Atlantis Series Complete Collection

by Gena Showalter

  Working for OBI—which translated into constant planet-hopping through inter-world wormholes—didn’t allow for frequent trips home. Hell, working for OBI didn’t allow for trips anywhere except alien planets. And now underwater cities. It sure as hell didn’t allow for dating and getting laid. Unless he wanted to have a one-night stand with a three-eyed, blue-skinned, slimy alien female.

  He didn’t.

  He’d never liked one-night stands, preferring instead multiple nights with multiple orgasms.

  Three eyes? Slimy skin? Uh, gross.

  Did he mention that he liked to take his time with a woman, lingering over every nuance of her body, savoring her scent, her taste? That he liked to hear her shout about his unbelievable sexual talents in English?

  He grinned at the thought of “unbelievable sexual talents.”

  Another branch bitch-slapped his cheek, and he lost his grin. Your fault, man. You shouldn’t have let your mind wander into the gutter. How true. Now was not the time to be thinking of sex and women. Or having sex with women. He blamed the heat for his wayward mind. That, and the fact that he hadn’t gotten laid in a long, long time. Too long.

  Way too long.

  Why else would he have lost focus on what was important—his survival—in favor of picturing a naked woman. A naked woman with long, velvet-soft legs that wrapped around his waist and—

  Yet another twig popped him, in the eye this time. How many would he have to endure? “Concentrate, boy.” It’s not like he suffered from ADD. You’re here for a reason, James. Think of nothing but that.

  One moment of distraction could cause a mission to fail. He knew that, and was surprised at how easily his mind kept veering. Perhaps being hunted by a cannibalistic demon wasn’t exciting enough for him. If that was the case, he needed a total body probe and psych exam ASAP.

  “The mission. Think only about the mission.” As they had a thousand times before, his boss’s departing words drifted through his mind. We found a book, Gray. The book, actually, titled Ra Dracas. It tells of dragons and vampires and other such nonsense, but the true message is hidden between the text, written in code.

  “The text about dragons and vampires is nonsense,” he mocked. Hindsight sucked major ass.

  Once we broke that code, his boss had added, we learned about the Jewel of Dunamis, a jewel so powerful it can be used to predict the future. A jewel so powerful it can show who’s lying and who’s speaking the truth. Whoever holds it will have the ability to destroy any enemy. Conquer any army.

  Small wonder his government wanted so desperately to own it.

  Gray was to find and steal this precious jewel, then bring it home. If his mission was compromised in any way, he was to destroy it so that no one else got their greedy hands on it.

  It was that simple.

  Simple? Yeah, about as simple as routine brain surgery. Gray paused briefly and sipped from his dwindling canteen of vitamin-enhanced water. The cool liquid slid down his parched throat, offering a much-needed burst of energy before he jolted back into motion.

  For an eternity he pushed himself onward, never slowing, ever conscious of what awaited him if he didn’t find a spot to enable Operation KTB. His gaze darted to his wristwatch, the digital red light barely visible under the dirt and grime covering him. Twenty minutes until showtime, so he had to find a workable patch of land now. He scowled and—

  Watch out for the quicksand.

  His eyes jerked swiftly across his surroundings as he searched for the speaker, a woman. He didn’t duck for cover, didn’t stop walking, preferring instead to be mobile. Plus he didn’t want to scare her with any surprising movement. That’s how trigger-happy fingers were created.

  He did tighten his grip on the machete. The odds were fifty-fifty the woman had a weapon, and even higher that she’d actually use it. Still. A man couldn’t be too careful.

  Are you listening to me? I said, watch out for the quicksand!

  The husky, heavily accented female voice slammed into his mind once again, so richly sensual and commanding he acquired an instant, unwanted, and surprising hard-on—before he promptly began sinking into a large pool of quicksand.

  “What the hell?” Instinctively he attempted to raise his legs, which only caused him to sink farther and faster. He stilled and glared at the ground, watching it slowly rise, covering his feet…his ankles.

