Atlantis Unmasked

by Alyssa Day

  He found himself wishing that she were a descendant of Aphrodite, instead of Diana. A beauty content to stay safely out of danger instead of a huntress. But she looked up at him and offered a tremulous smile, and he knew she was both.

  And he was lost.

  “I’m going to kiss you now,” he said, but then he waited, not knowing whether he expected rejection or permission. Not knowing which he feared more.

  “I’m going to let you,” she whispered, but she didn’t. Didn’t passively wait for him to kiss her. Instead, she lifted her face and pressed her lips to his, and the gentle pressure sparked a conflagration inside him.

  He wanted to kiss her, claim her, brand her as his own. Every instinct battled common sense and care; reason forced him to act gently—she was injured. Primitive hunger older than mankind—older than Atlantis—roared out its demands. He pulled away a little, winning the battle against his darker side, but she refused to let him go. She moved even closer to him so that she was sitting half on his lap, and she lifted one hand into his hair and pulled his head closer to hers.

  “I don’t care. I know this is wrong and callous to kiss you like this. To want you like this. When so many were injured—” She stopped and sucked in a shaky breath. “I know it’s wrong and weak for me to need you like this, but I do. I could’ve died tonight, and for the first time in all the years I’ve faced that final moment, I was afraid.”

  She stared intently into his eyes, willing him to understand. “I was afraid, because for the first time I had something to lose.”

  He kissed her again. He could do nothing but kiss her and hold her and touch her. Kiss her even more deeply. Some part of him, some sane, rational part, reminded him to be careful of her injured side. He held her as though she were made of the most fragile Atlantean spun glass, and he kissed her as though to stop kissing her would mean the end of all hope and light and love.

  Love. Even as the unfamiliar word flashed across his consciousness, something changed. The world shifted on its axis and the stars somehow fell out of the sky and exploded into the room with them.

  Alexios was kissing Grace, and he was falling. Spiral ing down into a glowing funnel cloud made of vividly contrasting colors. Darkest green and pale gold, emerald and amber, streaks of black silhouetting the jewel tones composed entirely of light. He was falling into colors, and he suddenly realized a shocking truth. He was falling into Grace’s soul.

  She made some tiny noise, a moan or a gasp, but he captured it in his mouth, captured a jagged bolt of shadowed amber that he knew, somehow, to be her sorrow and fear.

  He instantly understood, though it had never happened to him in all the long years of his life. He was reaching the soul-meld with Grace, and exhilaration mingled with terror and threatened to capsize his sanity.

  Grace clung to Alexios with one hand and held tightly to her injured side with the other, as if she could cling to him like ballast and save herself from the raging rapids of her emotions. He kissed her like nobody had ever kissed her. He kissed her as if she mattered—as if she meant everything to him—as if his warmth and hunger could redeem the dark, empty spaces inside her.

  She pressed closer and closer to him, wanting to feel his heart beating against her own, and the pain of her wounds seemed like a dim memory compared to the heat and hunger searing through every part of her. She was alive. She was alive, and she hadn’t lost him. That could be enough for now. They could keep the darkness at bay.

  But then the heat and the longing changed. Transformed. The metamorphosis she’d wondered about earlier crashed down on her with the force of a goddess’s caprice. A spectacular rainbow of colors—the entire spectrum of color—exploded between them and around them and through them. Colors danced and pirouetted through her heart and soul and in the rhythms of the music of their kiss. She tried to pull away from him, dazzled by the light and the color, not understanding but accepting, but he held her tightly as if he couldn’t bear to release her.

  Suddenly her breath and balance were smashed away, and she was falling—falling and tumbling and twirling—over and over into the darkness. Into pain, and torture, and fire. She cried out, seeking for an escape, but there was no way out. There was only the falling and the flames.

  She smashed into a barrier that was harder than steel but with a peculiar elasticity to it. She knew it couldn’t be real. Knew with some rational part of her brain that she still sat on the bed with Alexios.

  But if this were her imagination, it had just served her a whopping dose of crazy. Because she was suddenly walking through flames, and Alexios was on the other side. But it wasn’t the Alexios she knew. It was an Alexios whose skin was unmarked by any scarring. An Alexios who looked younger. Less grim. Less cynical.

  And then he screamed.

  Shadowy figures skulked and lurked at the edges of the flames, holding objects she was somehow sure she didn’t want to see clearly. She caught flashes of steel and the snap of a whip, and Alexios, chained to a dark and glistening wall, screamed and screamed.

  “No!” she shouted. “No, no, no, no. I don’t want to see this. This is private; these are the secrets of his soul. I don’t want to see his—and I don’t want him to see mine. If this is Atlantean magic, make it stop.”

  As if her words had carried weight with whatever dark power had thrown her into this, she began to rise. Up and away from the flames, up and away from the hideous shapes slashing their whips. Up and away from the phantom of Alexios’s torture.

