Heart of Atlantis

by Alyssa Day

  When the wave of attackers subsided, either dead or regrouping, Alaric heard the single vampire who was actually on their side shout Serai’s name.

  “That’s Daniel,” Quinn said. “What happened?”

  “Serai has fallen,” Alaric said grimly. “Whether from wounds or from too-ambitious use of her magic after eleven millennia of stasis sleep, I cannot tell from here.”

  Daniel flew through the air toward Serai and landed with one foot on each side of her waist, standing over her prone body. He snarled something at her and then slashed his crossed daggers at an attacking vampire with such preternatural speed that even Alaric almost didn’t see him do it.

  He saw the vamp’s head roll across the ground, though.

  “We have to help them,” Quinn said, and she started to run.

  Alaric did not waste a single breath arguing with her. He simply followed her.

  Protected her.

  Until someone else screamed, and Quinn skidded to a halt so abruptly that he nearly knocked her over.

  “The tiger is down,” someone cried out, anguish raw in her voice.

  “Jack? Jack!” Quinn shouted his name and changed course. Alaric knew that if Jack were killed, Quinn might not survive it. The shifter and Quinn had fought the rebellion together for long years, as close friends and powerful allies.

  But they’d never been lovers. Or so Alaric hoped, but doubts stalked him some days with caustic thoughts. Thoughts he only wrestled with in the deepest reaches of the dark, when nightmares donned their garments and walked the surfaces of mortal minds.

  He knew that Jack loved her. That was hard enough to accept.

  He shook his mind free of mental meanderings as they reached Jack, and Quinn collapsed down to her knees on the cold, rocky ground and fell on top of the blood-soaked tiger.

  “Jack!” she screamed, over and over and over, like a hammer beating at the fragile bulwarks of Alaric’s sanity. “Save him. You have to save him.”

  Alaric called to Poseidon to lend him the magic he would need to heal the dying tiger. He threw his head back, closed his eyes, and strained every muscle and tendon as he forced his body to hold power beyond measure. He turned to Jack and thrust the power into the tiger’s body, only to have it slam back into him in a vicious backlash that knocked him off his feet and smashed him to the ground.

  Alaric could heal nearly any wound, but even he, high priest of the sea god himself, could not retrieve those who had gone past the gates of death. Now it only remained to destroy the woman he loved. He drew in a deep breath, in spite of the acrid scents of battle, bile, and blood that infused the air.

  “I’m sorry, Quinn. He’s dead.”

  As the rebel fighters who were still capable of walking drew near, Quinn screamed her denial and threw her body over Jack, as if to protect him from the Reaper’s merciless gaze. But death came to all mortals—even Atlanteans—and Alaric’s only thought now was to remove her from this place before their enemies returned. He met Daniel’s gaze and realized that the vampire was experiencing Quinn’s anguish through the blood bond, even as Daniel held a semiconscious Serai in his arms.

  “I cannot help her,” Daniel said quietly, his face grim.

  “We must leave before they return. We’ve lost more than half of our fighters, and I have no idea what reserves of soldiers they can call upon.”

  Alaric crouched down next to Quinn. “You can’t stay here. You know Jack wouldn’t have wanted it,” he said, touching her arm.

  “No, leave me alone!” She wrenched away from him, but then grabbed his hand and pulled it toward Jack’s prone form.

  “Wait. You can heal him,” she said imploringly. “You healed me before. I’ve seen you heal lots of people. You can do it. Fix him.”

  “He’s gone, Quinn. I can heal grievous wounds, it is true, and you know I would do anything for you, but I cannot heal death. Only the gods can do that.”

  Quinn screamed again, tears rolling, unheeded, down her face; sorrow pouring forth from a wellspring too deep to be denied.

  Serai, conscious now but still in Daniel’s arms, suddenly spoke. “He’s not gone,” she said, and icy chills chased each other down Alaric’s spine at the sound of her magic-drenched voice. “He’s almost gone, but a small part of him remains.”

