Atlantis Rising

by Alyssa Day

  She arched her neck, heat and desire burning through her, and gasped. Then she slowly smiled at him, the warmth of certain knowledge in her eyes. “No, Conlan. You’re going to make love to me. Because you love me.”

  She touched his face. “And I love you, too.”

  He went completely still, hands trembling on her skin. “Say it again,” he demanded hoarsely. “Tell me again.”

  “I love you, Conlan. And you’re mine.”

  He closed his eyes, but she felt the starburst of his emotions explode through her. Ecstasy, brightly burning joy. Wonder. Awe.

  Then he opened his eyes again and he kissed her. And he made love to her for a very long time.

  Barrabas gazed at the cloth-wrapped Trident, unwilling to touch it with his bare hands. Sure that the penalty for daring to rob a god would be hideous beyond imagining.

  Easily enough gotten. Seeing the human and the Atlanteans dying on the floor, he’d snaked a tree branch into the house and pulled the Trident across the threshold. He’d been unable to enter, since he hadn’t been in the first wave that the stupid human had unwittingly invited in.

  Supreme commanders were never on the front lines, after all.

  The Trident. Poseidon’s instrument of true power, according to the scrolls. Deeded to the seated high priest of Atlantis for use in sacred rites. Such as the rite of ascension for their brat prince.

  Too bad, that.

  Guess the little boy wouldn’t be king after all.

  Drakos materialized in the concrete-walled chamber a dozen paces in front of him, curiosity plain on his face. “Did you try to use it?” he asked.

  Barrabas sneered. “Would you so brazenly try to play with the toy of the sea god? There is good reason why I am the master vampire, and you are merely my servant.”

  Drakos didn’t have the sense to even pretend to be cowed. “Is a general a servant, then? And what of Anubisa? Have you told her of your new toy?”

  “No! And you will not, either. I’m not quite ready to give up my new possession, and she will surely claim it.”

  Barrabas soared around the table to confront his general, pushing hard with his mind. Drakos did not crumple to the floor, but the strain on his face showed what it cost him to remain upright.

  “Ah, a petty defiance, general? What brings this about? Do you seek to rise in my esteem now that Terminus is destroyed?”

  Drakos inclined his head. “If you will it so, my lord. I have strategies in mind to deal with these Atlanteans. Strategies that will help you consolidate your power until it is unshakable.”

  Barrabas couldn’t help a certain level of interest. He’d seen the results of Drakos’s exceptionally brilliant battle planning before.

  Perhaps he wouldn’t kill his impertinent general just yet.

  His gaze returned to the Trident. “We need to consult the scrolls again. See if we can find any hint of how to control the power this weapon must wield.”

  Drakos bowed. “A wise plan, my lord.”

  Barrabas held out a hand, nearly touched it, then withdrew. “And bring me several of my blood pride. I think we’ll try a few experiments to see what vengeance Poseidon wreaks on any vampire who tries to play with his toy.”

  “Remember that we have several of the Atlanteans that we captured. Surely they know something of its power,” Drakos pointed out. “There are easy enough ways to get humans to talk. These cannot be so different.”

  Barrabas smiled. “We’ll find out, won’t we?”

  Riley stumbled into the shower, exhausted but happy. When the steaming hot spray hit her, she all but purred in relief. She’d taken a shower during the night, a quick clean-off one, but this one was going to be all about luxury and relief for her various muscle aches.

  Fighting vampires was tiring business.

  The thought sobered her. She, Denal, and Brennan had all come so close to dying. Denal actually had died. And Conlan still hadn’t told her yet what had happened with Reisen and the Trident.

  As she washed her back, her fingers touched an odd raised ridge on her shoulder. Her memory flashed back to the searing pain she’d felt when Poseidon accepted her offer.

  Surely he hadn’t cut her open?

  But then again, what did she know about what a god might do?

  She pushed open the shower door and hurried to the mirror, grabbing a towel to wipe the steam off the surface. Then she turned her back to the glass and awkwardly contorted her neck so she could look back over her shoulder.

  At the scar—no, the brand—that marked her.