  Now you’ve done it. Exasperation clung to the edges of her words. She might even have added, Dumb ass, but he wasn’t sure. I tried to warn you.

  “Where are you?” he asked, using his gentlest, most reassuring tone as he eyed the lush green bushes circling him. The leaves here were thicker than any he’d ever encountered, barely moving in the gentle wind.

  There was no hint of person or clothing peeking from the shrubbery, still no rustle or snap to indicate movement. She’d tried to save him from the quicksand, so she hopefully meant him no harm. He needed all the help he could get right now.

  “You can come out,” he said. “I won’t hurt you. You have my word.”

  Think for a moment, Gray. You don’t hear me with your ears, but with your mind.

  “How do you know my name?” he asked sharply. Then he blinked, shook his head, blinked again. The voice remained, echoing from each corridor of his brain. She was right. Her words were actually inside his mind.

  How was that possible?

  How the hell was that possible?

  “I’m schizo.” The statement burst from his mouth, too shocking and surreal to keep inside. “I’ve finally jumped over the ledge of sanity with thousand-pound weights tied to my ankles.” He’d seen some weird shit in his lifetime, and it had finally caught up with him.

  He should have known it would come in the form of a split personality. A sexy as hell female personality, at that. Her whisky-rich voice…he’d never heard anything quite so erotic.

  Down, down he sank as the sand covered his calves with its gooey wetness. The scent of stagnant water and decaying—he wrinkled his nose. He did not want to guess what was decaying.

  Insane or not, he hadn’t survived two days and nights of torture to die by stinky sand. No matter what he had to do, he’d save his life—or rather, lives—from this mess.

  That sucked balls.

  Unwilling to lose a single supply, he tossed his GPS and machete to dry ground. Careful not to jostle too much or too quickly, he removed his backpack and tossed it beside the blade, wishing his propel wire hadn’t been lost during a battle with the Welcoming Committee.

  He scowled for, what…the thousandth time in as many hours? The expression well represented his views of Atlantis. Meanwhile, he continued to sink, slowly, slowly, the wet sand working its way past his knees, up his thighs. The thick liquid grains were cold, and his body temperature fell a couple hundred degrees. His blood pressure was the only thing on the rise.

  Amid the popping and gurgling of wet suction, he searched his surroundings again, this time looking for a lifeline. No branches, no vines were nearby. Only a large white rock, but it was too far away to reach with his hands.

  Take off your shirt, the sensual, I-want-you-naked-and-in-my-bed voice said.

  He snorted derisively. He was sinking toward death, and his new female personality wanted him to strip. Why wasn’t he surprised?

  “Want me to remove my pants, too?” he asked dryly. At least he’d picked a hot, nympho chick to be his mind-companion and not a nasally old man.

  Idiot! she huffed, a blush dripping from her tone.

  Take off your shirt, clasp the opposite ends in your hands, and hook the material around the rock.

  His eyes widened as he studied the distance of the rock again. That might actually work. For the first time in days, he laughed with genuine amusement. He might be schizophrenic and teetering on the brink of total insanity, but he was also a freaking genius.

  The woman—it was hard to continually think of such a distinctive, seemingly real voice as merely an extension of himself—sig
hed. Why did the gods have to pick you?

  Her dejection caused his smile to grow. “I could ask myself the same question, babe.”

  Reaching behind him, he gripped the neck of his shirt and tugged it over his head. With one end of the camouflage material in his left hand and the other in his right, he leaned forward and tossed the looped shirt at the rock. He missed.

  He tried again and missed.

  Okay, so he seriously needed to increase the hours he spent at target practice.

  The sand now reached his waist. He continued to lean and toss until the shirt finally anchored solidly. He gave a hard jerk and stopped sinking.

  Now pull.

  “I know what to do.” He pulled, using all of his strength. His arms burned from the strain. The sand grasped at him like strong, greedy fingers, holding him in place.

  Grimacing, he continued to hoist up his two hundred pounds of muscle. His shoulders popped, the weight straining sockets and bones. The sand continued to tighten its embrace, burning the wound in his leg. The teeth marks in his neck throbbed against the exertion, perhaps even split open because he felt a trickle of something warm and wet on his skin.

