by Alyssa Day
As if reading his prince's mind, Alaric bared his teeth in a cold pretense of a smile. "I agree with Conlan."
"Look, I—what?" The agreement threw him off.
"You heard me," Alaric returned, face expressionless. "You want to follow this human to her home to ensure her safety. You demand we transport her to Atlantis as your… guest. I agree with you."
Ven exploded. "Great. Now I have two of you out of your freaking minds. I'd have expected better of you, Temple Rat."
Alaric's gaze shifted smoothly to Ven, and something whispering of deadly danger shimmered in his eyes. "I am high priest to the sea god now, Lord Vengeance. It is time we put away childish… endearments."
Conlan shifted to stand between the two men. The last thing he needed was his two most trusted advisors bashing each other's brains out. "Calm down, Ven. You've gotta be a role model for my warriors, right?"
Ven snorted. "I am a role model in all things that matter. But standing emotionless and icy in the face of seriously deep trouble is not my style. I'm more a 'take names and kick ass' kind of guy."
He paused for a moment, slamming his daggers back in their sheaths. "And agreeing that we take a human to Atlantis? Especially now, when the Trident is in the hands of the enemy? I repeat, you're both out of your fucking minds."
Shaking his head, Ven nonetheless stepped back and away, sweeping an arm out as if to urge Alaric to continue.
Alaric shrugged. "Knowledge is power. The human has powers that are unknown to us. If she truly can convey emotion over the mind path, then she must be studied and analyzed for the source of that ability."
Ven started to interrupt, but Alaric held up a hand. "Not to mention the potential enormity of a weapon with the power to bring a warrior of such strength and mental shielding as Conlan to his knees," he said, his tone clinically dispassionate.
Conlan made a growling sound low in his throat, surprising himself and, from the looks of it, everyone around him. "You would dissect Riley in a laboratory, if you believed that was the only way to understand her gifts, wouldn't you?"
Alaric raised one eyebrow. "Riley? You know her name?"
Fury rising, Conlan clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white, fighting to regain enough composure to speak. "You. Will. Not. Touch. Her," he gritted out.
Alaric immediately held his hands out, palms facing down, as if to show that he intended no harm. He lapsed back into formal speak, perhaps realizing the threat from Conlan. "I sense a disturbance in the elements surrounding us, and yet you showed no outward sign until now. As I am unlike your human, and cannot sense emotions, you must explain your reaction to my words."
Conlan forced his hands to unclench and took cleansing breaths. "I don't even know if I can explain. Or, if I could, that I would want to."
He shook his head, trying to clear it. His mind involuntarily reached out to touch Riley's restlessly sleeping consciousness. That simple touch calmed him a little.
Just enough to piss him off. What the hell was going on?
"I need time to understand it, myself," he admitted.
Ven broke in. "Alaric, surely you must see that our most important job is to retrieve the Trident, not play babysitter to some human female. I like humans myself, Conlan, and have enjoyed many a happy hour with them."
Conlan's brother flashed a wolfish grin. "Hell, sometimes with two of 'em at a time. I've even defended thousands of them from the vamps and the damn shape-shifters over the centuries. But you don't see me going around staking out their houses."
Someone barked out a laugh. Conlan's gaze whipped down the line of his warriors. Bastien. Of course. He was too damn big to be afraid of anything. Even the wrath of two Atlantean princes.
Damn. He had to admire the sheer balls of the man.
Conlan turned back to Ven, nodded. "You're right. But this one is different. She may have the ability to be used as a weapon against me—against any of us—and how can that be good?"
The part of his brain where duty gave way to need shouted out at him. And I want her. I will have her.
Duty be damned.
"Agreed," Alaric replied, startling Conlan. But of course Alaric was responding to his words, not his thoughts.
Or so Conlan hoped. If the priest had mastered thought-mining, the politics of Atlantis were headed for a big pile of reeking whale shit.
