by Alyssa Day
“But Brennan found Tiernan, and she saved him from both the curse and himself. Don’t you think we’re all looking for exactly that?”
Quinn started walking again. “I don’t know. I don’t have time to care. I have to find Ptolemy and discover what he wants with me, before one of the many enemies I’ve made in the past tracks me down to put a final end to my adventures in rebellion.”
“I have a bargain to propose,” Alaric offered. “We spend the day here, not thinking or talking about enemies, or pretenders, or death. Then tomorrow we can return to our normal lives and kill all the ‘bad guys,’ as you so eloquently put it, that you might want.”
Quinn’s eyes were enormous as she weighed his words, and finally she nodded. “I agree. But Alaric, I never wanted to kill anybody. I just so rarely seem to have a choice. When nobody else is there to stand up for what’s right . . .”
As her voice trailed off, he finished the sentence for her. “. . . somebody has to do it. Far too often, that somebody has been you, hasn’t it?”
Their gazes met in perfect understanding, but Quinn shook her head slightly and looked away. “Let’s explore and find out what’s beyond these trees, okay?”
So much courage. Too much. His admiration for her increased each time they talked, until he could no longer untangle respect from desire from need—all of it centered on one small human.
One small, sexy human. She headed for the tree line, and Alaric watched her go, forcing his mind and libido off the instant raging want caused by the sight of her tight little ass walking away from him. It was almost funny, this sexual desire. After centuries of celibacy, he’d thought himself immune to it, and then Quinn had hit him with the force of a tsunami.
His mind, always trained to cold logic and objectivity, could now turn in a split second from thought of battle and enemies to considering what he would like to do with her naked body.
She turned to call back to him and he stopped, stunned by the simple curve of her cheek. She didn’t possess the classical beauty of the women of his race. She had something more. A purity of spirit and a hidden sensuality that all but begged him to release it.
Just as soon as he figured out how to release his own. Hundreds of years of celibacy. That would be . . . interesting . . . to overcome.
His body tightened to an almost painful hardness as he swept his gaze over Quinn’s curves, almost but not quite hidden by the ragged clothes she wore. So. At least certain parts of him had no concerns at all about how to proceed.
He followed her into the trees, smiling his first unqualified smile in many years.
* * *
Quinn watched Alaric reach up to pluck a bunch of bananas, unable to take her eyes off the play of muscles in his lovely chest and arms. He’d removed his shirt, a concession to the heat, and she found herself looking for excuses to touch him.
To put her hands all over that hot, slightly sweaty male skin. He was bronzed a golden tan, which surprised her, considering that she’d always pictured him doing, well, priestly things in Poseidon’s temple. Lighting incense or whatever. Her dim memories of attending Catholic mass with a childhood friend seemed to have informed her impression of what Poseidon’s high priest would do.
“So, do you conduct services in Atlantean?”
He tossed her a banana. “Do I what?”
“Church services. Do you all get together and sing songs and pray to Poseidon or whatever?”
He looked genuinely perplexed. “What are you talking about? Also, do I seem like the kind of man who gathers with a group to sing?”
She peeled her banana and started laughing. “Not exactly. Unless it was some kind of battle cry. I was just thinking about what exactly it is that you do as high priest to the sea god.”
“Ah. That.” He devoured the fruit in three quick bites and tossed the peel into the grass, to become fertilizer for the next generation of plants.
“No. It is not a temple like your churches. As high priest, I am the bearer of Poseidon’s most powerful magic, protector of Atlantis, keeper of the scrolls, mentor to the acolytes, and chief counselor to those who need intercession with the gods.”
“Chief counselor?” She didn’t quite buy that one. “Really?”
He grinned so wickedly that she wondered if her clothes would spontaneously disappear.
“I’m not much of the counselor type. My chief acolyte handles those requests. He says I am more likely to tell them that life is meant to be difficult, and the gods do not reward those who moan and complain.”
“So, in other words, the ‘suck it up, buttercup’ style of priestly counsel,” Quinn said, forcing the words out through her laughter. “I can see why he doesn’t let you talk to people.”
Alaric raised his eyebrows. “I believe you just insulted me. I am perfectly capable of talking to people. I just don’t like it.”
“Really? I never would have guessed.”
“People are annoying,” he announced, folding his arms, which did delightful things to the muscles in his arms and chest. Her throat suddenly went dry. She felt like she’d been celibate almost as long as he had, and surely that was the reason her body trembled and her breath caught in her lungs whenever he was nearby. It was a good thing he wasn’t allowed to have sex, or they’d either set the island on fire with their passion or set a world record for clumsy fumbling.
“Poor baby,” she finally answered him, with an utter lack of sympathy. Then she finished peeling her banana and took a huge bite, closing her eyes in bliss as she chewed and swallowed.
“This is delicious—” She forgot what she was saying when she glanced up and met his gaze. He was staring at her mouth, and his eyes were a blazing emerald green.
“Delicious,” he repeated, his voice strained. “Quinn, you tempt me beyond reason. I have spent the past several hours waging a private war against myself to keep from touching you, and I find I am losing the battle.”
