Heart of Atlantis

Atlantean princess had shivered in the cool night air.

The cacophony of battle, rude and loud and clashing, stilled for a frozen moment in time as attackers and defenders alike swung toward the sound of an ancient, deadly predator. The forest itself froze as nature’s darkest memories conjured up long-forgotten fears.

Quinn’s small guns barked out a warning—once, twice, thrice—and Alaric whirled to find a dead vampire slamming into the ground at his feet. He looked up to meet Quinn’s gaze, all smoke and mystery in the moonlight.

“I may not have any magic, but I do okay,” she said, shrugging her slender shoulders.

Before she’d finished speaking, Alaric was leaping toward her, calling power to himself and forming energy spheres in both hands. The trio of bloodsuckers rushed at Quinn with deadly intent, and Alaric knew that whoever had masterminded this attack had painted a target on her. Kill the North American rebel leader, and maybe the entire human rebellion falls apart.

He almost laughed at the thought. Maybe not the rebellion, but a single man—both warrior and priest—yes, that man would fall apart. And the world would be lucky to survive it.

Quinn saw him coming and swung around in a half circle so he could stand at her back. She fired her guns, and he hurled energy spheres with both hands, dealing oblivion and the true death to vampires and shape-shifters both.

When the wave of attackers subsided, either dead or regrouping, Alaric heard the single vampire who was actually on their side shout Serai’s name.

“That’s Daniel,” Quinn said. “What happened?”

“Serai has fallen,” Alaric said grimly. “Whether from wounds or from too-ambitious use of her magic after eleven millennia of stasis sleep, I cannot tell from here.”

Daniel flew through the air toward Serai and landed with one foot on each side of her waist, standing over her prone body. He snarled something at her and then slashed his crossed daggers at an attacking vampire with such preternatural speed that even Alaric almost didn’t see him do it.

He saw the vamp’s head roll across the ground, though.

“We have to help them,” Quinn said, and she started to run.

Alaric did not waste a single breath arguing with her. He simply followed her.

Protected her.

Until someone else screamed, and Quinn skidded to a halt so abruptly that he nearly knocked her over.

“The tiger is down,” someone cried out, anguish raw in her voice.

“Jack? Jack!” Quinn shouted his name and changed course. Alaric knew that if Jack were killed, Quinn might not survive it. The shifter and Quinn had fought the rebellion together for long years, as close friends and powerful allies.

But they’d never been lovers. Or so Alaric hoped, but doubts stalked him some days with caustic thoughts. Thoughts he only wrestled with in the deepest reaches of the dark, when nightmares donned their garments and walked the surfaces of mortal minds.

He knew that Jack loved her. That was hard enough to accept.

He shook his mind free of mental meanderings as they reached Jack, and Quinn collapsed down to her knees on the cold, rocky ground and fell on top of the blood-soaked tiger.

“Jack!” she screamed, over and over and over, like a hammer beating at the fragile bulwarks of Alaric’s sanity. “Save him. You have to save him.”

Alaric called to Poseidon to lend him the magic he would need to heal the dying tiger. He threw his head back, closed his eyes, and strained every muscle and tendon as he forced his body to hold power beyond measure. He turned to Jack and thrust the power into the tiger’s body, only to have it slam back into him in a vicious backlash that knocked him off his feet and smashed him to the ground.

Alaric could heal nearly any wound, but even he, high priest of the sea god himself, could not retrieve those who had gone past the gates of death. Now it only remained to destroy the woman he loved. He drew in a deep breath, in spite of the acrid scents of battle, bile, and blood that infused the air.

“I’m sorry, Quinn. He’s dead.”

* * *

As the rebel fighters who were still capable of walking drew near, Quinn screamed her denial and threw her body over Jack, as if to protect him from the Reaper’s merciless gaze. But death came to all mortals—even Atlanteans—and Alaric’s only thought now was to remove her from this place before their enemies returned. He met Daniel’s gaze and realized that the vampire was experiencing Quinn’s anguish through the blood bond, even as Daniel held a semiconscious Serai in his arms.

“I cannot help her,” Daniel said quietly, his face grim.

“We must leave before they return. We’ve lost more than half of our fighters, and I have no idea what reserves of soldiers they can call upon.”

Alaric crouched down next to Quinn. “You can’t stay here. You know Jack wouldn’t have wanted it,” he said, touching her arm.

“No, leave me alone!” She wrenched away from him, but then grabbed his hand and pulled it toward Jack’s prone form.

“Wait. You can heal him,” she said imploringly. “You healed me before. I’ve seen you heal lots of people. You can do it. Fix him.”

“He’s gone, Quinn. I can heal grievous wounds, it is true, and you know I would do anything for you, but I cannot heal death. Only the gods can do that.”

Quinn screamed again, tears rolling, unheeded, down her face; sorrow pouring forth from a wellspring too deep to be denied.

Serai, conscious now but still in Daniel’s arms, suddenly spoke. “He’s not gone,” she said, and icy chills chased each other down Alaric’s spine at the sound of her magic-drenched voice. “He’s almost gone, but a small part of him remains.”

Alaric stared at her and raised his hands as if to block any attack Serai might try. She made a dismissing motion and ignored him, focused entirely on Quinn and Jack.

“Put me down. There next to Jack,” Serai said to Daniel, who obeyed instantly.

Alaric’s eyes narrowed. Ally Daniel might be, but a primal wariness in Alaric warned him against allowing a vampire so near to an Atlantean princess. It was, however, a problem for another time.

Serai gently nudged Quinn to one side and lay across Jack’s body, but Quinn shoved her away.

“No! What are you doing? Get off him!”

Serai turned to Alaric and spoke to him through the Atlantean mental pathway.

She must let me try to reach him—I believe a tendril of his essence remains on this side of death’s gate.

It took only a moment for Alaric to recognize the deep magic in Serai’s aura, and he gently pulled Quinn back and away from Jack.

“Give her a chance, Quinn. The ancients had magic we have long forgotten.”

Quinn trembled in his arms as Serai ran gentle hands across the tiger’s bloody fur. The princess began to sing wordlessly before turning to Quinn.

“Part of him lives, but only his animal side is still—barely—on this side of the river of death. I can call to the tiger that is Jack and help him come back, but his human side is almost certainly lost forever.”

Quinn’s suspicion all but radiated out from her body. “What are you?”

“I am Serai of Atlantis, and the Emperor gifted me with ancient magic not seen on this world since before my continent dove beneath the oceans,” Serai responded, silvery light shimmering around her. “I gift you his choice, as another once gifted me the choice of life or death for one I loved. Shall I let him seek out his ancestors in the afterlife or do you wish him to live, though it be perhaps only a half life?”

“I choose life,” Quinn said fiercely. “You make him live, do you hear me? No matter what it takes. Make at least part of him live, and I can find the rest of him somehow. Someday. You make him live.”

Serai began to sing, and currents of magic danced around her in a ballet of delicate power so intricate and