  Just a little more…almost…there. The sound of ripping cotton and poly filled his ears. With a final yank, his body landed on dry, solid ground. He sucked in a relieved breath.

  Now, run. Hurry. The demon has already begun to stir.

  Ignoring her, Gray rolled to his back before easing up and into a crouch. As he glanced at his wristwatch, a soft, salty breeze drifted past him, reminding him of the beach vacation he so craved. This area would be as good as any other, he supposed. He’d run out of time.

  “Let Operation KTB commence.” He slipped on his shirt, unzipped his backpack and rooted inside.

  What are you doing? Run, you fool.

  “You need a name,” he said, ignoring her demand and continuing his search inside the bag. Didn’t all split personalities have names? If he was going to be insane, he might as well embrace it fully. For now, at least. Once he returned home and told the captain about his new friend, he’d be poked with so many needles it would make an alien probing seem like a sensual massage.

  Maybe he’d call her Bunny. Or Bambi.

  Please, she cried. You need to hide. If you don’t, you’ll be hurt again and—

  “I’m not running. I’m going to kill it.”

  She paused, absorbing his words. Listen, Gray. You aren’t insane. I’m not a figment of your imagination or a personality inside your mind. I’m very real, and I can help you. I know Atlantis and the creatures here. Listen to me and you just might live for one more day.

  Now it was his turn to pause. Her claim made a weird sort of sense. Throughout the years, he’d seen and experienced all sorts of strange things. “Can you prove it?” he almost said, but stopped himself.

  Though he hadn’t actually spoken, she heard him and uttered a frustrated hiss. You are such a human. Prove this, prove that. Humph! I’m speaking with you, aren’t I?

  Several alien races communicated psychically, so he already knew it could be done. He just hadn’t known it could be done with him. Fact is, he was relieved his brain hadn’t experienced full meltdown.

  “Where are you?”

  Hades, it seems.

  He grinned. “Yeah? Me, too. Want to tell me how you know my name?” He resumed his search inside the bag. “And how are you getting inside my mind?” That bothered him, a lot, but he had too many other things to worry about right now.

  Do you really wish to discuss this now? Time is your enemy.

  Again, she was right. He truly didn’t have long, perhaps five or ten minutes and he needed every second. “I’ll let those questions slide, but there’s one thing I’ve got to know. Why are you helping me?”

  Pause. It would be a shame to mar your pretty face.

  Good answer. Dare he say irrefutable?

  “You know how to take down a demon?” Myths claimed garlic, a stake through the heart, or holy water would do the trick. Wait. Those killed vampires. What the hell killed demons? The Book of Ra Dracas might have very well provided step-by-step instructions, yet he’d paid no attention, seeing the script merely as camouflage for the hidden code about the jewel. Stupid.

  There is no reason to fight. I can lead you to safety.

  “Poison? Dynamite?” As he spoke, he lifted the items in question.

  Heavy silence blanketed his mind.

  “I’m not going anywhere, honey, so you might as well tell me.”

  His neck, she finally said on a trembling catch of breath. You have to—well, you know.

  “Yes, I’m afraid I do.” He bypassed the grenades; he might need those later, and withdrew four sticks of dynamite, as well as his night-vision goggles.

  That dynamite won’t help you. Demons are strengthened by fire.

  “I’m hoping the force of the explosion will slow him down so I can get close enough to him to…you know.” He slapped a clip into his gun and slid a load into the chamber. This was his last round of ammunition, so he had to make the most of it.

  Be careful. Please, be careful.

  So many emotions layered her words. Terror, regret, hope. Concern. Emotions he didn’t understand and didn’t have time to ponder.

  Promise me.

  “I give you my word,” he answered, and then he tuned her out completely, unwilling to let her distract him from his purpose. If he wanted to win, he had to get in his zone—and stay there.

  Sensing his needs, she said, I won’t speak again until this is over.