  Alaric stared at her and raised his hands as if to block any attack Serai might try. She made a dismissing motion and ignored him, focused entirely on Quinn and Jack.

  “Put me down. There next to Jack,” Serai said to Daniel, who obeyed instantly.

  Alaric’s eyes narrowed. Ally Daniel might be, but a primal wariness in Alaric warned him against allowing a vampire so near to an Atlantean princess. It was, however, a problem for another time.

  Serai gently nudged Quinn to one side and lay across Jack’s body, but Quinn shoved her away.

  “No! What are you doing? Get off him!”

  Serai turned to Alaric and spoke to him through the Atlantean mental pathway.

  She must let me try to reach him—I believe a tendril of his essence remains on this side of death’s gate.

  It took only a moment for Alaric to recognize the deep magic in Serai’s aura, and he gently pulled Quinn back and away from Jack.

  “Give her a chance, Quinn. The ancients had magic we have long forgotten.”

  Quinn trembled in his arms as Serai ran gentle hands across the tiger’s bloody fur. The princess began to sing wordlessly before turning to Quinn.

  “Part of him lives, but only his animal side is still—barely—on this side of the river of death. I can call to the tiger that is Jack and help him come back, but his human side is almost certainly lost forever.”

  Quinn’s suspicion all but radiated out from her body. “What are you?”

  “I am Serai of Atlantis, and the Emperor gifted me with ancient magic not seen on this world since before my continent dove beneath the oceans,” Serai responded, silvery light shimmering around her. “I gift you his choice, as another once gifted me the choice of life or death for one I loved. Shall I let him seek out his ancestors in the afterlife or do you wish him to live, though it be perhaps only a half life?”

  “I choose life,” Quinn said fiercely. “You make him live, do you hear me? No matter what it takes. Make at least part of him live, and I can find the rest of him somehow. Someday. You make him live.”

  Serai began to sing, and currents of magic danced around her in a ballet of delicate power so intricate and complex that Alaric doubted anyone still walking the earth had seen its like. Mere seconds passed before Jack’s body arched up off the ground, and he coughed harshly.

  “Does he know who he is?” Alaric demanded.

  “Honestly, I don’t know what he knows,” Serai said. “Or who he knows. If he has reverted fully to tiger and only tiger, he’s not safe to be around.”

  “Thank you. No matter what else, you brought him back from death. We’ll figure the rest out. I owe him that much,” Quinn said.

  Alaric healed the tiger’s bloody wounds and tried to feel for a shred of humanity, but he could not. “I can’t tell. I just don’t know. Shape-shifters are too different from Atlanteans, and Poseidon’s power recoils from trying to analyze the mind of a tiger.”

  “Your magic is unbalanced without the soul-meld,” Serai said, rocking Alaric back on his heels.

  The soul-meld? When he was sworn to an eternity of celibacy and isolation?

  “What do you mean? I am the most powerful—”

  “Yes, yes, I’ve heard it,” Serai interrupted. “Most powerful high priest in the history of Atlantis. But it’s not true, you know. I’ve been around for all of them since Atlantis dove beneath the sea. Your power is not even close to what Nereus wielded. At least, before his wife died and he almost drowned the world.”

 
“What—”

  Quinn cut him off. “I don’t care. I don’t care about any of it right now. Not the bankers, or the rebellion, or any damn part of it. I sure as hell don’t care about Atlantean ancient history. I’m leaving, and I’m taking Jack with me. Somewhere he can be safe, until we figure this out. I owe him that. I owe him my life, several times over.”

  “Of course. I know just the place.” Alaric drew in a deep breath and called to power, and he swore a new and different oath—one that he had no intention of ever breaking. “I’ll take you there now, and I’ll never, ever leave your side again.”

  He called to the portal, wondering if the capricious gateway magic would bother to answer him. As the familiar silvery ovoid shape formed, he remembered his duty and turned to Serai.

  “You should come with us, princess,” Alaric said. “We can help you.”

  “You need my help, priest. I have protection beyond your knowledge in the presence of the mage beside me.” She moved closer to Daniel, who snapped his head up and stared at Alaric.