  She rose up and up until the darkness began to shimmer with light and color again. These colors were far different from the flames. There was the deep cerulean blue of the ocean on a calm summer’s night. There was a fresh, springtime green. Glimmers of a bright sparkling ruby red danced at the edges, offering carefree joy to the palette as if the colors were the heralds of emotion.

  But not just the colors appeared to her as she floated upward. Layers of knowing—of knowledge—of Alexios’s inner being permeated the colors and sank into her soul, as though she were traveling on a journey into his.

  Integrity. Loyalty. Honor.

  Courage so unshakable that it formed the bedrock of his very existence. This was a man who had offered up everything he had and everything he was for centuries, all in the name of protecting others. He had kept nothing for himself—had wanted nothing for himself.

  Until now.

  Distantly, she felt him release her, and then the movement as he stood up and backed away. The colors took a few moments to dissipate; it was like living inside of a fireworks display in the sky—as if she herself were the Roman candle. She actually looked down at her chest, to see if lights were exploding inside her, before she shook her head to clear it of the fancy and the remnants of the experience.

  She said nothing for a long time. There weren’t words.

  Finally, from where he’d backed himself clear across the room and against the wall, he spoke. “I bet you’re wondering what just happened.”

  She laughed and was relieved to be able to draw the breath to do it. “Thank you, Captain Understatement.”

  Relief chased surprise across his face, and then he laughed, too. “I should have known. Always expect the unexpected with you.”

  “I want to know what just happened,” she said, but the exhaustion had intensified tenfold during the experience with Alexios and she could no longer sit upright. She collapsed sideways onto her pillow, with her feet still on the floor. “But maybe I should rest first, because I’ve got nothing left right now.”

  He leapt across the room and lifted her feet one by one, removing her boots and then placing her legs on the bed. He drew her blanket up from the foot of the bed and over her and tucked it over her shoulders, then caressed her cheek. “Yes, you must rest and, yes, I will explain the soul-meld to you in the morning. You have the right to know everything but please carry this thought into your sleep: This was not something I did to you. It was a gift that the gods granted to us both.”


  He bent to kiss her forehead, but she raised her face so that his lips touched hers instead. “I believe you. I saw you. That was . . . somehow I was inside your soul, Alexios. The flames . . .”

  She couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer, though. She gave up the effort, knowing that he would protect her. Knowing that he truly was the man and the hero of her heart’s most secret dreams. The secret dreams she hadn’t even realized she’d held in the deepest recesses of her soul.

  Her eyes drifted shut, and she felt him brushing her hair away from her cheek.

  “I fell into those flames myself tonight, mi amara,” he whispered. “I plunged into the lowest of the nine hells when I saw your blood. Never again, do you hear me? Never again.”

  She knew she should argue, knew there was something wrong with what he’d said. But her side ached, and the warm darkness of sleep pulled at her.

  Tomorrow. She’d figure it out tomorrow.

  Alexios stood in the doorway for a very long time, content to watch her sleep. He hadn’t expected the soul-meld. Hadn’t been prepared for it. But now he found himself fiercely glad that it had occurred. Atlanteans never blindly followed destiny’s chosen path. Personal choice was one of the most important tenets of their existence. And yet, somehow, he felt like all his choices had been circling down to center on this one beautiful, courageous human female, ever since the day he had met her.

  He would kill anyone who ever again tried to harm her. She was his, and now all that was left to do was to make her believe it.

  A quiet cough behind him alerted him to Tiny’s presence. He was remarkably stealthy for such a big man. Alexios took one last long look at Grace and then headed toward Tiny.

  “How is she?”

  “She’s exhausted, and possibly in shock. But she refused to seek medical attention or even to leave, so rest is the best thing for her right now.”

  Tiny nodded, grinning. “She’s fierce, that one. You’re a lucky man.”

  “I hope she thinks so, too,” Alexios said darkly. “Shall we patrol?”

  “Coffee first,” the big man replied, still grinning. “Hey, if she doesn’t think so, can I give her my number?”

  Alexios glared at him and made a growling noise, deep in his throat, but Tiny just laughed. “Yeah, yeah. Just kidding. Sam already told me how it was between the two of you.”

  Minutes later, with mugs of coffee in their hands, Alexios and Tiny stood on the parapet looking out at the deserted grounds surrounding the fort.

  “I’ve got a half-dozen men with me, and they’re stationed at every possible access point and a couple of the impossible ones.” Tiny pointed to a shadow that was just a little darker than the surrounding shadows down near the seawall and another next to the tall shot furnace that had once been used to heat cannonballs. “Those two are mine. We’re looking high as well as low, in case these shifters have vampire backup. It’ll be dawn soon, though, so at least then we’ll only have to worry about attacks coming from one direction.”

  “Unless the vampires have somehow managed to make contact with the raptor shifters,” Alexios said.