  “Oh, my God! He branded me!”

  She didn’t realize she’d shrieked the words until Conlan yanked the door open and ran into the room, daggers in his hands. “What is it?”

  She looked up at him, then back in the mirror at the six-inch-long image burned into the flesh on her shoulder blade. “He marked me, Conlan. That’s a . . . that’s a—”

  “That’s the Trident.” He sighed, wrapped a towel around her, and held her for a long moment. “We have to talk to Alaric to find out exactly what it means.”

  Riley wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

  They dressed silently and went downstairs to find breakfast. The smell of frying bacon had persuaded her to leave the room and venture out, in spite of her reluctance. Riley knew that the room had been an oasis—a mirage of peace.

  “It’s over now, isn’t it? The illusion of safety we created last night. Back to reality,” Riley said, reaching for his hand.

  “I will protect you with everything I have and everything I am, aknasha.” Conlan stopped on the stair landing to draw her close for a quick hug. “Never doubt it.”

  She smiled, but it was more of a gesture for his benefit than a real reflection of any happiness. It might be a long time before she had any reason to smile again.

  Bastien reigned in the cheerful red-and-white kitchen, flipping omelets and frying bacon with the skill of long practice. “What can I get for you, Lady Riley?”

  She closed her eyes and inhaled, deciding to bliss out and enjoy the moment. A girl couldn’t fight a battle on an empty stomach. “I’ll have some of everything. I’m starved, and it smells great! And just Riley, please, Bastien.”

  He grinned at her. “Everything it is.”

  As she poured herself a cup of coffee from the fresh pot on the counter, she studied the men in the room. Ven and Christophe were finishing up their own breakfasts and, after quick smiles and nods to her and Conlan, they resumed their argument about the relative merits of Italian versus German automotive engineering.

  Conlan put his hand on hers, but what she’d taken for a romantic gesture was really a sneaky way to get his hands on her coffee mug. She scowled at him, trying not to grin and ruin the effect. “Hey! Get your own coffee, prince boy.”

  He laughed, took a sip, and handed the cup back to her, then dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “No respect for my royal self at all.”

  “Not a bit.”

  Ven looked up at them, speculation in his gaze. “Well, you gotta love that in a woman, bro. It must make for a nice change from all that sucking up you get from the women back home.”

  Riley’s happiness fizzled out like air from a pricked balloon. The women back home. His intended queen.

  She sat down at the enormous wooden farmhouse table, her appetite suddenly gone, and stared at her mug. Ven seemed to realize he’d stuck his foot in his mouth and groaned. “Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean—I just was digging on the fact that you two look so happy and teasing Conlan a little, and—oh, shit. I mean, excuse me, Lady Sunshine.”

  His remorse was painfully evident, and she tried to smile reassuringly. “No worries. I’m just tired.”

  Conlan leaned over and smacked his brother upside the head, then sat down beside Riley and put an arm around her shoulder. She could feel his concern, but she didn’t have the energy to reassure him, too.

  Just as they were finishing their breakfast, the energy in the room changed a
bruptly, almost as if a frigid wind iced through the kitchen. Riley looked up, hands clenching into fists, ready to defend.

  To attack.

  Even as a tiny part of her wondered what she was turning into.

  It was Alaric, spreading the warmth of his personality in front of him.

  “We need to talk,” he said, gaze arrowing in on Riley.

  “Hello to you, too. Yes, I’m fine, thank you for asking,” she returned, heavy on the sarcasm.

  Jerk.

  He inclined his head, a tacit acknowledgment of her point. “How are you, Riley? More to the point, how is your shoulder?”

  “You knew about that? What is it?”

  Conlan stirred in his chair. “Perhaps we should discuss this more privately.”

  Ven shoved his chair back, stood up. “Yeah, well, it sounds like something I need to know about, too. Christophe, you’re on KP duty since Bastien cooked.”

  Christophe groaned. “Man, somehow I always get sucked into—” He looked up, met Riley’s gaze, subsided. “Yeah. I got it.”

