Atlantis Rising

Chapter 6

Conlan threw his head back, gulping in a lungful of air, the ugly reality of his memories stark in the silence between them. She had more courage than he'd even guessed, this small human. With his mind thrust into hers, he'd touched the fundamental core of her—their thoughts nearly melded. The purity of her soul shocked him; his cynicism was centuries old.

One touch and he knew her, somehow.

Intellectually.

Emotionally.

"Again. I need to touch you again," he said roughly, pulling her closer. "Please."

He gazed down at her, willing her not to deny him. She stared back at him, fear subsiding into acceptance, and then she nodded and closed her eyes, lifting her forehead to his.

But he didn't want a mere innocent touch this time. He needed just a taste of her. Just a small taste. He knew he was lying to himself about the small part even as he thought it.

He didn't care.

He swept down to capture her lips with his own. At the first touch of his mouth, her eyes snapped open, and she gasped just enough for his tongue to sweep inside of her mouth and complete his possession. The taste of her sent all sane thoughts out of his head. He felt the energy bursting from him, seeking the elements.

He didn't even try to stop it. The sea boiled up over the edge of the sand and underneath them, and the wind whipped itself into a frenzy around them.

Cyclone force.

Her body trembled and she arched into him, the softness of her curves enticing, but it was the touch of her mind that drove him toward madness. His body hardened beyond any need he'd ever known, aggressive, dominating, until his clothing was surely going to burst from the pressure.

He drove his tongue in and out of her mouth, thrusting and retreating in a cadence older than time. Wanting to climb inside of the warmth of her mouth and the haven of her body all at once.

Sanity tried to rise in his mind and push past his fierce need. Riley. Her name is Riley. She's human.

This is wrong.

She touched his face.

Sanity never had a fucking chance.

Even as he pulled her against the hardness of his body, Riley knew she must be dreaming. Nothing, nothing, had ever felt like this. Power surged through her, heat melding her to him.

She wanted to climb on him, climb inside of him, feel his body rubbing against her, pounding inside of her. The intensity of it shocked her even as she moaned for more, more, more, all reason lost in the tempest of wanting.

Needing.

She clutched at his rock-hard biceps, trying to hold herself upright. Maybe trying to pull him closer. She mindlessly moved her hands, put them on his chest, down to his hard, flat, stomach, up to his neck. Drove her fingers into his hair. Closer, closer. She heard a moaning sound, and it was her, her. She was whimpering. If his tongue hadn't been in her mouth, she'd be begging him to pull her even closer.

She stopped breathing, focused on his emotions, pulled the colors of them inside her. The blues and greens and the sparkling crystalline passion swirling around, and she was lost in it, lost in him.

Lost.

The idea of losing herself snapped her to a brief rationality. She fought to push back from him, reaching for sanity, battling with ravenous desire.

Sanity surrendered.

She made a tiny moaning sound inside of his mouth, and Conlan was lost, too, wanting, craving, needing. Only her. Only her. Now.

He tried to concentrate on her thoughts to keep from tearing at her clothes like an animal. He sent his mind inside of hers—inside of her soul—and was captivated by her innate goodness, selflessness, and light.

The epiphany of her purity slammed into him with a force beyond reason. He was paralyzed.

He was destroyed.

She wanted him, too.

Consumed by the twin revelations of her spirit and desire, flaming heat flashed to volcanic intensity inside of him. The passion and elemental energy in the air snapped and crackled around their bodies, incinerating him from the inside out.

His body went up in flames, and he wanted more.

His need turned voracious. Just one touch. A single taste.

A taste that went on forever.

His hands caressed her spine, pulled her hips closer to his heat—his need. His mind and body screamed for this one moment when passion, not obligation or duty, was allowed to rule his actions.

Her scent, the silk of her hair, the warmth of her skin next to the sea-spray chill of his own all combined to blast duty out of his mind.

He wanted, no, needed to carry her down to the sand and take her body, over and over, pounding into her warmth with the relentless fury of the surf. His heightened senses scented her desire, rising to match his own, even as she clutched at his shoulders. His hands shaped her curves, touched her softness, molded her body to his own so tightly that she must surrender to his claim.

Something primitive—feral—raised its head inside of him and demanded that he do just that.

Stake his claim.

Leave his mark on her.

His mark. The flames. Suddenly, he realized the mark of Poseidon on his chest was burning into his flesh almost as it had the day he'd sworn his oath. A reminder? He tried to think, to study the sensation, but his body was drowning in raw need.

