by Alyssa Day
She rushed over to the bed and drew a small wrapped object from beneath her pillow. “This is it, my darling. Isn’t it wonderful? I think you’ll be the happiest captain on the high seas now, my love.”
She put the package in his hand and watched, beaming, as he slowly unwrapped it. He knew.
He knew, even before he took the fabric away. He could feel it; could sense his bond with Seranth returning.
“Oh, Lyric. Oh, my love. Mi amara. I could never, ever deserve you, not if I worked at it for a thousand years, but you can believe that I will spend every minute of that time trying.” He put the band down on the table and pulled her back into his arms.
Never, ever, in the more than a century of his existence, had anyone made a sacrifice for him, and this? To sacrifice her sight? A fierce wave of emotion caught in his throat until he couldn’t talk and wasn’t sure he could breathe.
“Mi amara—my beloved. Will you marry me and give me many beautiful babies who look just like their mother?”
“Yes. Yes, a thousand times yes.” She threw herself in his arms, and when she turned her face to his, her eyes were shining.
“Dare, I know it’s late, but can’t we go out to your ship now, so I can meet Seranth? I’ve been so excited to see your ship and meet her. Let’s do it. It will be part of our Christmas miracle.”
He smiled at her, but gently shook his head. “Let’s go downstairs and meet everyone for the Christmas Eve feast, instead. We’ll have plenty of time to look at our presents.”
“But--"
He took her hands and kissed them, one by one. “Tomorrow we’ll find the perfect stone for your ring. But tonight, let’s feast. Lyric, I sold my ship to buy you a lost Renoir. I wanted the first thing you saw with your new eyes to be an object of ultimate beauty.”
At that, she started to cry. “But your ship--"
“Don’t you understand by now? All I will ever need is you, my very own Christmas miracle. The rest is just a bonus. Let’s go down to that feast. Maybe we can make Alaric sing Christmas carols.
And so with laughter—and a few tears—Dare and Lyric went down to join the rest of their Atlantean family for a Christmas supper, and to share their wonderful news.
15
The magi, as you know, were wise men—wonderfully wise men—who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.
-- The Gift of the Magi, O. Henry (1917)
Christmas morning in Atlantis
Lyric almost pinched herself, again, but this time the very large, very muscular man in her bed did it for her.
“Hey!”
He sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. I just can’t keep my hands off that lovely round ass of yours. I may never accomplish anything again for dreaming about it.”
“That is the strangest compliment anybody has ever given me.” She put her arms around his neck and pulled him to her for a kiss. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” he said, before rolling on top of her and pinning her arms over her head with one hand. “Time for your present.”
He moved his body against her in a determined fashion, and she had to laugh. “I think you already gave me that present.”
“Then you should return it to me,” he told her solemnly. “It’s the gift that keeps on giving.”
So she did.
And it was quite a while before they lay back on the bed, gasping.
“You love me,” the pirate in her bed—in her heart—said smugly, all arrogance and charm.
“I do,” she admitted. “Just let me catch my breath, and I’ll show you how much again.”
He rolled over to face her. “Lyric,” he said, and his voice was unexpectedly serious. “I can’t—I can never--"
“Dare,” she said, putting her entire heart in her voice, so he was sure to hear it.
“All I need to see is you.”
They eventually had to leave the room and find food.
“Or I’ll collapse right here on the floor,” Lyric laughingly told him when they finally made it out of the shower, boneless with aftershock and satisfaction.
His stomach growled, right on cue. “I think you might be right.”
When they walked into the dining hall, hand in hand, a crowd of children, all of whom had been impressed by Lyric’s beautiful singing voice, crowded around and demanded a story and a song.
Lyric smiled at them. “A story, too?”
“Yes, yes,” they all chorused. “An Earth Christmas story from Topside.”
She sank down on the cushion they’d saved for her, but never let go of Dare’s hand. “This is my favorite Christmas story of all, so gather around and listen closely. It’s a story of love and hope and the miracle of Christmas.”
When they were all settled, their little rapt faces staring up at her, Dare thought his heart might have grown too large for his chest, because he was having a hard time breathing while looking at this amazing woman who had become the center of his life.
“I love you,” he said, not caring who heard him.
The children all started giggling.
“I love you, too,” she said. And then she smiled, pulled him down to sit next to her, and began.
"One dollar and eighty-seven cents...”
Epilogue
One year later…
Lyric placed her hand on the slight roundness of her belly and smiled. The sea spirit, next to her at the bow of the ship, was singing a song in a language even Dare hadn’t recognized. It was older than any known civilization, Seranth had informed them in a wistful voice.
It had taken no more than the space of an instant for Lyric to love the water elemental as much as Dare did, when they’d finally been able to buy the Luna back from its new owner. Dare had captained a merchant ship for a while, and she’d painted furiously to populate a show at an Atlantean gallery.