  As Alaric led the way out of the room, Bastien put out a hand to lightly touch Riley’s arm. “We’ve got your back, okay? Don’t stress about any of this stuff. We’ll take care of you.”

  She opened her shields and sent a wave of warmth and gratitude to him. Watched his eyes widen as he received it.

  “Wow. You really—hey, this aknasha stuff is pretty cool,” he said, grinning. “And you’re welcome, but no thanks were necessary.”

  “Good manners are the last bastion of a civilized society,” she murmured.

  “What?”

  “Oh, something my mother used to say a long time ago. Your name reminded me of it. Thank you for the wonderful breakfast, too.”

  Conlan called out to her from the hallway, and she sighed. Squared her shoulders. “On my way.”

  Chapter 32

  Conlan watched Alaric pace the large room—some kind of a den, all leather and wood—and the repetitive motion pissed him off. “Cut it out. Just let us have the bad news, already. Trying to be diplomatic is wasting our time, and it’s not your style, anyway.”

  Alaric’s eyes flashed bright green briefly, but at least he stopped the damn pacing. “I have facts, and I have speculation. I’m going to give you both, and identify which is which. Then we must decide how to proceed.”

  Riley spoke up, her voice small and quiet. “This is about me, I’m guessing?”

  Alaric said nothing. He didn’t have to. The look on his face said it all.

  She tried to smile, tightened her grip on Conlan’s hand. “Okay, fire away. And I meant that figuratively, in case you were wondering.”

  “First, the facts. You offered yourself to Poseidon for Denal and Brennan. He chose to let you live. However, he branded you with the mark of the Trident that only priests bear.” Alaric ticked off items on his fingers as he spoke.

  “Second—”

  “What do you mean, that only priests bear?” Riley interrupted. “I don’t even really believe in him. I mean, clearly I believe he exists, after what happened, and I know he has some pretty amazing powers, but I’m strictly a ‘Jesus loves me’ kind of girl. I can’t be his priest! Or priestess, or whatever.”

  Conlan felt her rising panic, sent calm and reassurance to her. “Let Alaric explain. I don’t think he really meant priest in the literal sense. Poseidon doesn’t have priestesses.”

  “You mean, he doesn’t have priestesses now. Thousands of years ago, the high priest was just as likely to be a high priestess,” Alaric said.

  “What? But I’ve never heard that.”

  “There are certain things the temple has kept to ourselves over the past few millennia. Like the existence of aknasha’an among the ones chosen to leave Atlantis at the time of the Cataclysm.” Alaric started pacing again, as if his body couldn’t remain still.

  “Hello? Still not a priest or a priestess or whatever, here,” Riley said, curling her legs under her on the couch. “Plus, aren’t priests supposed to be celibate?”

  She laughed, her cheeks turning pink. “I mean, oh. Um, well, never mind.”

  Alaric stared at her, eyes icy green. “Yes, there is a vow of celibacy. Another fact we may wish to discuss.”

  “Are you kidding? No sex for hundreds of years? That sucks!” She blinked. “No offense, but no wonder you’re in such a crappy mood all the time, Alaric. I may have to rethink my entire viewpoint on you.”

  In spite of the deadly nature of the conversation, Conlan had to stifle a grin. She was the most spontaneous person he’d ever known. Whatever she thought . . .

  “Comes right out of my mouth, I know,” she said, rolling her eyes at Conlan. “Quit thinking so loudly. I’m sorry, Alaric. That was thoughtless and tactless of me. I think the idea of an unplanned priesthood caught me off guard.”

  The temperature in the room warmed a couple of degrees as Alaric’s normally impervious expression thawed a fraction. “Believe me, I understand. But Poseidon has marked you with the sign of the ordained priest or, in your case, priestess. I must consult with the ancient temple scrolls to determine what this might mean.”

  Conlan shoved a hand through his hair. “Can’t you ask Poseidon? I mean, you are his high priest.”