He took a deep breath. “I need to kiss you now. Will you allow this?” He’d lowered his arms to his sides, and she saw that his hands were clenched into fists.
“I don’t think it’s a very good idea.” She realized her hands were shaking, and she dropped the fruit so she could hide them behind her back. Never show weakness to an enemy.
Or a potential lover.
She considered various responses and finally settled on the simple truth. “If you kiss me, how will we ever stop? I’m not sure I can be strong enough for both of us. Not with you.”
His smile sharpened and grew predatory. “Quinn, I don’t want to ever stop.” He took a step toward her and then another. “I could kiss you for an eternity, and it wouldn’t be enough.”
She knew from their very few, very brief encounters that he was telling the truth—truth enough for both of them. She was helpless in the face of it.
“Then kiss me already,” she said, surrendering to the inevitable.
He flew across the space separating them, and she barely had time to draw in a breath of the deeply scented tropical air before he was on her, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her nearly off her feet.
“I have waited all of my life for you,” he said roughly, and the stark honesty in his face humbled her.
“I feel the same way,” she whispered, knowing she should deny it. Knowing it was wrong. She’d done such horrible things in the name of the rebellion. Dark and deadly things. Twisted and awful things. She could never deserve Alaric, this warrior priest who’d stepped right out of the pages of mythology and into her heart.
“Stop thinking so hard,” he murmured, and then he took her mouth with his, and she found herself incapable of thinking anything at all.
His kisses burned her skin—her mouth, her face, her neck. He kissed her as a dying man might beg for grace or benediction; desperately and without reserve. She felt herself falling, drowning, sinking into an abyss of wanting and feeling and needing, and she realized her arms were twined tightly around his neck and she was presse
d against his body so close that not even a breath separated them.
It wasn’t close enough.
She sank into a whirlwind of feeling; a storm of longing that made the tornado he’d created in Tokyo seem like nothing more than a soft breeze. Nerves long untouched signaled bright flares to the pleasure center in her brain, until she felt herself incandesce with the sharp, almost painful brilliance of pure desire.
She moaned, or he did, and he lifted her higher in his arms, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and pressed even closer, feeling from the large, hard bulge of his erection that although rules may have stopped him in the past, he certainly wasn’t unwilling or unable now.
He wanted her, and the knowledge drove her further and further over the edge, past sense and reason, and into an abyss filled with need and want and hunger.
He pulled back a little and stared down at her, his eyes burning in a face gone stark and hard with desire.
“Quinn, I need you. Now. I need you naked and underneath me or on top of me or however you want, but I need you to be naked. Right. Now.”
Chapter 9
Alaric had never been more in danger of losing his sanity than he was right at this moment with this woman he held so tightly in his arms. If she stopped kissing him, he was sure he would die from the loss of her touch. Everything he was and ever had been was centered on the burning waves of need and hunger rushing through him. He wanted Quinn like he’d never wanted any woman before in all the long, lonely centuries of his life.
He needed her. To the nine hells with the repercussions.
“Alaric? Your emotions just changed. What are you thinking about?” Her eyes were dark and dazed, but trying to focus.
“Nothing important,” he said firmly and kissed her again.
“No,” she said, struggling to put a bit of space between them. “That’s not true. What is going on in your brilliant but dark and twisty mind?”
He shook his head and leaned toward her again, but she put a hand up between them and pushed.
“Tell me.”
He gave in, knowing she would persevere until he did so. “All of my life, I have been told that the vow of celibacy is the key to my power. The Elders strongly impressed upon me the need to protect myself from the desires of the flesh or the call to softer emotions.”
She squeezed his arm and then backed away a step so she could look up into his face as he continued.
He had no choice now. He had to tell her, and there was no way to pretty up the stark truth, so he just said it. “There’s a good chance that if I break my vow of celibacy, I’ll lose my magic.”
The bald statement hung in the air between them for several long moments, and then Quinn backed away from him so fast she stumbled and fell on the ground. He moved to help her, but she shook her head, scrambling backward on all fours.
“Don’t touch me! How can you possibly say that to me and then try to touch me?” Her voice held a tinge of hysteria, and her eyes were wild. “I can’t bear that burden, Alaric. Don’t ask me to.”
“No, you don’t understand. This is only what the Elders told me. Keely, the scientist who has soul-melded with Justice—she’s an object reader. She told me that the Elders lied or at least were wrong. That in truth the most powerful high priest in the history of Atlantis was not only not celibate, but he was actually married. Nereus was married to Zelia, and from what Keely said, they were extremely happy and in love.”
She kept shaking her head, back and forth, over and over. “Keely said. She’s human, right?”
He nodded the affirmative.
“So a human who claims to be picking up psychic woo-woo emanations from objects tells you that, okay, sure, Alaric, it’s okay to break your sacred vow, it will all be fine, no worries, and you think that’s good enough?”
“Serai confirmed as much,” he said, a little desperately.
“Right. And there couldn’t be anything wrong with her memory, after eleven thousand years of stasis, right?” Quinn shook her head. “We can’t take that chance. Maybe this Nereus never had to swear the same vow you did. Maybe his powers worked differently. Or maybe she’s just wrong.”
