Atlantis Rising

Chapter 27

"May I sit with you?" Denal hovered at the doorway, looking a lot like a gunslinger from the Old West. In addition to the daggers strapped to his thighs, a complicated series of leather straps hung in some kind of double holster across his chest.

"Going to the O.K. Corral?" Riley asked, mustering up a smile.

His eyebrows drew together. "I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing. Never mind. It's a Wild West thing, probably before your time. Not that anything is before your time, practically. Oh, forget it."

He strode to the window. Moved the blinds aside to peer out. "Brennan is taking first outside watch. We don't really expect any problems. Nobody knows where we are."

"That's what Reisen and his bunch thought. What if they have an empath on hand, too?"

She watched his eyes widen as horror slid across his face. "We never thought of that! But, but Alaric said you are the first in ten thousand years to be aknasha."

She stood, paced. "Right. And then there's my sister. And who knows how many more that you've all missed in your arrogance?"

"Do you know of more such as yourself and Lady Quinn?"

Lady Quinn. How she'd laugh at the sound of that.

Or maybe she wouldn't. Riley didn't really know this new Quinn. The one who led werewolves into battle.

She opened her mind. Sent her emotions out into the night, seeking for her sister.

Felt nothing. As if Quinn really had died in that bloody forest. Or shut her out, once again. Hiding the things she'd done and the person she'd become.

She saddened at the thought.

"Lady Riley?"

She blinked. Focused on his face. "No. No, I have never met anyone other than Quinn who can send and pick up on emotion the way we do. I think my mother may have had the talent. Something about my memories of her…"

Closing her eyes, she sent her senses down a different path. Seeking the second person who'd moved into her heart and staked out a camping spot.

Conlan.

She felt his reaction; the blues and golds of warmth and caring flooded her.

Riley? You have need of me?

No. I… no. Be safe. Find your Trident and return quickly. Please.

His amusement shimmered through her, touched strongly with relief. Even at a distance, you order me about. We must discuss this penchant you have for disrespect toward royalty.

Hey, I'm part of a democracy, buddy. We kicked one royal ass for our freedom, don't think we can't do it again.

Before he could respond to her teasing, the connection between them wavered. Ice shot through her veins.

Conlan?

I'm fine. Need to—need to focus. See you soon.

And his mental barriers slammed shut, throwing her forcibly out of their emotional bond.

Denal stood in front of her, fists clenched on the hilts of his daggers. "What is it?"

"I don't know. I think it's nothing. I hope it's nothing." She sank down on the couch. "Now what do we do?"

"We wait," he said, grim. "Though I should be fighting with the rest of the Seven to recover the Trident."

He was so young. Young enough to be angry when left out of a battle and bloodshed.

Or maybe it was the male in him, not the youth.

She smiled, rueful. "I'm sorry you drew babysitting duty."

It took him a beat. "What—oh, no. I am honored to serve and protect you, my lady. It is merely—"

"Don't worry about it. If I had a couple of those daggers and knew how to use them, I'd want to be in on the action, too, I guess. At least helping to protect—"

"The prince." Denal nodded. "It is true what the legends say of aknasha, then? That you can form the soul-meld so quickly?"

"The what?" Riley felt her cheeks heating up that she was so easy to read but she was curious. "What's a soul-meld?"

"It is said that when one who is aknasha truly loves, she will open to her beloved, so that he can travel inside the corridors of her heart and soul."

"Very poetic," Brennan said, entering the room. "The disadvantage of this 'hiding in plain sight' that Ven prefers with his safe houses is that the neighbors are wary of one such as myself patrolling the night."

"Drawing unwelcome attention here in suburbia, are you?" Riley asked, trying for a light tone. Denal's words had shaken her more than she wanted to admit.

Truth had a way of doing that. One who truly loves.

"Hard to be inconspicuous when you're six and a half feet of hottie, Brennan. Do they have some kind of gorgeous potion in the water in Atlantis?"

