Heart of Atlantis

private wedding reception just for the newly wedded couples and a few close friends.

“Hit it, Marcus,” Ven called out, and Quinn was surprised to see the very relaxed head of the palace guard leaning down to an enormous array of musical equipment.

The silken tone of Elvis Presley’s voice soared over the room, and Quinn didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when the familiar lyrics began. “You got Elvis, after all.”

“I couldn’t help falling in love with you, either,” Alaric told her solemnly. “I tried to fight it; I never believed I could deserve you. But love had different plans for me than a lifetime of solitude and loneliness.”

A blast of salt-drenched sea air blew Quinn from Alaric’s arms, and it was their only warning before Poseidon appeared in the center of the room, next to the enormous seven-tiered cake.

AND YET YOU DID NOT ASK ME ABOUT MY PLANS FOR YOUR LIFETIME, ALTHOUGH YOU ARE HIGH PRIEST OF MY TEMPLE.

When Poseidon’s voice roared through the room, the speakers exploded in pops of electrical sparks and smoke.

“I resign,” Alaric said, crossing to Quinn and taking her hand. “Find someone else to do the job.”

Poseidon, who’d decided to appear in the guise of a ten-foot-tall Atlantean warrior, sneered at Alaric but then appeared to be distracted by the cake. He lifted the entire top tier and put it in his mouth, and a blissful smile spread across his face.

I DO NOT UNDERSTAND THIS HUMAN FASCINATION WITH CAKE, BUT I APPROVE.

“You can’t—” Quinn began, but he pointed one giant finger at her, and she found she couldn’t speak.

DO NOT TELL ME WHAT I CANNOT DO, HUMAN. YOU HAVE ALREADY RUINED THE MOST POWERFUL HIGH PRIEST IN ATLANTEAN HISTORY WITH YOUR SEDUCTIVE WAYS.

Quinn didn’t know whether to be appalled or amused at “seductive ways.”

Alaric stepped between them, powering up his magic until he shone as bright as the noon sun. He waved a hand at Quinn, and Poseidon’s hold on her broke.

“She ruined nothing,” Alaric told Poseidon, his voice icy calm. “My power increased a thousandfold during the soul-meld.”

WILL YOU DEFY ME FOR HER?

Poseidon roared, and suddenly the Trident flew through the air and into his grasp. He pointed it at Alaric, and Quinn ran to put her body in front of her new husband’s.

“No,” she shouted. “No. Don’t even think about hurting him. He has been yours for hundreds of years. It’s my turn now.”

Alaric tried to push her behind him again, but she planted her feet and wouldn’t move. Poseidon glared at her, and everyone in the garden seemed to take a deep breath at once, undoubtedly waiting for him to blast her to pieces for her insolence.

Instead, the sea god started laughing. Quinn and Alaric stared at each other as Poseidon laughed, long and hard, louder and louder, until finally he slapped one hand on his enormous thigh and subsided.

I THINK THIS ONE WILL MAKE STRONG BABIES, ALARIC. IT’S ABOUT TIME YOU FOUND YOUR BALLS AND STOOD UP TO ME. YOU HAVE MY BLESSING. WHERE IS THE ALE?

With that, Poseidon turned to the fountain, pointed the Trident at it, and turned the bubbling water into ale. He snatched a punch bowl off the nearest table, dumped its contents on the grass, and scooped himself up a couple of gallons of ale, which he proceeded to down in one thirsty gulp.

KING CONLAN. YOU WILL TELL ME YOUR PLANS FOR MY ATLANTIS NOW THAT THE THREAT OF WAR BETWEEN THE GODS HAS PASSED.

As Conlan and Riley walked over to the sea god, Quinn finally let out the breath she’d been holding.

“Do you think we’re going to be okay?”

Alaric nodded, a smile playing at the edges of his lips. “I think we’re going to be better than okay. We’re going to be terrific.”

An hour or so later, after Poseidon had vanished, and they’d said their good-byes to Riley and Conlan and everyone else—with many promises to return soon—and Alaric had invested Myrken with the title of interim high priest of Poseidon, which had left the man nearly reeling with shock, they made their way to a quiet corner of the garden and Alaric called to the portal.

“Where do you want to go first?” he asked her, pulling her into his arms and kissing her forehead, nose, and cheeks, before capturing her lips.

The portal chose that moment to appear, and a familiar voice sounded from its center. “Dude, let’s hit it.”

“Do not ever call me dude,” Alaric growled.

“Rio, I think,” Quinn said, laughing and pulling Alaric’s head down for another long, leisurely kiss. “I want to see if Alaric knows how to dance to something spicy.”

As they entered the portal and spun through the vortex toward their future, Alaric could have sworn he heard the portal laughing. He chose to ignore it.

“I am very good at naked dancing, as I have proven many times,” he murmured in her ear.

She blushed as he continued describing all the things he claimed to be very good at doing naked. Her arrogant, amazing Atlantean warrior priest.

“I will love you for the rest of my life,” she said fiercely, interrupting his naughty recitation.

As they stepped out of the portal into the hot, fragrant air of late afternoon in Rio, he flashed her one of those purely male smiles that melted her bones and made her body heat up in all the most delicious places. “And I will love you for all of eternity, mi amara, my heart.”

“That’s totally awesome, dudes,” the portal called out to them before it vanished.

Alaric narrowed his eyes. “We have got to find another way to travel,” he grumbled.

She started laughing and took his hand, and they walked forward into their future.

Together. Forever.

And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Epilogue

Chateau des Loups, in the Swiss Alps, six months later

Quinn sipped the fine cognac and sighed with pleasure. “This is the best trip we’ve taken yet.”

“You said that about Paris,” Alaric said, smiling at her over his ale. He was sure she became more beautiful every day, especially now that she actually ate on a regular basis. “Also Rio, Alaska, Fiji, London, China—am I forgetting any?”

“They were all the best trips ever,” she said happily. “Nobody needs me to tell them what to do, or figure out how to feed fifty new recruits with a budget that doesn’t stretch past macaroni and cheese, or shoot any vampires, or rescue any skunk shifters—”

“Really?” He grimaced. “Skunk shifters?”

“In the Smoky Mountains,” she said. “You wouldn’t believe—”

“I don’t want to know,” he said firmly. “Some stories are better left untold.”

She grinned. “I didn’t know you were squeamish, tough guy.”

“I simply have discriminating taste,” he said haughtily.

“And skunks don’t taste good.”

They both laughed.

She bit her lip, always a sign of nerves with her. “So you don’t ever get, I don’t know, maybe a little bored?”

He wondered how to avoid any hidden reefs in this conversation. “Well,” he said cautiously, “there are times when I wonder if I could be of use for more than vacation and leisure.”

Her eyes lit up. “Exactly! Not that we want to go back to the way things were, but maybe we could do