Alaric's gaze never flickered. "She could distract us at a critical point and cost us the object of our quest. We contain the female, and then we retrieve the Trident. It is the wisest course of action, as you say, Conlan. It is also true that I need time and a quiet place in which to scry for its location."
Ven grumbled a little then rolled his eyes. "Well, when you put it that way… Let's do this thing."
He jerked his head toward the left, and Bastien, Denal, and the rest ranged themselves around Conlan, Alaric, and Ven. Black coats billowing out behind them, nine of the deadliest predators ever to travel the earth and its oceans shimmered into watery mist and headed for a tiny house holding a sleeping human female.
And once I see her again, I'll realize that this insane attraction was a momentary thing. We'll secure her for later study, and then we'll retrieve the Trident.
Nothing has changed.
Except Conlan's years of training in self-awareness mocked him.
Fool. Everything has changed.
She changed it.
But even with his discipline, his training, and his dagger-sharp logic all brought to bear on the issue, he didn't know which she he meant.
Chapter 10
Riley looked at the clock again, for the third time in an hour. She'd slept for what? Maybe twenty minutes? After leaving two practically incoherent voice mail messages on Quinn's cell phone, that is.
She rolled over and sat up. Not really surprising that she wasn't sailing through fluffy dreamland, considering. Her thoughts flashed to Dina and the baby, then to Morris. She shuddered as the delayed reaction finally hit her.
"That could have been me. He was trying to kill me," she whispered, then clasped her arms around her knees and rocked back and forth. A shudder worked its way down her body till she sat trembling, tears sliding down her cheeks.
"And he wasn't the only one. Those men tonight—if he hadn't been there…"
Conlan.
Just thinking his name conjured his face in her mind. Elegant, aristocratic cheekbones. A strong jaw. Lips that must have been sculpted by the most artistic of angels.
A frisson of heat curled through her abdomen. That kiss. That was… something.
Oh, get over yourself, Riley. Angels, sheesh. It's not like you haven't seen beautiful men before.
"Nobody like him," she whispered to the darkness of her bedroom. "Never any like him. Never anybody who could step inside my mind."
Except Quinn. She and her sister had always been able to share an almost telepathic form of communication. They'd never thought much of it; everybody knew about twin speak. Ten months apart was close enough to be almost twins.
But never with anybody else. Never a stranger. Never an incredibly gorgeous man who had saved her life—or at the very least, saved her from a hideous assault.
Conlan.
Then a voice, gentle but insistent, inside of her mind.
Yes, I am here.
Then came his concern, sharp and ferocious. Do you need me? Are you in danger?
She held a hand up, almost as if she could touch the colorful emotions swirling inside of her. Not her emotions.
His.
"Since it's a dream, I may as well answer you. Because this has to be a dream, doesn't it? Just a little PTSD to round off my day." Riley scrubbed tears off her face.
Yeah. That had to be it. None of it had really happened. Nobody could cause the ocean to act like that. Not even vamps.
What is PTSD? And why are you lying to yourself? You know I'm real, aknasha. You hear me in your mind. You feel my emotions, although I have no idea how that is even possible.
Riley laughed. She couldn't help it. His voice was like cool ocean waves caressing her nerve endings and soothing jagged edges.
And spiking her calm to excitement in ten seconds flat.
How was that even possible?
"Okay, Mr. Figment of My Imagination. What the hell. I'll go with it. PTSD means post-traumatic stress disorder. Which is what I've got going on after Morris nearly shot me to death."
She laughed again. "One hell of a case, from the looks of it. I mean, no pink elephants for me. I have to conjure up a drop-dead gorgeous man who can share his thoughts and emotions with me."
She stood up and headed for the bathroom. "I've gotta have some drugs somewhere. Maybe just a small Valium?"
Then the fire again, as his emotions darkened. Someone shot at you?
Low, dangerous. A different kind of shiver caressed her at the stark male command in his voice.
Not that she was the type to go all tingly over some hunky alpha male. "I'm fine. He's dead, so get over your 'I'm the law' thing."