  “The high priest who let the Trident slip through his grasp yet again,” Alaric said flatly. “I don’t get a response when I try to speak to the sea god these days. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

  “But—”

  “It’s worse than even that,” Alaric interrupted. “The portal does not respond to my call. I attempted to return to Atlantis during the night to consult the scrolls, and the magic of the portal refused my summons. I fear we may be stranded up here until the matter of the Trident is resolved.”

  Ven finally spoke up from where he leaned against the far wall near the unused fireplace. “We’ve all tried. No dice. Which means we can’t call for help, either,” he said. “But let’s go back a ways. You said there are more of these aknashas in our history? Who were Atlantean?”

  “Yes. Several of the aknasha’an were among those of our people chosen to scatter to the high grounds of the earth at the time of the Cataclysm. Empaths were much more common then. Still maybe only one in one hundred babies were born with the gift, but since Riley and—” The pause was barely perceptible. “Riley and her sister are the first we have encountered in thousands of years, you can see how the numbers diminished.”

  “And what function did we . . . did they serve?” Riley asked.

  “They were among the most valued of the royal counselors, naturally, given the nature of their talents. They were essential to trade negotiations and the like. Also, they would often choose to serve Poseidon in his Temple and were very popular in the priesthood.”

  “I can see how the ability to sense emotion would make someone pretty awesome in the confessional,” Ven said. “You did what? Buzz! Wrong answer! You really did something much worse!”

  “Shut up, Ven. You’re not helping,” Conlan snapped.

  “Back off. I’m trying to lighten up the mood. You’re both scaring Riley to death,” Ven growled.

  They all turned to look at Riley, who lifted her chin. “Hey, I’m the one who used an axe against a vampire last night, remember? Talking about the old days doesn’t really compare with having brains on my legs.” She shuddered. “So don’t worry about scaring poor little Riley.”

  “Back to the point, here is my speculation,” Alaric said. “I believe that Riley and Quinn are descendants of those ancient Atlanteans and have our DNA in their blood. Furthermore, I believe that they manifest these ancient gifts in fulfillment of one of the most secret prophecies in the Temple scrolls.”

  He drew a deep breath. “I believe that they herald the time when Atlantis must intermarry with the humans to bring a new and better generation to the world.”

  Ven whistled. “That’s blasphemy, dude.”

  Alaric nodded. “Not only that, but it is in direct con
tradiction to the teaching of the Council that any person of royal lineage who violates the royal marriage strictures will bring a second Cataclysm upon Atlantis.”

  “What?” Riley could only follow the formal speak for so long before her tired and scared brain cells glazed over.

  “No stud farm, end of Atlantis,” Ven put in tersely.

  “Not just Atlantis. End of the whole damn world, is what I’ve had drummed into my head for my entire life,” Conlan said slowly.

  “How do we know which it is?” Riley asked. “I mean, not to jump the gun here, Conlan, since we’ve known each other for less than a week, but I’d rather go with the intermarry thing than option B: cause the world to end.”

  Conlan felt her trepidation and admired her courage all the more for it. By the gods, she was beautiful. And brave.

  And she loved him.

  The wonder of it nearly brought him to his knees.

  He put his arms around her and hugged her tightly. “In case you didn’t hear me the dozen or so times I said it last night, I love you. We’ll figure this out.”

  She hugged him back, but he felt her trembling. “How do we figure this out?” she repeated.

  “That’s the problem. We can’t get back to Atlantis, and Poseidon isn’t answering his phone,” Ven said, face grim.

  Alaric and Riley spoke at the same time. “The Trident.”

  Then they stared at each other, eyes widening.

  “Tell me,” Alaric demanded.

  “I don’t know. Just a feeling I had when he was talking to me last night. He was so arrogant—all ‘you do not bargain with a god.’ I get the feeling that he can be capricious—”

  “You have no idea,” Alaric replied.

  “Yeah. So maybe this whole thing has been about ‘the best man wins.’ You know? If Conlan and you get the Trident, you deserve to win the throne, Atlantis, the free stay at a beach resort of your choice, whatever.”

  Alaric nodded. “That has a decidedly correct feel to it. The gods are ever changeable, and Poseidon has often demonstrated his admiration for the champion in any challenge.”