  Tiny froze, his coffee mug scant inches from his lips. “Did you say raptor shifters? Are you freaking kidding me?”

  “No, I’m definitely not kidding. Although we have not seen eagle, falcon, or hawk shifters in several centuries, that doesn’t mean that they don’t still exist. If the vampires manage to enthrall a flock of raptor shifters, that gives them an instant airborne army.”

  “Flock? It’s really called a flock?” Tiny gulped down the rest of his coffee and then started laughing. “Don’t tell me. Let me guess. We’ve got possible geese shifters, too.”

  Alexios just looked at him, puzzled. “No, why would there be geese? That would be ridiculous. Shifters are almost always predatory species.”

  “Makes sense. Darwinism and all. After all, what could geese do? Throw goose shit at people? Although, come to think of it, that would be pretty nasty.”

  “I must admit that I often can’t understand you humans at all,” Alexios said, shaking his head.

  For some reason, his comment occasioned a fresh burst of laughter from Tiny. Still shaking his head, Alexios continued walking the circle of the rooftop, constantly scanning for any sign of movement or approach.

  He thought of Grace, lying injured on her bed on the floor below, and his fingers tightened around the mug. He needed Alaric.

  He needed Alaric here now, not off on some hopeless quixotic chase after Quinn. He put the mug on the floor at his feet and then stood up and raised his hands into the air in order to help him call the energy that would power the Atlantean mental pathway between he and Alaric. This type of communication came more easily to some than others; it had never been effortless for him. But then again, he’d never had such need.

  Alaric, if you can hear me, answer me now. I have need of you—Grace is injured and needs your healing. Come now.

  He slowly lowered his hands, waiting—hoping—for some sign, but there was nothing. Pride gave way to desperate longing, and he added the word he had so rarely used.

  Please.

  But still there was nothing. An empty silence instead of a response.

  Either Alaric was out of range or he had chosen not to respond. Both options were unacceptable. A perfect storm of helpless rage swept through Alexios, until he had to let it out or explode. He threw back his head and roared out his fury to the stars and the night sea. Grace had been hurt—she could have died—and there had been nothing he could do about it.

  He fell to his knees on the hard, cold concrete and let his head drop forward, unknowing and uncaring if Tiny or any of his men were witnesses to his breakdown. The terror of almost losing her drove sharp teeth into his spine and shook him the way the panther had shaken Smith earlier, until he felt he must break apart into splinters, fractured by the fear and pain and rage.

  A voice scratched at the edges of his mind, growing more and more insistent. A voice he knew—its familiarity was breaking through the rise of the war drums in his mind. A voice he knew, but it wasn’t Alaric.

  Are you going to answer me, or am I going to have to come up there and thump your head against a wall? The voice in his head was rich with amusement, but also threaded with concern. Remember, I can easily kick your ass for you. Hells, my woman can kick your ass for you.

  Relief washed through Alexios like a cooling wave over burning sand. It was Bastien. Thank Poseidon.

  Chapter 18

  Alexios watched the sun rising over the horizon and stretched, finally feeling like he could take a deep breath for the first time all night. One of his oldest friends and fellow warriors was on the way, so it didn’t matter that the portal still refused to answer his call. Bastien was one of the Seven, and he was bringing Ethan and Kat, both panther shifters and, according to Bastien, far more lethal than any Alexios could have faced the night before.

  Ethan is alpha, Bastien had explained. You’ll have to see for yourself what that means, but trust me when I tell you he has nothing to do with these attacks.

  Bastien wasn’t much better than Alexios at the use of the Atlantean communication path over long distances, so it had been a very short conversation. But, even now, Bastien, Ethan, and Kat were on the way to St. Augustine from Ethan’s home and headquarters near Miami. Bastien has said to give him an hour; the shifters couldn’t travel as mist or through water portals.

  Alexios hadn’t thought to ask Bastien if the portal to Atlantis was cooperating with him. The portal’s magic was capricious, and it seemed to open and close according to some rules it never bothered to disclose.

  The portal was older than Atlantis and older than any written record of history, so not even the elders, the scroll keepers, or the scholars fully understood how or why it functioned as it did. A thought occurred to him, surprising in its unexpectedness. What if the portal considered itself a protector of Atlantis? There was no question that it was sentient; what if it knew the pr
ince and heir was born and wanted to protect the vulnerable infant?

  Perhaps. Of course, as had been true for more than eleven thousand years, there was no way to know. Maybe Keely would be able to use her archaeological skills or her object-reader magic and uncover some of the secrets surrounding the origin of the Seven Isles. But, until then, the portal’s magic was just another of the many mysteries Atlanteans grew to accept and abide by.

  Tiny called out, and Alexios turned to see the man shaking hands with Grace. Alexios stood, unmoving, warmth spreading through his chest like the unfurling rays of a sea star. Just to be able to watch her, even from a distance, felt like a precious gift.