  Forming a large circle with the dynamite, Gray planted a stick next to each of the towering trunks. The breeze intensified, prancing with renewed life. Darkness approached steadily, threading gnarled fingers through the thickness of the trees. Adrenaline thundering through his veins, he anchored his night goggles over his eyes, the world dimming to reds and grays.

  Dynamite in place. Check.

  Gun in hand. Check.

  Bullets loaded. Check.

  Knife. He lifted the machete and hooked it to the waistband of his pants. Check.

  All that remained was covering his body with a blanket of leaves, camouflaging him from the demon’s view. But as he bent to gather the first leaf, a whiz sounded next to his ear, followed by a sulfur-scented wind and taunting laughter.

  Too late.

  The demon had arrived.

  Mentally cursing, Gray crouched low and tightened his grip on his weapon. As he lay there, sweat dripped from his forehead and onto his goggles, momentarily shielding his line of vision. His head moved slowly, his eyes scanning from side to side, looking for a telltale blur of heat. Where the hell was it? Come on, show yourself.

  Not finding a hint of the creature on land, he flicked a glance upward—and saw a figure speedily diving toward him, down, down. He didn’t panic as it came closer. Closer still. No, he grew eager, anticipatory.

  Almost here… Gray rolled out of the way a split second before contact. The demon crashed into the ground, and an evil hiss slithered through the night. Unfortunately the creature was up and hidden in the trees before he could fire off a shot.

  “You want to play hide and seek,” he shouted, “we’ll play hide and seek. Come and get me, you ugly bastard.” Gun pointing straight ahead, Gray jumped to his feet and ran. Ran toward the first cluster of dynamite, praying the demon followed. When he heard the rustle of a cloak and felt the warmth of breath on the back of his neck, he smiled with satisfaction.

  Oh, yeah. The little shit had followed him.

  As Gray passed the tree, he whipped around and aimed his gun. Boom! The bullet nailed the dynamite. Instantly fire spewed, and the tree exploded. The blast lifted Gray into the air, then slammed him onto the ground, shoving the air from his lungs. It did the same to the demon, and amid its howls of pain and fury, wooden shards and charred leaves rained.

  He’d hit him, Gray knew, fighting for breath, but had he slowed him down?

  An acrid st
ench and black smoke billowed around him as he pushed to his feet. Gray launched into a sprint, closing the distance between himself and the second cluster of dynamite. Infuriated, the demon followed once more; no longer playful and taunting, it stayed close on his heels. Saliva dripped from the too-white, too-sharp teeth, and onto Gray’s neck.

  Gray spun around and fired. Boom! The second cluster exploded, lighting up the shadows with orange-gold flames. A blast of pure heat swept over him; he went airborne again, but this time he expected it and hit the ground rolling. The demon propelled into another tree trunk, shrieking in rage and renewed pain, growling curses in a language Gray didn’t understand.

  Gray jolted up and started running.

  Now! the female shouted inside his mind. Fire now!

  He hadn’t passed the third cluster yet, was just in front of it, in fact. If he fired now, he might barbecue himself. He aimed and fired anyway, diving for the ground.

  Boom!

  The impact threw him backward, and he covered his head with his hands. Waves of heat rolled over him, hotter than before, burning his clothes, his skin. A loud thump, then a gasp for breath echoed in his ears.

  Unfolding from the ground, Gray readied his knife. He raced to the demon. The ugly bastard had slammed into another tree and now struggled to right himself. His eyes glowed a bright, eerie red. Horns protruded all over his scaly body. Without pausing for thought, Gray raised the blade and struck. Blood splattered.

  Silence greeted him as the scent of rotting sulfur filled the air.

  Remaining in place, Gray moved his gaze through the clearing. The smoke was thicker now, heavier, and billowed around the remaining trees like angry clouds. Bits of bark and foliage continued to fall from the sky. His goggles had come off sometime during the fight, and his eyes watered. His nostrils stung, but most of all his joints ached.

  He jerked the bandana from his head and smoothed the material over his nose, blocking the foul, heated air.

  You won, the woman said, awe and joy laced in the undercurrents of her voice. You really won.