But his voice came again, freezing her in her tracks, something smug and purely masculine in the words.
You think I'm gorgeous, hmm?
Riley rolled her eyes. Evidently, even in Hallucination Land men had enormous egos. She wondered idly what else about him was enormous, then caught herself when her face got hot. Don't go there, Riley.
Perhaps I am simply a figment of your imagination, he said, shades of reasonableness and amusement tinging his words in her mind. Perhaps you should not look out your window.
"What?" She ran to the window and yanked her blinds up, staring wildly down at her tiny garden. Four, no five, men stood below, standing in a loose ring around Conlan. She noticed that they were all the size of Conlan, and all dressed in black, before she wrenched her attention to the figure standing alone in the midst of them.
Looking up at her.
"Oh, holy crap, it's you," she whispered, placing her palms on the window, trapped in his gaze.
Yes, it is definitely me. If I'm only a figment of your imagination, can the figment say that I'd really appreciate it if you'd… rethink… your clothing before you show up in front of my men?
His voice in her mind took on a husky tone. Not that I don't appreciate your choice of nightwear.
Glancing down at herself, Riley's cheeks burned. She wore only an old and worn green tank top—that had Smart Girls Rock traced on it in faded gold thread—over a pair of lacy underwear.
A rather teensy pair of underwear.
Face flaming, she backed away from the window, uncertain of whether to be afraid, embarrassed, or excited that he was real.
Real and standing outside of her house.
She settled on a combination of all three, her breathing suddenly shallow and fast. But she'd seen inside his heart, his memories, even his soul, somehow, and there had been honor and integrity—no hint of serial-killer tendencies.
Well, if she wasn't going with Option A: Figment of Her Imagination. Damn, this was confusing.
Either way, she had some questions for him. She was a social worker, for Pete's sake. She put herself in danger as a matter of course. And she'd been inside this man's mind. She knew he had no intention to hurt her. She wasn't sure how she knew, but she knew.
As she dragged on a pair of jeans, she laughed without much humor. "Danger is my middle name."
The voice sounded in her mind, amused again. Glad she could provide so much entertainment for him.
She could literally feel his laughter curling inside her as he spoke. Or sent her thought waves. Or whatever.
Really? I would have guessed Trouble.
She grinned before she realized she was doing it. Her first smile in a long time. "You'd better be prepared for trouble, Conlan, if you can't give me a good explanation for what you're doing in my front yard."
The smile faded from her face. Great, there was an Option C. He was some kind of freakish stalker. Like she hadn't had enough to deal with, for one night.
For one lifetime.
But she wasn't a coward. Or stupid, either. Riley yanked a sweatshirt over her head then grabbed a phone, the better to dial a quick 911 with. Then she ran down the stairs and peered through the peephole. Yes, he was still there. Conlan and some men who were clearly also from the Land of Hunks.
Taking a deep breath, she pulled open her front door. And that's when all hell broke loose.
Vampires. It was raining materializing vampires.
She'd seen them before, sure, everybody had. Not just on CNN either. She'd seen them up close and personal, prowling the alleys and the backways of the city. Looking for victims who were all too willing, dangling the elusive promise of immortality, luring the young, the weak, the hopeless.
But she'd never seen a full two dozen of them, swooping down from the air, arrowing in on the tiny patch of lawn in front of her house.
The same lawn where Conlan stood with his men.
She snapped out of her shock; shouted a warning. "Watch out, Conlan! Vampires!"
But he and his men were already looking up, unsheathing daggers of some sort. The blades flashed like copper fused with diamonds, beautiful and deadly.
Sort of like the man himself.
Riley, get back! Conlan thundered in her mind. Close that damn door and hide.
But she stood there, frozen, the phone forgotten in her hand. The silence was surreal—battle scenes in the movies were always full of clashing armor and shouting.
The battle scene before her was all the more terrifying because of the near cessation of sound.