  “I can help, possibly. Let me try to reach Jack,” the vampire said.

  “What can you do? Try to blood bond a tiger?” Quinn shook her head. “Go away, Daniel, there’s no need for your special skills here.”

  “I have forgotten more magic than most of your human witches ever possess, Quinn, and one of my talents as senior mage of the Nightwalker Guild was to teach others to call out to the souls of dying mortals,” Daniel said. “Let me try. It can’t hurt him, not now. Maybe I can help.”

  Quinn nodded, and Alaric, in spite of serious misgivings, allowed it. He felt the brush of powerful magic, so very foreign to his own that he couldn’t begin to comprehend it, and then the feeling passed as swiftly as a bird seeking prey in the cool night air.

  The tiger shivered and then lay still. Daniel shook his head.

  “I don’t know if he’ll ever return. All I know is that he’s somewhere in there. Deep inside, or maybe even not inside the tiger, but very nearby. But he won’t come back because we push him. He warned me quite specifically that if we try, he’ll choose never to come back.”

  “If he thinks he’s more stubborn that I am, he’s sadly mistaken. Let’s go, Alaric. Take us away, and give me time to let this tiger heal and find himself again,” Quinn said, finally rising from her knees.

  Alaric took her hand and called to his magic to lift Jack on a wave of power. He took a step toward the portal and then hesitated.

  Duty, again. Somehow, after centuries thinking of nothing else, it was suddenly so hard to remember. He looked to Reisen, the warrior who had first betrayed Atlantis and now worked so hard to redeem himself. Or so Quinn said. Alaric had his doubts. One never trusted a traitor a second time. But Reisen wasn’t his concern. Healing the injured was.

  “Do others here need healing? I forget my duties.”

  Reisen shook his head. “No, we have only minor injuries in those still alive. You . . . you go to Atlantis?”

  “You can return home,” Alaric said reluctantly. “Your exile was self-imposed. Conlan offered forgiveness and healing.”

  Reisen didn’t move. “I have one final mission to perform for Quinn.”

  The small human from Quinn’s group moved closer to Reisen and offered her thanks for his help as tears streamed down her pale face. She said something to Quinn; something about taking care of Jack, but Alaric didn’t listen. Didn’t care.

  Everything he cared about in the world was wrapped up in Quinn’s happiness, and he’d failed her. He’d been unable to bring Jack back to himself. He started to follow her as she headed toward the portal, head bent, gaze on the ground. Her shoulders hunched around her neck, as if awaiting another blow.

  Alaric issued a final warning to Daniel, whose quest with Serai must succeed, and then he and Jack, who still rested on his cushion of magic, followed Quinn into the shimmer of light, which would hopefully take them to the one place he doubted any would think to look for them.

  Not even the sea god himself.

  “Take us to Mount Fuji.”

  Chapter 1

  A hidden cave inside of Mount Fuji, Japan

  The portal opened and Alaric, warrior and high priest of Atlantis, stepped through, followed by a shell-shocked rebel leader and a five-hundred-pound tiger shape-shifter who might have permanently lost his humanity.

  “Oh, Alaric,” said the ancient man who stood waiting for them, sighing and shaking his head. “You do get into the most fascinating trouble.”

  “Interesting you should say that, Archelaus,” Alaric said. “I need a place to hide for a time, while Quinn tries to help Jack remember that he’s human, too, and not just a tiger.”

  Quinn barely glanced at him, her eyes dull with pain and exhaustion, but she never let go of his hand. It was more physical contact than he’d allowed himself to have with her in a very long time.

  Archelaus took them all in with his sharp gaze. The old man, long since retired as mentor to the Atlantean warrior training academy, never missed anything.

  “And Atlantis? Are the Seven Isles still in jeopardy?”

  “Aren’t they always?” Alaric sliced a hand through the air in dismissal of the topic. “We need a place to rest. Food. A refuge—we need to hide a tiger.”

  Archelaus pointed at something behind them. “Who is that?”

  Alaric whirled around, shocked to see a stranger—a delicate, dark-haired woman—step out of the portal.