She looked at the two of them, standing there all muscle and cheekbones in leather and a cascade of steel. Like they'd flashed in from some weird parallel universe where runway models wore weapons.

Denal was shaking his head. "We do not live in water in Atlantis. The dome protects us."

She blinked, then laughed so hard her sides ached, tried to explain when he got all huffy. "No, no, I'm not laughing at you, Denal. Only at myself. Dropped down the rabbit hole with Hot Models Gone Wild."

That set her off again with the worst case of the stress giggles she'd ever had, and Denal shaking his head at her only made it worse. Even Brennan smiled, though it never reached his eyes.

When she could catch her breath again, she wiped her eyes. "Okay. Sorry. Really. Sometimes it hits me like that. No doubt I'll be laughing on my deathbed. How about pizza? Two or three?"

She studied them, upgraded her plans for the order. Distraction. That's what they needed. "No, five pizzas loaded with the works. And we can pop in one of these movies. Ven may have the finest collection of classics I've ever seen. Anybody for the original King Kong?"

Conlan followed Alaric as they flew across town, bodies transformed into shimmering mist. Ven and the others followed in two of Ven's collection of cars. They'd discovered early on that modern weapons—indeed, any that didn't contain at least a trace of orichalcum—failed to be changed by the magic of the transformation process.

Ven did love to have his toys with him. Man had more weapons than an armory.

And they'd surely need them. Though five of Reisen's warriors were slain, they might still be outnumbered. The House of Mycenae might have brought many, many more to guard the stolen Trident.

Why? He sent the thought to Alaric.

He believed you dead. Wanted Atlantis to take what he considered its rightful place among the landwalkers. Grew impatient with the timid ways of the Council. Saw himself as king, no doubt.

Conlan heard the underlying note. You believe as he does?

Though he was no empath, he had no trouble reading the disgust in the priest's thoughts.

If not now, when, Conlan? We are charged to protect mankind. Do we fulfill that vow by hiding like women? No, that is inapt. For your woman and her warrior sister have no thought of hiding, more's the pity.

Alaric put on a burst of more speed, as if trying to outrun thoughts of Quinn. Conlan needed to understand more about that reaction, to be sure. But there was a matter far more urgent.

Alaric, what is this doom you spoke of? A second Cataclysm?

But instead of answering, Alaric plunged down through the trees sparsely surrounding a vacant lot that abutted a large, ruined-looking building.

A building filled with light and sound and surrounded by cars.

As the priest shimmered back into his body, he threw his head and arms back, tension in every straining muscle. "The Trident is here. It calls me—taunts me. Send for the others. We have found it."

Conlan, who'd been communicating their direction to Ven throughout the journey, sent the final directions through their mind link. Ven. Hurry.

Ven's thoughts shot back to him like an arrow. Five minutes, tops. Then we're going to make the lord of the House of Mycenae regret the day he was born.

"Five minutes, Alaric. We need to wait for the others. From the sign of the parking lot, we're seriously outnumbered."

Alaric started forward, eyes gleaming in the dark. "Mostly humans," he snarled. "I can feel them. Anyway, no matter. None of them are any match for me. I will wreak Poseidon's justice upon their flesh."

Conlan flashed in front of Alaric, blocking him. Barring his way. "You will wait. As your prince, I command it. If you are destroyed through a fluke of superior numbers, what hope is left for Atlantis?"

Alaric's face was savage. No trace of Conlan's boyhood friend shone through the vicious intent on his face. "Out of my way, prince. This is the work of a god, and you may not countermand me in my goal."

"Not as prince, perhaps. But as your friend?" Conlan put out a hand to grasp the priest's arm.

The light from Alaric's eyes burned where it touched Conlan's face, but he held his ground.

Alaric yanked his arm away, lifted his hands to call power, and bands of wind jerked Conlan off his feet and onto the ground. He battled with the element of wind to try to rise.

Alaric merely stared down at him, face like stone. "I have no friends."

And then he strode across the field toward the blazing windows of the warehouse.