Lost in the miracle of her mind and her body, he kissed her, claiming her with his mouth. His hands tightened on her until she cried out a little. The tiny whimper wrenched him out of his mindlessness and he stilled, sanity trying to resurface.

She pulled her head back, eyes dazed and lips swollen. "You're hurting me," she whispered.

He released her instantly, hands trembling, cursing himself for having caused her pain. "I'm sorry—damn it. I'm—there is no excuse."

He bowed his head, breathing hard. Self-loathing iced over any remnants of passion. He bowed deeply and then raised his gaze to hers. "Please accept my apologies. I have never—no. I'm as much of a brutish asshole as the scum that just ran away from here."

She smiled a little, the edge of fear receding from her eyes but still present in her mind. She was trembling. Maybe as much from fear as passion, now.

He was lower than scum.

She tried to speak, breath coming rapidly and clearly trying for calm. "I don't… I can't… you can't…"

She heaved in a deep breath and backed away from him. "What the hell was that? I don't do things like that. I mean, I just did, so you must think—but I don't. Oh, stop babbling, Riley."

She gave him another shaky smile, still breathing hard. "Since you probably saved my life and all, you're forgiven for, well, practically assaulting me right here on the beach. Not that I wasn't cooperative, or whatever. But I have to leave." Riley backed carefully away from him, seeming not to realize that he lingered in her mind.

Honesty. Even embarrassed by what she thought of as her own wanton behavior, she was honest enough to admit to him that she'd felt the same raging desire. His respect for her bravery increased, even as he had to fight his body's demands that he sweep her back to his palace and hold her captive for a year.

Or two.

Preferably naked at all times.

Conlan felt the fierce smile spread across his face. She was courageous, and beautiful beyond belief, and she was aknasha.

It was his duty to study her. To spend a great deal of time with her.

To rationalize the hell out of the fact that I want to get her naked and underneath me. In my bed. Here on the sand. Anywhere. Just soon.

Now.

He sucked in a deep breath, fighting for control. The Trident. He had to find the Trident. He'd tuck her safely away in Atlantis in the meantime.

He thought of the warriors standing guard, training—hell, just the thought of other males walking around anywhere near Riley—and his breathing tightened in his chest.

Okay, so she could stay in the temple.

With the priests. The celibate priests.

Away from Alaric, oath of celibacy or no.

Riley took another step back, and he still could sense her confusion. She doubted her sanity. Exhaustion was overwhelming her. The night's events had battered her—he'd battered her.

He couldn't regret touching her. Kissing her. But he regretted pushing her already stretched resources even further. An alien sense of tenderness washed through him. He wanted to protect her.

Even from himself.

He smiled down at her, but it wasn't enough to reassure her. Riley nearly stumbled in her haste to get away from him. "I have to go home. It's late. The curfew and all. I have to—good-bye."

As he moved to follow her, he sensed that Ven and the Seven had finally broken through the waves, and that Alaric was close behind. He knew that he could track her from a distance. He'd scanned the area to confirm that the attackers were long gone.

But it took everything in him to stand still and let her go.

Just long enough for her to reach her home. She'd want to pack some of her things.

He didn't know how long he'd keep her in Atlantis.

Something deep inside him protested at ever letting her go.

Not for long, this time at least. I'll be at her side in less than an hour. The rest—the rest I'll have to figure out later.

He refused to think of his duty. Of his intended queen he'd never met.

As he watched her run from him, his mind supplied her name, almost caressing the syllables. He whispered it aloud. "Riley."

When his body hardened even further at the mere sound of her name, a stark truth slammed into him. She was no mere empath.

She was his.

Conlan shook his head. Stupid. Futile. His duty was clear. Noble lineage. Destined royal breeding program.

His lip curled. Royal stud farm.

His gaze went back to Riley, spotlighted on the edge of the beach where she'd turned to stare back at him. Tentatively, her mind reached out to his. Good-bye, Conlan. Thank you.

You're welcome, Riley. But there's no way that it's good-bye.

As she disappeared into the night, he raised his arms and hurled a wave of fierce joy into the sea, and a family of passing dolphins threw themselves into the air in celebration—an arabesque of shared delight. The air resonated with the vibrations of Poseidon's power.

Then, without warning, weakness and dizziness crashed through him. Conlan stumbled backward and then fell to the sand.

And fear for Riley shot through him.

He shook his head back and forth, trying to clear it. He hated the idea, but he had to do it.

He had to call for aid.

Ven! I need… 7 need your help.