Atlantis Rising

bashed pretty hard in the head. Luckily, his skull is damn near as thick as yours. Plus, he's got a big-ass case of 'I failed my liege lord' going on. You may want to say something.'

Conlan clenched his jaw. 'I'm a big boy. I don't care about me. But you—all of you—need to protect Riley for me.'

Ven's mouth dropped open, then he snapped it shut. 'So. I'm gonna wanna know how this chick brought you to this state in—what?—a few hours!'

Conlan blew out a breath as they rounded the corner. 'Yeah. I'd like to know that, too.'

The six warriors lounging in the room came to various forms of attention when Conlan and Ven walked in. Justice, his ever-present sword sheathed on his back, leaned against the far wall against the Godzilla movie poster. He paused from studying the view outside the room's single window, flicked a mocking two-fingered salute Conlan's way, then turned to look outside again.

Bastien and Christophe were doing battle on the air hockey table in the corner. Bastien's huge hand swallowed the mallet he used to strike the puck. They looked up at him, but didn't stop knocking the yellow disc back and forth across the table.

Brennan muted the sound on the television, then slowly rose from the couch to stand. He gazed at Conlan, dispassionate as ever. Poseidon had cursed Brennan for a minor transgression involving a Roman senator's daughter by removing his emotions.

Except maybe having no emotions wasn't a curse, but a blessing.

Conlan wasn't entirely sure. Especially with his mind continually trying to reach out to Riley, who still lay unresponsive.

Alexios ducked his head, a new habit. Then he defiantly raised it and shook his hair away from his face. The terrible scarring caught the glow of the lamps; the light shadowing twisted ridges and valleys of flesh.

Conlan remembered how Alexios, with his dark blue eyes and long mane of brown and gold hair, had always been forced to fight off the women. His eyes returned to the scarred left side of the warrior's face. Would a woman be repelled by it or drawn to the pain haunting his eyes?

It wasn't a question Conlan would have thought to ask. Not before—not now—but for the awareness of Riley sheltered in his mind.

Conlan met Alexios's gaze. 'Never be ashamed of scars you earned defending me from Anubisa and her plague of vampire guards, my brother.'

Alexios made a sound, nearly a growl, low in his throat. 'Scars earned failing to defend you, you mean, my lord. As we failed to protect you again, tonight.'

A small sound, abruptly cut off, swung Conlan's attention around to the far corner of the large room, where he saw Denal half sitting, half reclining against the back of another couch.

'Denal, are you healed?' Conlan asked, striding over to talk to the youngest of his guard.

Denal grimaced. 'I am healed. Tired, but Healed. Except for my heart, my prince. My heart is desolate for having failed you.'

Placing his hand over his heart, Denal looked up at Conlan. 'Please take my life now.'

Conlan blinked. 'Do what!'

Ven snorted, standing just to the right and behind Conlan. 'He's read too many old scrolls. Plus, this is his first trip topside.'

Ven dropped into an easy crouch beside the younger man. 'Dude, you've got to haul your vocab into the twenty-first century.'

'Dude,' the warrior bit off. 'However you phrase it, the truth remains the same. I was nearest to Conlan when that vampire attacked him. I should have taken the blade.'

Conlan reached out to lay his hand gently on Denal's head for an instant. 'However, from Ven's account, you were battling three vampires on your own, including another one who'd tried to gut me, right? And you took an axe to the side of your head?'

Denal dropped his eyes, but nodded. 'It was only the flat end of the axe, my lord.'

Bastien interrupted, his low voice a rumble. 'Yeah, at least it was his head. Nothing important in there to damage. We're golden.'

Conlan felt the laughter rising in him at Bastien's familiar teasing, but knew Denal was far too earnest to understand that his prince wasn't laughing at him. He bit back his humor and turned a serious face to his youngest warrior. 'Thank Poseidon that it was the flat end of the axe, or your head would be split in two. And enough with the 'my lord' and 'my prince' stuff. Call me Conlan.'

He turned in time to see Justice snort and roll his eyes. 'Do you have something to say to me, Justice?'

The warrior pushed himself away from the wall, uncoiling like a leopard preparing to strike. Strange that he'd always reminded Conlan of a jungle animal. Even with the blue hair.

'Conlan, prince, whatever we call you, the fact remains—you still haven't told us what happened to you. What Anubisa did to you.'

Justice flicked his gaze down and then back up Conlan's body, his expression only the slightest fraction away from being a grave insult. 'We don't know that you haven't been… compromised. Do we?'

As one, Ven and Christophe headed for Justice. 'I'm going to kick your ass for that, blue boy,' Ven snarled.

Christophe said nothing, just raised a hand, scowling. A shimmering ball of energy coalesced in his palm.

Conlan held up a hand to stop the confrontation. 'Enough!' he commanded. 'Leave him alone. He has a point.'

Alaric's voice sounded from the doorway. 'He would have a point, if I hadn't been the one who healed you. Both now and before.'

Stalking into the room, Alaric came to a halt in the middle. 'Do any of you doubt Poseidon's powers?'

Not even Justice dared blasphemy. As one, seven heads shook from side to side.

No doubt here.

Alaric smiled that terrifying smile of his—the one that kept even the greediest Atlantean lord kicking in his full tithe to Poseidon's Temple. 'As you should not. The healing process is not simply physical. I see inside of the true intentions and darkest memories of the one being healed.'

His gaze shot to Conlan. 'Our prince is not corrupted, though any of the rest of you would have been. He is stronger than even he knows.'

Conlan broke his gaze away. The idea of Alaric sharing his memories of torture and fire wasn't exactly comforting.

'Damaged goods.'

'Warped beyond redemption.'

Anubisa was the queen of lies, and yet maybe there was the edge of truth in what she'd told him so many times.

Alaric continued. 'Left to Anubisa's delicate touch, most of you would have broken. Conlan came back to us whole. Stronger than he was before. Do not question his rule in front of me again, Lord Justice.'

Justice bowed his head. Either he agreed, or he was biding his time for challenge.

Conlan decided to worry about the latter at another time.

Alaric almost casually waved one hand, and the energy ball still glowing in Christophe's hand winked out. The warrior snatched his hand to his mouth, hissing.

'Don't play with power in front of me, little boy,' Alaric said to him. 'You refused the strictures of the Temple.'

Christophe, a good two centuries past being a boy, little or otherwise, stepped toward Alaric. Defiance outlined every inch of the tightened cords of muscle in his neck and throat.

'Poseidon's power isn't limited to those of you who let the Temple cut your balls off, priest. The power of calling water and the other elements is free to those of us who dare.'

Alaric's eyes gleamed so brightly it was as if a piercing green searchlight flashed over Christophe's face. 'I don't think you want to have a discussion about balls with one who faced the Rite of Oblivion and lived. There are no eunuchs in my temple, little boy.'

Christophe didn't back down. 'Yeah, well, the rite of acceptance as a Warrior of Poseidon is no solstice picnic.