Her “rare, human paintings of the world Above,” as the canny gallery owner had labeled them, had sold like hotcakes to the Atlanteans who’d never yet ventured out of Atlantis.
And now they were finally back on the ship Dare loved, making perfectly legitimate supply runs and carrying perfectly legitimate cargo—and the occasional visiting dignitary—to and from Atlantis.
Seranth, who felt like the sister Lyric had always wanted, hummed while she petted Picasso, who was purring loudly in her arms. “We’re going to have a baby on this ship, are we not?”
Lyric nodded. “We are. But Seranth, please don’t tell Dare yet. I want to surprise him.”
A thudding noise behind her signaled that her wicked pirate had finished fixing the lines and dropped back onto the deck. He strode over to her and pulled her back against him, resting his chin on the top of her head.
“Surprise me with what?”
“I’ll be up in the crow’s next,” Seranth said, releasing Picasso to scamper off and sun himself.
Lyric turned in his arms and held her face up for his kiss. “I love you, you know, my wicked pirate.”
“The Painter and the Wicked Pirate. Is Meredith really still planning to write that novel?”
She laughed. “Planning to? She’s already written it and published it. I bet it will be a bestseller. I need to call her and suggest the title for the sequel.”
He tightened his arms around her and kissed her; long, slow, sensuous kisses that promised an evening of deliciously wicked seduction.
“So what is it?”
She blinked, still dazed from his kisses. “What is what?”
She felt the smile spread across her face. “The Painter and the Wicked Pirate’s Baby.”
There was a pause, and then his hand slid down to her belly. “Oh, my love. How is it possible to be so completely and entirely happy, and then find that your heart can contain even more joy?”
“It’s the miracle of Christmas,” she said.
Dare’s arms tightened around her. “It’s a good damn day to be a pirate.”
And the painter and her pirate lived happily—and wickedly—ever after.
NOTE FROM ALYSSA DAY:
I have to get a little sentimental here and tell you how much I appreciate you for reading Christmas in Atlantis. This job is a dream come true, and I wouldn’t have it except for readers like you. I adored writing this book—I’ve had the idea in mind for a long time. The Gift of the Magi is one of my favorite stories in the world, and I wanted to pay homage to it in a way that did it justice, especially on this centennial anniversary of its publication.
I’m thrilled to announce that Poseidon’s Warriors will continue with A Year of Atlantis in 2018—a book per month—and you’ll find out how Atlantis’s independent, brave, strong warriors will cope with the matchmaking queen. The next book is January in Atlantis and it’s available for preorder now at select retailers and will be available to all on January 1, 2018.
If you want the scoop on all new releases, behind-the-scenes details, and the chance to win prizes, Text ALYSSADAY to 66866 to sign up for my newsletter. I promise never to sell, fold, spindle, or mutilate your information so you will get no spam—ever—from me.
You can also follow me on BookBub if you only want new release news.
Thanks again for reading—you rock!
Alyssa
Thank you!
Thanks so much for reading Christmas in Atlantis. I hope you had as much fun reading it as I did writing it.
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Try my other books! You can find excerpts of all of my books at http://alyssaday.com. Read on for an excerpt from Halloween in Atlantis
Excerpt: Halloween in Atlantis by Alyssa Day
Atlantis
Liam pointed his dagger at the glowing orange object that stared menacingly up at him, its teeth bared in a snarl. “Stand back, Eric. I’ll kill it. Considering the unbelievable mutants that swarmed here during the demon infestation, we have no idea what this might be.”
The small boy following him edged back and away from the rocks that formed a barrier between the wild grasses and the pounding surf. “Is it a demon, Liam? Are we in danger? Should I go protect the little prince?”
Liam’s lips quirked up in a smile that he quickly suppressed. The youngling hadn’t reached his tenth birthday, and yet his first thought was to protect others. It wouldn’t do to let him think Liam was mocking him.
“I don’t think it’s a demon, but better to take no chances, in case it’s unfriendly magic. It might be a spell-trap, or an evil charm, or--"
“A fruit. It’s actually just a fruit,” said a decidedly feminine and somewhat exasperated-sounding voice. “And if you kill my jack-o’-lantern, I might have to hurt you.”
It was her. Of course it was her. Liam couldn’t believe he hadn’t felt her approach in his nerve endings, or just beneath his skin, where she seemed most often to lodge.
He sheathed the dagger, took a deep breath, and turned to face the most annoying, irritating, and, if he were honest with himself—and he always tried to be, in spite of his family—the most intriguing human he’d ever met.
It didn’t help that she was so beautiful. Or that the purple dress she wore wrapped around her curvy body like a lover’s caress.
“Why is your fruit glowing?” he demanded, and immediately felt like a fool. Behind him, Eric snickered.
