Atlantis Rising

locate. I had hoped this one would—'

Barrabas cut him off. 'You question me, Drakos?'

Though he had been unusually hard on telepaths this past year. His lusts for blood and flesh were rising, not abating, as he grew older and stronger, and something about hearing his victim's tormented thoughts through the telepathic link was unbearably succulent.

If only empaths still existed. To actually feel the sheep's pain as he inflicted it… he shuddered in simple ecstasy at the thought.

No other had survived as long as he—there was none Barrabas could ask to learn if he would face even more ravenous hungers as more time passed. Perhaps he was destined to become more of an animal than the shape- shifters he planned to destroy.

Shaking off his black thoughts, he led Drakos out of the chamber, glancing back at his women, who were frantically lapping at the congressional fountain of blood. 'And get my secretary. I have a new proposal to make in regard to that last bill that got filibustered. I think the rest of the Congress may find it more… palatable… now.'

He stopped at the door and jerked his head toward the remains of his most determined opponents on the Hill. 'Then get someone to take out the trash.'

Chapter 8

Conlan inhaled a deep breath, sure that Riley's scent lingered in the air surrounding him. He could taste her in his mouth—her warmth and sweetness. Still feel the imprint of her silken skin on his hands, on his hardened and aching body. He could still sense the emotions she was broadcasting so loudly.

Everything in him demanded that he go after her. Need bordering on obsession swamped him, but centuries of training rose to override his instincts. He must face and analyze the threat. He'd never experienced anything like that wave of weakness. It had passed in minutes, but who knew if it could come back?

Also, what the hells had caused it? Was it from sharing her emotions?

By Poseidon's balls, it was like nothing he'd ever heard about in all of the histories of his people. Nothing he'd ever been warned against.

He needed to identify the cause of the weakness, so that he could prevent it. Defeat it. As Alaric loved to proclaim, knowledge is power.

He reached out for his brother on their shared mind path.

Ven?

The voice came immediately in his head, ringing with fury and—better hidden but still evident—concern. Nearly there, my brother.

The duty ingrained in him after so many years battled to regain control of his mind. His duty was to recover the Trident. Finally ascend to the throne that he'd avoided thinking about for the past two centuries. Lead his people.

A future king didn't abandon his duty to follow a woman.

He laughed, humorless. Yeah, duty. Because just what Atlantis needs sitting on the throne after my father's half millennium of perfect rule is a fucked-up head case who couldn't even escape from a vamp.

His jaw tightened, and he paced circles in the sand. Not that Riley—or any woman—deserved to be burdened with him, either.

His thoughts flashed to Anubisa. What if pain had ruined him? What if sex for him would now always be tainted, twisted?

Wrong?

What did he have to offer any woman? He must be rational.

Right. Except rationality was fucking impossible. His body tightened further, painfully, just at the thought of Riley's hair slipping through his hands like the finest Atlantean silk. She hadn't felt wrong. Nothing about her, about them together, had felt anything but right.

Too right. How could it be so right to hold a woman he'd just met?

A human!

Closing his eyes, Conlan breathed slowly in through his nose and called on the discipline of his training to dampen his raging need. He was high prince, and he knew his duty.

Yeah, well, screw duty. Ven has five minutes, and then I'm going after her. I'm going to make sure she's safe before I go recover the Trident.

A swirling fountain of water shot up into the air, carrying Alaric to the sand. Dramatic as always.

The priest's midnight-black hair swirled around his shoulders, reminding Conlan of the stories told about him. Alaric as the dark guardian of Poseidon's rages. The people invoked the high priest's name to terrify children into minding their parents.

Conlan scowled, for the first time wondering how Alaric felt about being made into the stuff of nightmares. The glimmer of sympathy vanished, though, when the priest started laughing.

'My patience is damn near at an end, so laugh at your own risk,' he snarled, feeling like a fool, trying for dignity when he'd recently been sprawled in the dirt.

Knowing that Alaric knew it.

Alaric grinned at him. 'You don't appreciate my fun, Conlan? I spend so little time on land, I deserve to enjoy it, don't I?' He strode forward and held out a hand. Wearing form-fitting black pants and a black silk shirt nearly identical to Conlan's own, Alaric could have been his twin.

His evil twin.

Still, Conlan didn't have time for childish sulking. He grasped the outstretched hand, knowing Alaric would read him more easily through touch.

Needing to know what had happened to him, even as he resented the intrusion into his head.

'A fountain of water? Your childish games bring unwanted attention to us, priest. Be advised that I prefer it that you stop,' he growled, resorting to formal speak.

Alaric grinned again, clearly unrepentant, and released his hand. 'Uh-oh. You're calling me priest, instead of Alaric. That must mean you're trying on your kingly ways, old friend.'

Then the grin faded, and the illusion of amiability vanished with it. A dark and lethal predator remained, ice- green eyes glowing with power. 'Be advised that I do what I wish. Poseidon's high priest answers to none but the sea god himself.'

Before Conlan could frame a retort, he felt, rather than heard, his brother shoot up through the water, barely breaking the surface. He turned to watch Ven stride through the sand, the coppery blades of his orichalcum daggers unsheathed and held at the ready.

Ven held the title of King's Vengeance by heredity and by battle right. No warrior was more skilled. Nobody could kick vamp or shape-shifter ass better. Which was a handy trait in the man whose sworn duty it was to protect his brother the high prince.

Except for those times when Conlan sped off for the surface without waiting for either his brother or his elite guard.

As he'd never done before. Something to prove, much?

Conlan dismissed the idea of arguing with Alaric and turned to his brother. Ven was going to be pissed.

He had a right to be.

Ven stormed up the beach toward him. 'What in the name of the nine hells were you thinking? Are you out of your damn mind? We're facing a threat that we don't even understand, and you pick now to go all Rambo?'

Conlan strained to keep the snarl out of his own voice, and almost succeeded.

Almost.

'Do you offer battle challenge, my brother?' He got right up in Ven's face, in spite of the fact that his baby