Atlantis Rising

Chapter 37

"It's unlocked. Just like he promised," Quinn whispered, as she opened the door that had been hidden behind a wall of cleaning products in the basement janitorial closet of a shabby office building. Conlan nodded, gestured to Ven that the two brothers would take point down the dark corridor.

From behind him, Jack let out a low rumbling roar. "I don't think so. I'm not putting my men in danger—I'm not putting Quinn in danger—unless I'm in the front row at the party, boys."

Conlan paused, nodded. "Join us, then, tiger. But this mission is under my command, as the future of my realm depends upon it. If you cannot agree to that, you will remain behind."

The shape-shifter's eyes glowed a fierce golden color. "Who's gonna stop me?"

Alaric waved a hand, almost nonchalant. "That would be me." The priest walked to stand in front of the shape-shifter, who was frozen in place, unable even to speak.

"Even at the dawning of the full moon's eve, my power exceeds yours. Do you challenge me, or do you work with us?" His voice was bored, as if the enormous weretiger were of no consequence.

But Jack must have made some kind of signal, because Alaric spoke a single word and released him.

Jack rolled his shoulders, not looking at all pleased. But he acquiesced. "Yeah, I'll go along with your command, Conlan. As long as nothing you do puts Quinn in danger, I'm your man. For this one mission, at least."

Conlan bared his teeth in a grimace. "If you think that I would allow either Riley or her sister to be harmed, you seriously underestimate me," he snarled. "And nobody who underestimates me usually lives long enough to regret it."

"If we're done with the pissing contest, let's go," Quinn said, reaching out for Riley with one hand and pulling a very deadly looking gun out of her pocket with the other. "People to meet, vamps to blow away, et cetera, et cetera…"

Conlan stopped, stepped close to Riley. "You stay behind us, do you hear me? You point that gun at anything undead that moves, and you stay out of danger. Promise me that."

"But—"

"Promise me, or I call it off now, and we'll go live on a farm in Iowa or something. Atlantis be damned."

She managed a shaky smile. "I'm allergic to cow poop. I promise."

He nodded, and took the first step down the corridor. The first step leading Riley into danger. The hardest step he'd ever taken.

As Quinn had predicted, three vamps guarded the corridor at about the midway point. Conlan channeled water and shot a horizontal wall of ice at them, decapitating them before they had time to sound any alarm.

Jack let out a low whistle. "Nice trick, prince. I'm glad to have you on my team. This is going to be a Cakewalk."

"There will be more than three, tiger. Don't grow too complacent." Conlan moved further along the dark corridor, searching for any crack of light that would indicate an opening. Another hundred or so yards down the tunnel, they came across a more heavily guarded passageway.

This time, Alaric called the electric power of lightning and shot bolts of pure energy at them, incinerating five of the six. Ven's dagger caught the sixth in the heart, and it collapsed, sizzling down into nothingness.

"Holy water on the blades. Works every damn time," Ven observed with satisfaction. He retrieved his dagger and wiped it off on a rag he drew from his pocket, then tossed the rag on the ground. "Somehow don't mind littering in the vamp's backyard."

Conlan held up a hand for silence. "I think it may be the vamps' front yard, in fact, if the sound of screaming is any indication."

He waited while they all strained to pick up on what his Atlantean hearing had already caught. Someone was being tortured.

And somebody else was doing a damn thorough job of it.

The instincts that had served him well for nearly three thousand years were telling Barrabas that something was wrong. He just couldn't figure out what.

He should have been well content. The Atlantean called Micah was bleeding on the floor in front of him, near death, and Barrabas could still taste Micah's blood in his mouth. Reisen hadn't found his way back to consciousness since Drakos had smashed his head into the wall.

And yet, a tiny niggling tremor of doubt snaked through him. He stared at Drakos, who gazed implacably back at him. The general had outlived his usefulness. No battle strategy, no matter how brilliant, was worth this constant suspicion.

Especially for one who was not even of his blood pride. Thinking of them made him reach out to them with his mind. Reassurance from his guards would go a long way toward…

There was no response.

Nothing in his mind but a blank space where his vanguard should be. He whipped his head around to find Drakos.

Who stood near the chamber door, smiling.

"Your reign is over, damned one," Drakos said. "Prepare to meet the future."

Before Barrabas could utter a sound, Drakos yanked the door open, and a swarm of warriors poured through. The one in front had hair and eyes as black as the deepest hell, and death was written on his face.

"I am Conlan of Atlantis, Barrabas," the warrior shouted out. "Prepare for your death!"

No, no mere warrior. Not with that regal air of command.

This must be the prince. Barrabas hissed, called out with every ounce of his being to Anubisa.

Come to me, my goddess! Your Atlanteans are here to recover the Trident I captured for you—I beg for your assistance.

With that, he sent another mental command, and every one of his blood pride asleep in their coffins in the room below him rose and began the rush to his aid.

"You think attacking at dawn is any detriment to a master vampire of my power, princeling? We are deep under the earth, blocked from the sun by tons of concrete!" he screamed. Then he dematerialized, laughing, right from under their Atlantean noses.