Heart Of Atlantis

by Day Alyssa

  I’m on my way, he sent back, and then he clapped Conlan on the shoulder so hard he nearly knocked the prince off the temple steps.

  “She’s back. She’s back, and I know just where she is,” he crowed. “That hotel must enjoy replacing windows, though.”

  “What do you need?” Conlan asked, instantly grasping the situation.

  Alaric yelled for Justice, who was standing near Alexios. “Bring me a sword.”

  If his magic misfired around the demon, he wanted a backup option. To Conlan he said, “What do I need? Interesting question.”

  “Hey, portal,” he shouted. “Come listen to what I need, or I’ll let Atlantis be crushed under five and a half miles of water.”

  “Nice touch,” Conlan murmured. “I’m guessing portals don’t understand about bluffing.”

  Alaric shot him a look. “Who says I’m bluffing?”

  Conlan’s smile faded, but then the portal appeared, surprising both of them.

  “If these people and my baby die because you kidnapped them and dumped them here, I’ll make it my mission in life to exterminate you, you egotistic, pathetic excuse for an elevator,” Riley said, marching up to the portal with a sleeping baby in her arms.

  Aidan didn’t even open an eye. Perhaps he was used to his mother’s fierce personality and was comforted by it. It occurred to Alaric with the force of a spear to the chest that perhaps he and Quinn would one day have a child a lot like Aidan. He suddenly found it hard to breathe.

  “Get in before it disappears,” Conlan said. “Hurry up, Alaric, we need that stone.”

  Alaric jumped into the portal. “Take me to Quinn.”

  As he traveled through the vortex, the strangest thing happened. Alaric thought he heard the portal say, “Duuude.”

  Before he could analyze that bit of oddity, it dumped him in the middle of a room filled with a gang of armed men, a dead man, and one human female who glowed—at least to his senses—with the intensity of a miniature sun. The sight of the Atlantean energy gave Alaric hope he hadn’t dared to feel, which surged up inside him, dancing with his joy and relief from Quinn’s presence.

  She was alive and safe. Thank all the gods.

  But then Quinn turned her head toward him, and he saw that the side of her face was one massive bruise, and her lip was split and swollen.

  A blinding rage swept through him, and he attacked the men with the sword and with his power, driving ice spears through their throats one by one. Distantly, he heard her yelling at him to stop, but a primal fury had crushed his reason and destroyed his logic. He sensed that Poseidon’s Pride was enhancing and increasing his power, but he had no intention of trying to stop.

  They’d hurt her, so they had to die.

  There was only one left alive—a man dressed in all black who’d tried to shoot Alaric until he’d frozen the man’s gun to his hand in an impenetrable block of ice. Alaric raised his sword again, but then Quinn stepped between him and his target.

  “No,” she shouted, waving her arms. “This one protected me from the others, and even more important, he might know more about Ptolemy’s plans.”

  Alaric slowly lowered the sword as her words penetrated his raging mind. “He hurt you. I see your face.”

  “No, that was Ptolemy. I’ll tell you everything, but it wasn’t this man. He protected me.” She stepped closer and put her arm around Alaric’s waist, careful not to block his sword arm.

  “This one protected you,” he repeated, still not believing it.

  She nodded. “He shot the dead one for trying to hurt me.”

  “And yet he held you captive at gunpoint,” Alaric said, his outward calm back in place. “He will die for that alone.”

  “I can’t tell you anything if I’m dead,” the man said, finally speaking up. He must have had ice in his veins, since he wasn’t shaking or begging or crying.

  “Do you know anything to tell?” Alaric placed the tip of his sword against the man’s throat and pushed, just hard enough to cut the skin. Blood dripped down the man’s neck.

  Quinn nudged Alaric to the side a little. “What’s your name, and what did Ptolemy tell you?”

  “I’m Westbury. He didn’t tell me much, unfortunately,” the man said. “His plan once he arrived was to head to the Bermuda Triangle, if that makes any sense at all.”

  Alaric exchanged a grim glance with Quinn. It told them far too much.

