Atlantis Rising wop-1

by Alyssa Day

  Even that small sound was enough to wake the man lying next to her on the bed. A different bed than the one she'd slept in the night before, she noticed.

  A different room.

  Conlan tightened the arm that lay protectively across her waist. "Riley? Are you awake? Are you well?"

  She looked up into his eyes, saw the familiar blue-green flame burning in his pupils. The sign of his passion for her.

  His love.

  "They're really okay? I didn't dream that, too?"

  He nodded. "You saved them both. Your sacrifice—" His voice broke.

  She lifted a hand to stroke his hair back from his face. "Shhh," she soothed. "It's all right. I'm here."

  His entire body shuddered. "If I'd lost you—don't ever risk your life like that again."

  Riley smiled, feeling weaker than she'd ever been. And yet stronger, at the same time. "There you go ordering me around, again. We have to work on this royalty complex you've got."

  Conlan's lips curved at the corners. "Get used to it. I'm going to be ordering you around for a very long time."

  He bent and gently kissed her forehead, her nose, and then her lips. "I'm never letting you get away from me. You understand that, don't you?"

  He pulled her closer to him in a fierce hug. "Never."

  She opened her shields, felt the full extent of his passion, and her own body shuddered in response. "Conlan? I need to feel you now. I need to feel your warmth."

  "I'll hold you all night long, mi amara. I'll hold you forever," he murmured into her hair, gently caressing her arms.

  "No." She pushed him away, sat up. Tried to escape the boulder that crushed her lungs. "I need to feel alive. I need to tell you—I need to show you—"

  She rolled over so that she lay half on top of his body, put her hands on his face. "I need" she whispered.

  And then she kissed him like she was dying of thirst, and his lips held the last drop of water.

  Conlan moaned at the feel of her. He'd tried so hard to be gentle. To give her the comfort and safety he'd been so sure she'd want, instead of overwhelming her with his hunger.

  But she was kissing him like she wanted to devour him. The passion in her touch unleashed the floodgates of desire he'd fought to keep barred. The terror that he'd lived through at the sight of her limp body lying there on the floor.

  The relief that she lived.

  "Riley, my aknasha, I love you. I need you. I need to be inside you right now, right now, right now," he groaned into her mouth.

  She smiled, opening her mind and heart to allow him to feel her own heat and need. Without thought, beyond reason, he ripped at his clothes, desperately needing to feel his skin against hers.

  Riley trembled with wanting him. Needing him. Needing to feel him inside her, so she could know she was alive. His big body shook as he yanked and tore at his clothes until he was as nude as she. He swept the quilt off her and replaced it with his body, pushing her legs apart and driving his fingers inside her to feel her, test her, learn that she was ready for him.

  He made a low sound deep in his throat and centered himself over her. She felt the thickness of him straining at her, and she arched up to help him. He was so fiercely aroused he had to work himself inside her, and she stretched to a point just short of pain as the length and the breadth of his erection pushed steadily into her.

  She cried out with the wanting, with the hunger, and kissed. and bit at his mouth as if she were consuming him. He pulled out a little and she whimpered, and then he drove into her as far as he could go.

  And she screamed. Screamed and clawed at him, dug her nails into his shoulders, into his back. Begged him for more, more, harder, harder. Reaffirming that she lived, that he lived, that he was there with her.

  At least for now.

  Saw the ferocious predator she'd unleashed in his face. Reveled in it.

  "You're mine, Riley. Mine, mi amara aknasha, my beloved empath. I'm going to take you now, fuck you, sear myself into your soul," he growled, jaw clenching with the shreds of self-control he seemed to have left. She could feel the burning drive to possess her that shook him, heart and soul.

  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 abruptly, 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, ther
e 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."