The largest of the vamps landed in front of Conlan, sword drawn. Conlan crossed his daggers to block the blow, then sliced down viciously, striking the vamp's left arm. With an upswing, he drove his dagger into the attacker's heart, and the vamp slumped to the ground.
More men came running from around the corner of her house. They were dressed in black leather and long coats, like some terrifying biker gang. One of them, hair in a long, blue braid to his waist, broke the silence. He roared—a name, a challenge—something that sounded like "Poseidon!" then flew into the air in a wild leap, a sword and dagger held up and out in front of him. He landed on top of a vamp who'd tried, but failed, to twist out of the way.
Blue-hair thrust both his weapons into the vampire's neck, twisted his clearly powerful arms, still yelling fiercely, and then yanked the blades back out.
Riley stood, unblinking, hand-to-hand combat and sword-play crashing through the night around her.
Focused only on the vampire's head.
The head that fell off his body and rolled to a stop a few feet away, right next to her dormant azalea bushes.
She clutched at the door frame with one hand, slowly shaking her head back and forth, swirling fog threatening to obscure her line of sight…
Well, that didn't happen, did it? Because nobody decapitates vampires on my lawn, right? Can't be good for the grass. Or the azaleas.
She recognized the symptoms, objectively. She was going into shock. Numbness, graying vision, a spreading cold—
Then she looked up and met Conlan's gaze. He'd felt her terror. It must have distracted him, because she could tell he didn't notice the vampire who leapt at him from behind, aiming his sword at his back.
Her numbness shattered.
"Nooo!" she screamed, hurling herself off the porch and toward the two of them. Unthinking. Urgency driving her. She had to help him. Had to protect him.
Must protect him.
"Leave him alone!" she shouted. She jumped on the vampire's back, reaching around his neck to grab at his throat. Throttle him.
But it was too late. The vampire hissed at her as he pulled his sword back, dripping with Conlan's blood.
"You leave him alone now!" she repeated, mindless with rage. Her self-defense classes kicked in, fingers reaching, digging, in a barely remembered tactic.
Go for the eyes, Riley. No matter how big they are, you can always go for the ey
es.
She dug her fingers in, gagging against the feel as her nails dug into squishiness. The vampire screamed with agony and twisted, heaving her arms away from him.
Smashing her to the ground.
He turned, clawing at his streaming eyes, and Riley tried to crawl backward to escape. Then the vamp roared out his anguish again, spittle flying from his cracked and twisted fangs, and focused on Conlan, lying so still next to her. The vampire reared back one booted foot, clearly planning to kick Conlan in the head.
Riley sucked in a torrent of air and screamed with everything she had in her. She launched herself in front of the vampire to somehow block his foot from crushing Conlan's skull.
And a hailstorm of coppery blades sliced through the air above her to land in the vampire's chest and throat. His foot wavered, and he staggered.
An arc of blue fire—or electrical current—or something not human, no, never human, not even vampires had blue fireballs, what the helll—shot from the hands of one of Conlan's men and incinerated the vampire's head.
Incinerated.
Demolished.
As Riley collapsed back onto Conlan's still form, she started to laugh.
Then she couldn't stop.
She laughed and laughed, not registering when the laughter turned to sobs, finally looking up and seeing the ring of men looking down at her, blades drawn. Her head throbbed, ached, seemed as if it would split open from the reverberations of… what, exactly?
The one standing a little apart from the others tilted his head and pinned her with his icy green gaze. He was beautiful, like the rest of them, and yet his eyes were flat. Dead. In her job, she'd seen hardened recidivist criminals with more emotion in their eyes than his had.
"Conlan is not seriously harmed. The blade was coated in poison—the dose would have been fatal to a human," he stated, imperiously looking down his nose at her. "It will be little trouble to clear it from his blood."
She hiccupped a little, caught her breath, and then glared her defiance up at him. "You look like a serial killer, buddy. But whoever you are, unless you really can help Conlan, you'll have to come through me to get to him."