  “It’s a measure of your integrity that you admit you know little,” Alaric said. “And yet you have no loyalty, to admit so much.”

  “He doesn’t deserve my loyalty,” Westbury said, holding up his ice-encumbered right hand with his left. “He took my sister and promised to give her back to my family in exchange for my services. Now I may never see her again.”

  Quinn’s eyes widened. “What does she look like?”

  “I have a picture, but . . .” The man glanced pointedly down at his frozen arm.

  Quinn looked at Alaric. He considered, then nodded. Made the ice vanish.

  Westbury showed her a photograph on his telephone, and Quinn smiled.

  “I met this girl. She’s fine, or at least she was mostly fine when I last saw her. Bruised but mostly unharmed,” Quinn said. “I don’t know—”

  The man’s phone rang at that moment, and a different photograph of the same girl flashed on the screen. Westbury answered it, spoke briefly but with unmistakable emotion, and then closed the phone.

  “She’s in the emergency room. She said that you saved her, and I was . . . I can never make this up to you,” he said hoarsely to Quinn, and Alaric watched as she made another conquest right before his eyes.

  “Go. She needs you,” Quinn said, brushing Westbury’s gratitude aside.

  She was embarrassed when they did this, the thankfulness. The devotion. Alaric knew her well enough to understand this.

  Westbury was wise enough to look to Alaric, though, before moving. “Either kill me or let me go to my sister.”

  Suddenly, Alaric wanted nothing more than to be alone with Quinn . He came to a decision.

  “Go. Your actions were somewhat offset by your motives,” he said abruptly. “But never let me see you again.”

  Westbury nodded before taking a card out of his pocket and handing it to Quinn. “Any time, any place. Just call me, and I’ll be there.”

  As soon as the man left the room, Alaric called to the portal, which again appeared almost instantly. He wrapped his arms around Quinn, and together they stepped into the portal.

  “Back to Atlantis, now,” he commanded.

  “I had to sacrifice the shell you gave me. I needed the weight for the switch,” she told him.

  “I’ll find you another,” he promised.

  “I have it,” Quinn whispered. “Poseidon’s Pride.”

  “I know,” he said, and then he healed her lip and face before kissing her senseless. He sank into her emotions with the first touch of her lips, and he claimed her mouth with every ounce of possession and need he felt for this miracle of a woman.

  His woman.

  His for all of eternity.

  He was still kissing her, with her enthusiastic participation, when they arrived in Atlantis. Suddenly the air rang with applause, and Alaric realized they were the center of attention.

  “Oh, no,” Quinn said, pushing away from him. “Put me down right now.”

  He did as she asked and then held out his hand. She withdrew Poseidon’s Pride from her pocket and handed it over, and in the exact moment when both of their hands were touching the gem, a thunderclap sounded inside the dome, and a lightning strike of power sizzled through Alaric’s body. Quinn cried out in shock, so she must have experienced it, too, but then someone started screaming that Atlantis was collapsing.

  “Not on our watch,” Quinn said, but it would have sounded better if she hadn’t been having such a hard time catching her breath.

  A part of Alaric wanted nothing more than to return to the kissing, especially now tha
t every nerve ending in his body was on fire with the gem’s magic, but the current emergency outweighed all else. So instead he took Quinn’s hand and headed into the temple. At least twenty people followed them.

  Quinn couldn’t believe she’d been caught kissing Alaric in the middle of Atlantis, during the worst crisis in the history of the continent, but after what they’d been through, she kind of didn’t care. When she passed Riley and Aidan on the way to the temple, Riley gave her a thumbs-up.

  “Way to go, sis.”

  Alaric growled and walked faster, and Quinn had an insane urge to laugh. Family dinners were going to be interesting.

  Alaric stopped outside the door to the Trident’s room, where a half dozen exhausted men and women, plus Myrken, sat against the wall. Five more were asleep or unconscious on the floor a little farther down the hall.

  “Stay here,” Alaric commanded. “I do not know how bad this will get.”