“When you say it in those terms, of course—”
“And what happened to this Nereus? Happy ever after? Many fat babies?”
He paused. This was where the story broke down. “Actually, Zelia died, and Nereus tried to drown the world. He nearly destroyed the dome and everyone in Atlantis with it.”
“So he went nuts, is that what you’re saying?” Quinn scrambled to her feet and continued backing away from him. “Bat-shit crazy, insane, loony tunes, rubber room material? Nearly destroyed your entire civilization, but hey, let’s get naked?” Her voice had risen and she was shaking.
“The two are probably unrelated,” he began cautiously. He had no idea how to fix this, but he was desperate to find a way to do so—to fix everything—so that the terror and disbelief he heard in her voice would disappear.
His body, rebelling after so many years of denial, ached with frustration and the desolate certainty that his chances of remaining celibate for the foreseeable future were increasing with every word out of his mouth.
“Probably. Unrelated. Sacred vow, insanity, destroy Atlantis, but it’s okay, probably unrelated,” she muttered, stalking off toward the beach. “Get me out of here, Alaric.”
“We don’t have to leave now. I refuse to take you anywhere until we talk this out,” he commanded, following her.
Unfortunately, the irritating woman didn’t respond at all well to commands.
“Get. Me. Out. Of. Here,” she said, enunciating each word as if slicing it with a dagger. “Also, don’t touch me again. Not now, not ever. Or at least not until your people don’t need you anymore, and you’re old and gray and retired.”
He strode ahead of her to hold a low-hanging palm frond out of her way before she marched right into it, and she stopped and poked a finger into his chest.
“Except that won’t happen. You won’t get old and gray. I’ll get old and gray, if I live that long, which I probably won’t, and you’ll still be young and beautiful and hot and sexy, and I can never kiss you again, and you made me want what I can’t have, and right now I kind of hate you for it.” She finally stopped to draw breath. “And—and—put your shirt on!”
He watched her stalk off down the beach, completely unable to think of a thing to say that would fix everything and get them back to the part where she was kissing him. The faint tingle of magic behind him alerted him to the portal, and he whirled around to see the high prince himself step out onto the sand.
Conlan looked at Alaric and then at Quinn’s departing figure, and then he whistled. “What did you do to my sister-in-law? Riley only stomps off like that when she’d rather be punching me.”
“I only wish she would strike me,” Alaric said glumly. “I fear this problem is far too big for that.”
“How bad can it be? At least you didn’t threaten to abdicate the throne for her,” joked Conlan, who had done just that for Riley, Quinn’s sister.
“Worse. I threatened to break my vows to Poseidon.”
Conlan’s eyes widened. “You’re willing to trust that Keely is right about your magic?”
“What choice do I have? I petitioned Poseidon, over and over, and he refuses to answer. I petitioned the Elders, and they tell me exactly what they always have: if I ‘succumb to fleshly evils,’ I will lose all of my power. I can believe them and spend the rest of my life alone, or I can believe Keely and Serai are right and claim Quinn for mine.” Alaric smashed an extra-large energy sphere into the sand in front of him out of pure frustration.
“Serai?” Conlan raised an eyebrow.
Alaric filled him in on what Serai had told him.
“Quinn doesn’t seem to be in the mood to risk your future,” Conlan observed, as Quinn flopped down on the sand, with her back pointedly toward them.
“Quinn needs to be convinced,” Alaric growle
d. “I can best do that in Atlantis.”
“I can’t influence you on this, I know, without the utmost hypocrisy, but I’m worried about the repercussions, too. I can’t imagine you as anything other than the high priest of Atlantis, and there’s the little matter of how in the nine hells we’re going to retrieve Poseidon’s Pride if you can no longer touch it,” Conlan said, his face somber.
“That, as always, is the ultimate truth,” Alaric said, clenching his hands into fists. “My duty must always come before anything else.”
“Now that we’ve figured out your love life, or lack thereof,” Conlan said, smiling ruefully as if to let Alaric know he shared his dismay, “what else is new?”
Alaric smacked himself in the forehead, and Conlan’s mouth fell open.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you do anything so uncontrolled in your life,” the prince said.
“My life is so far out of my control right now, I don’t even recognize it.” Alaric smashed another energy ball into the sand next to the intricate glass sculpture the first had formed. “The most important thing of all, and I’m only now mentioning it. My apologies.”
“Mentioning what?” Conlan said with elaborate patience.
“There is a pretender to the throne. He calls himself Ptolemy Reborn and claims to be descended from Alexander the Great. He stole Poseidon’s Pride, and he plans to crown himself king of Atlantis.”
Conlan blinked once and then bared his teeth in a grim parody of a smile. “This? This I think we’d better sit down for.”
* * *
Quinn didn’t need much persuading to go to Atlantis. She’d been anticipating this moment since she first learned her sister was in love with the Atlantean high prince. Plus, she had a tiny nephew she was dying to meet. She’d ignore the insane high priest and his magic-giving-up lunacy for as long as necessary, and then she’d escape and make her way to New York, hope Ptolemy was still there, and confront him. Or else find a way to go get him. It was a plan.