerer,” one of them said. She was a tall female, curvy and muscular both, leaning against the bar. Her dark hair hung in a thick fall to her hips, and the promise of a wicked sensuality shimmered in her eyes. “Maybe you should go somewhere else to drink this night. Or at least let the human leave and you can stay and play with me.”

  Fiona captured his hand and stared defiance at the shifter. “I think not.”

  Amusement warred with anger on the woman’s face, but she finally settled on the first. Smiling at them, she indicated they should follow her. She made a gesture to the bartender, who nodded, and then she strode across the floor in a way that probably made every male in the place thank the gods for the invention of pants. If Christophe hadn’t met Fiona, he would have been one of them. Now, strangely enough, the shifter female’s rolling hips didn’t cause him even a twinge of desire.

  She sat at a large table in the back of the pub, one that had been completely empty in spite of the large crowd. A slender man walked out of the shadows from a back room and silently joined her. She indicated the chairs across from her.

  “Please. Sit.”

  Christophe moved one chair so its back was to the wall as much as possible and sat, pulling Fiona into the chair to the left of him so anybody in the crowd who tried to get to her would have to go through him first.

  “Fee, this is the alpha and her mate,” he said.

  The alpha laughed; a deep, throaty sound of sex and pain and pleasure. “Correct. Most mistake me for my mate’s tame lapdog.”

  “They’re fools, then,” Christophe replied honestly.

  She laughed again and extended a hand. “Lucinda. This is my mate, Evan.”

  He shook her hand. “Christophe, of Atlantis. My m—uh—partner, Fiona.”

  Damn, but he’d come close to saying the words “my mate, Fiona.”


  Fiona glanced at him as if she’d noticed his slip, but she said nothing.

  Evan wasn’t as courteous. “Claim her before another does, my friend.” He had a slight accent. Spanish, perhaps.

  “I don’t know you well enough to be your friend yet,” Christophe replied evenly. “And we do things a little differently in Atlantis than you do in Pack hierarchy.”

  “Maybe I’m the one who should claim him,” Fiona said, clasping her fingers around his on the table.

  “You have bite, little human,” Lucinda said. “I almost feel like I recognize you, but you’ve never been in my pub before.”

  “No, I haven’t. But it’s a lovely place,” Fiona said, gracious as usual in spite of her circumstances. “I’ll be sure to tell my friends about it.”

  “Be sure not to,” Lucinda said dryly. “They might wind up as lunch. Now. Christophe of Atlantis, tell us why you are here, and what you want. I’d also like to hear if you have any American friends we may know.”

  He knew what that meant. Squeezing Fiona’s arm so she didn’t start singing that ridiculous song again, he smiled at the alpha and her mate. “Lucas of the Yellowstone Pack sends you his fond regards.”

  “Does he?” She tapped a very long, crimson-tipped nail on the table. “Just who is he?”

  Christophe grinned. “Lucas said if you asked me that, I should remind you that he rescued one of your children who’d strayed too near a geyser on your vacation.”

  Lucinda smiled—a real smile—and the force of her power washed over his own. “Stupid pups have no sense at that age. Now that all of them are teenagers or grown, I long for those innocent days.”

  She turned to Fiona. “Do you have children?”

  “Not yet, but I hope to one day,” Fiona said. He could tell she found the question to be overly personal and slightly offensive, but she presented a calm, smiling face to their hosts.