  She nodded but said nothing, not even “Have you met me?” As soon as he went inside the room, she looked at her old pal, Myrken.

  “Got any rope? I’ve got an idea.”

  He jumped up before the words were out of her mouth. Not bad for someone who looked as though the Trident had drained all the life out of his body. She headed for the stairs and on the way explained the exact place she was seeking. When they arrived at the vantage point she’d been hoping for, she explained her plan and watched Myrken turn seventeen shades of pale.

  “If I get you killed, Lord Alaric will kill me next.”

  She shook her head. “I won’t let him kill you, and anyway, I won’t die. So pull that panel off the wall, so I can find out if I can squeeze into that vent.”

  She managed to fit, just barely, but it was tight, and her newly discovered claustrophobia came screaming back. She didn’t have time for phobias, though, and so she powered through, all of her mental focus on what was going on in that room beneath her. When she pushed through to the end of the vent and edged out onto the narrow niche, she looked down and flinched.

  Alaric was leaning forward, clearly straining to control the Trident, which appeared to be trying to beat him to death. Or else it was trying to reunite with the tourmaline and being really aggressive about it. Either way. Alaric was in trouble, and he’d closed or sealed the door to the room, so nobody else was there to help.

  Quinn to the rescue. She didn’t stop to wonder whether or not being able to touch Poseidon’s Pride meant she would be able to touch the Trident. She didn’t stop to think she might be plunging to her death on a rope that wasn’t strong enough to hold her.

  All she cared about was Alaric. He needed her. She double-checked her grip on the rope, made sure that Myrken and his pals had a good hold on the other end, and she leapt. Down through the air, aiming straight for the Trident. She caught it in midair as she fell, and pure, unadulterated power flamed through her, setting her on fire from the inside out. She screamed because it felt like her blood was literally boiling in her veins, and the pain was beyond any torture she’d ever endured. She realized she was coming down too far and too fast, and she prayed for a quick death, but she didn’t let go.

  She did not let go.

  She screamed again, just before Alaric’s strong arms caught her and he was there, holding her and snatching the Trident from her miraculously unblackened hand. He kissed her face, kissed the tears running down her cheeks, and held the Trident at arm’s length from her, all while swearing a blue streak in Atlantean.

  Or at least she thought it was Atlantean. Now that she wasn’t being roasted from the inside out by the weapon of an angry god, relief made her almost giddy.

  “You need to teach me to cuss in Atlantean,” she said, and he actually growled at her before he put her down, shoved the tourmaline in the Trident’s empty slot with an audible click, and slapped the whole thing down on the cushion on its pedestal.

  Then they both stepped back and stared at the thing, which seemed content now to lie there peacefully, glowing softly, like a colicky baby that has finally exhausted itself.

  “If you don’t drive me to drink or madness within the year, I will count myself exceedingly lucky,” Alaric said slowly, and she realized he was clutching his head as if he were in pain.

  “You know, I could say the same thing about you, Mr. I Must Do the Dangerous Stuff Alone,” she shot back at him. “Also, feel free to heal my head, because I think Ptolemy gave me a concussion in addition to this split lip, and playing Mission: Impossible didn’t help any.”

  His aggravation instantly turned to concern, and he sent healing magic through her face and head, and then through her entire body for good measure, and she suddenly felt as if she could take on the world all over again.

  “I will kill him,” Alaric said, and although she had her pick of contestants, it was a safe bet he was talking about Ptolemy.

  “There’s one you can check off your list.” She told him about the atrocities and the sight of Ptolemy being stabbed through the chest.

  “It might not have been his heart,” she added, considering the demons’ questionable anatomy. “But even so, they didn’t seem like the type to help a guy when he was down. He’s probably lunch.”

  “None deserved it more,” Alaric said flatly. “I only regret I was not able to kill him myself. You have an annoying habit of getting yourself out of trouble.”

  She grinned. “Rebel leader, remember? Although, not anymore. Maybe we can have a nap and then decide what to do with the rest of our lives.”