  “Who are you?” he demanded, pushing Quinn behind him. None but Atlanteans could call the portal, and this woman clearly was not Atlantean, but of Asian descent.

  She blinked in apparent confusion. “Konnichiwa,” she began, offering a basic greeting in Japanese, but then she continued in ancient Atlantean as she slowly collapsed until she lay curled up on the ground next to the tiger, who ignored her completely. “I am the spirit of the portal, and I am this woman, who came to Mount Fuji to die.”

  “You came here to die. We came here to force Jack to live,” Quinn said, and then she started laughing, a terrible, almost hysterical laugh. “Lucky we have Poseidon’s high priest with us, isn’t it?”

  Alaric stared down at Quinn and fought the tidal wave of unfamiliar, unwanted emotion threatening to swamp him. “Yes. I will do what I can for him, as I promised.”

  Archelaus sighed again. “You have amazingly bad timing, my friend.”

  “Timing has nothing to do with need,” Alaric snapped, finally out of patience with the day, the situation, and the centuries of standing alone as priest to a capricious god.

  “Timing has everything to do with danger,” the older man returned calmly, as he draped his sweater over the unconscious woman who’d claimed to be what she couldn’t possibly be. “The vampire goddess Anubisa is back from her sojourn in the land of Chaos, and this time she swears to destroy Atlantis and every member of the Atlantean royal family. You have never been more needed by your people in your entire life, I would imagine.”

  “I am needed here,” Alaric said, staring at Quinn. “Atlantis can burn in the nine hells for all I care. I have sacrificed enough to Poseidon. My days as high priest are done.”

  Quinn collapsed onto a low bench against one wall of the room or cave or wherever they’d ended up. Strange that she’d spent more time in caves since becoming the leader of the North American human rebel contingent than she’d ever dreamed possible. Straight from caves in Sedona, where she’d battled vampires and evil bankers, to Japan. A wave of grief and exhaustion, fought back and repressed for far too long, swept through her and threatened to drown her in futility and despair.

  Jack. Her comrade; her partner in the rebellion. Her friend. She could finally admit she loved him with some small part of her stony, blackened heart, although it wasn’t the kind of love he might want. She loved him like a brother; t
he one she’d never had and had never known she wanted. Her big, scary, wounded warrior of a brother, who just happened to shift into a quarter ton of tiger sometimes. They’d fought together for years—years of trying to fight back the tide of darkness after the vampires announced to the world that they were real and then promptly proceeded to try to take it over. No matter how hard they pretended otherwise, vampires viewed humans as sheep for the slaughter. Unfortunately, most people were easily fooled or else too apathetic to care that the town’s new mayor or sheriff just happened to be a bloodsucker making a power grab.

  Easy enough to make people disappear from behind the authority of a badge. Even the FBI’s P-Ops division had discovered that, when they’d found traitors in their midst. The president fired the director of Paranormal Operations and half of his staff when that inconvenient truth had surfaced.

  Quinn sighed, fully aware that her brain was jumping from thought to thought in a futile effort to quit thinking about Jack. If they couldn’t help him . . . but they would. Alaric would. She refused to question her unshakable belief in Alaric or even to peer more closely at the reasons for it. She didn’t have time to get involved with any man—and certainly not with a man who was bound by both sworn oath and magic to Poseidon. The sea god himself, swimming out of the page of legends and into the middle of her pain-wracked, screwed-up life.

  She stared at the floor, unable to muster even a spark of interest as Alaric conferred with the older man. Archelaus. Although older might not apply. Just because the man looked to be at least a century old, appearances were deceiving with Atlanteans. A casual glance would put Alaric in his early thirties or even late twenties, until the one doing the glancing looked into the dark caverns of those emerald-green eyes.

  Ancient eyes. Centuries of brutal knowledge, blood, and death had passed before them—those eyes that were always faintly glowing with the overspill of magical power he couldn’t quite contain. He was at least five hundred years old. Strong enough to be the most powerful high priest Atlantis had ever known, or so some said.