“It’s a pumpkin,” Jaime said in a long-suffering voice, her fascinating chocolate brown eyes sparkling with what was no doubt amusement at his expense. “A jack-o’-lantern. A simple and traditional Halloween decoration. We carve interesting things into them and then put candles inside, so they glow and look pretty for Halloween parties.”
She was explaining the fruit, and he knew he should listen, but she was just so damn easy to look at. Silky dark hair, the ends tipped with an unnatural but enticing purple, fell in careless waves around her face. Those amazing eyes, set in an arresting face that was all honey-golden skin and kissable red lips.
Kissable?
He scrubbed a hand over his face. He needed to head for the training grounds and go a few rounds with one of Poseidon’s new warrior trainees. An hour or two of hard exertion might clear his brain, which had seemed to malfunction whenever he’d been around this woman during the month she’d been on Atlantis.
He looked at her again. That luscious body with curves a man could hold on to while he . . .
Maybe he’d need three hours at the training grounds.
He shook his head to clear it. What he’d seen as a potential threat wasn’t a demon at all. It was a, what did she call it? A jack-o’-lantern. Liam felt like a fool.
The feeling wasn’t new, which made it all the more grating.
“Inviting humans to Atlantis in such high numbers was a mistake,” he said, putting ice in his tone. “It is nearly impossible to maintain the proper security for the royal family, when hordes of unknown people and their--"
“Fruit?” She smiled sweetly and then pretended to cringe. “Oh, no, protect me, Liam! A flying banana is heading my way!”
Everything in him stilled. She was . . . she was teasing him. He, the son and heir to the worst bunch of petty criminals that Atlantis had probably ever known—the one man from whom mothers had always hidden their daughters. Now that he was grown, even as one of Poseidon’s warriors and King Conlan’s elite guard, Atlantean women treated him like the low-born trash his family had always been. Almost always, if what Keely had told him about a long-dead high priest, Nereus, being his ancestor. But this woman—this beautiful, maddening human—was teasing him, and her eyes were sparkling up at him with amusement, not malice.
Liam had learned the difference between the two very well over the course of a lifetime lived in the shadow of his family’s misdeeds.
She was teasing him, and he was in a great deal of trouble, because he wanted to beg her not to stop. He took a step closer, almost involuntarily drawn to her, and her eyes widened. He glanced down at her parted lips and had to force himself not to dip his head and taste them.
“If you like fruit, I can introduce you to Atlantean blushberries,” he murmured, for her ears only, although he could see that Eric had become bored and was wading in the surf a dozen paces away. “I’ve heard that they have certain aphrodisiacal properties, when consumed with the right wine.”
Jaime’s breath seemed to stutter as she looked up at him; both of them frozen in the moment. She put a hand up as if to touch his chest, but then hastily shoved it in the pocket of her pants. “As if you’d need aphrodisiacs, looking like that,” she muttered.
He started laughing before he even realized he was doing it. “So you like how I look? I can assure you, the feeling is mutual.”
She backed up a pace, shaking her head. Her hair swept her shoulders in a flurry of chestnut and purple waves that he wanted to touch. Wanted to see spread over his pillows.
Jaime raised a hand to her mouth. He was suddenly struck by a twinge of jealousy that
it was her fingers touching her lips, not his, and he realized he was quite possibly losing his mind right here in front of the fruit. He had enough problems trying to overcome his family’s legacy and prove himself. The last thing he needed was to fall in love.
“Your eyes are glowing, Liam,” she whispered. “That can’t be good.”
Jaime Radcliffe took a deep breath of the crisp, salty ocean air and suddenly realized that she might be in actual danger. She’d deliberately teased this man—this Atlantean warrior—with no thought of consequences or repercussions. She’d only been in Atlantis for six weeks; in fact, the entire world had only known Atlantis even existed for not much longer than that. She’d been excited and honored to have been chosen as the queen’s first party planner, and she’d been unbelievably thrilled to get the chance to see this land that had risen from deep beneath the ocean and straight out of legend into the world landscape. Walking around the palace grounds and staring at ancient, delicate and graceful marble spires on buildings that looked like they belonged on a movie set had been an amazing adventure.
Not to mention, it had been a great time to get out of town and away from yet another in a long string of disappointing boyfriends. This one had decided, after only three months of dating, that it might be a good idea for him to quit his job and become her “partner” in the business.
Her partner. In a business she’d spent five years building.
Her exact words had been “not in this lifetime,” and that had been the end of him. She hadn’t missed him at all, which told her an uncomfortable amount about how much she’d cared about him in the first place. No matter. He was history, and she was currently living in a place that was real history and myth all rolled up into one beautiful, unbelievable package: Atlantis. The lost continent. City of dreams, long thought to have been nothing more than a teaching example made up by Plato on a particularly imaginative day.