  The clamor and pounding at the door grew louder. Alaric waved a hand, and the door burst inward under the weight of half a dozen warriors and many other people, both men and women.

  “What’s happening?” Conlan said, pushing to the front. “Alaric, I’m going to kick your ass if you ever do that to me again.”

  “As you see,” Alaric began, except then, naturally, something did start to happen.

  “You don’t have some kind of ritual?” Quinn asked nobody in particular, but she forgot her question as the Trident levitated into the air and rotated until it was standing on its base, with its three prongs pointing up. An arrow of light shot out of each of its tines, and the three streams joined together to form a shining column of pure white light that was headed straight for the ceiling.

  Quinn immediately saw a potential problem. “Um, is there a skylight?”

  “No,” Alaric said, and she prepared to jump out of the way of falling stone, but just as everyone started moving toward the door, the ceiling of the temple opened like the petals of a flower. The tower of light shot up and up, straight past the top of the temple and up to what must be the ceiling of the dome.

  “Oh, boy,” Quinn said. “If that blasts through the dome, when we’re underwater . . .”

  This time it was Myrken who answered her. “No, my lady, this is exactly what the ancient scrolls say is supposed to happen. We should go outside for this.”

  They all raced outside, and the ground gave a jarring lurch right underneath their feet, like an earthquake. Quinn grabbed for Alaric’s hand.

  “Look,” he said, pointing.

  She looked, and saw the most spectacular sight. Atlantis was rising. The water movement outside the dome, and the way they lifted up and passed first a whale and then a school of lighted fish, proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that Atlantis was, in fact, actually rising.

  A huge cheer rang out, and everyone started hugging and laughing. Quinn was too practical and far too skeptical for that.

  “Will the fractured dome survive the pressure changes as it rises, or are we in for a massive continental case of the bends?”

  Alaric smiled, and it was a real smile, the one that felt like a gift to her heart.

  “I can only guess what this ‘bends’ means, but the Trident’s power is far more than enough to accomplish this ascension. The rest of us can relax now.”

  She threw her arms around Alaric and kissed him, right there on the temple steps, in front of the
gods and everyone.

  “We did it,” she said. “We actually did it!”

  “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said, and his saying so was another gift, the best present ever.

  “How long will it take? Do we need to help it along?”

  Alaric smiled. “I think you’ve done enough, my fierce one. It will be at least ten hours before we reach the surface. Right now, I suggest we find something to eat and get some rest.”

  “And a shower,” she added.

  He groaned. “I’m not sure I can take any more of imagining you in the shower.”

  She grinned at him. “Who said you have to imagine it?”

  They raced each other to his rooms.

  Chapter 29

  Alaric slammed the door to his rooms shut behind them and sealed them with the most powerful ward he knew how to create. Nobody was getting in that door. He thought about it for a moment and then added soundproofing.

  Quinn stripped out of her borrowed shirt and pants on the way to the bathroom and then turned around and smiled at him, standing there in nothing but a few strategically placed scraps of lace. He almost swallowed his tongue.

  She bit her lip and then grinned. “Didn’t take me for a girly underwear kind of woman, did you?”

  He couldn’t answer her, because his brain and his vocal cords had both quit working. In fact, nothing on his body seemed to be functioning, since he was literally frozen in place, or at least so he thought, until his pants started pressing into his crotch.

  Ah.

  She bit her lip again. “Are we really going to do this? Remember the Elders.”

  “The Elders can go fuck themselves,” he growled, and she started laughing.

  “I have given Poseidon my resignation from the office of high priest. If, in fact, giving up my celibacy means that I have given up my magic, I will mourn it for a fraction of a second, and then I will roll over and kiss every inch of your body again.”

  She smiled at him but still didn’t move. “What will you do with your life if you can’t be a magical warrior?”

  “I’ll raise peacocks and roses in the palace garden,” he said, trying to jest, forcing himself not to move, when every fiber of his being cried out for him to leap across the room. “I’ve always thought I’d look good in one of those floppy hats.”