Atlantis Rising

life. Didn't he?

It was enough to split a man's skull open.

Clenching the sheets in his fists, he fought for composure. For some semblance of royal countenance to overlay the ragged insanity threatening to eat through his mind.

Through his gut.

To his soul.

His heart was long since gone. Shattered at the end of a whip, while forced to hear silken words whispering of the atrocities they'd heaped upon his lady mother.

Anubisa and her apostates of Algolagnia. They'd murdered his mother an inch at a time, and they'd enjoyed it. Worse, they'd gotten off on it. A deep shudder wracked through him, remembering how Anubisa had pleasured herself to orgasm in front of him while she told him stories of torturing his parents.

Again and again and again.

Anubisa was going to die.

They were all going to die.

'Conlan?' Alaric's voice almost physically wrenched him out of his memories of death and blood. Alaric. He'd said hours later…

'Hours? And here I am,' Conlan said, remembering. 'She let me go. She knew, Alaric. She knew.'

His final day. His final hour.

'Oh, princeling, you have brought me such pleasure,' she murmured in his ear. Then she slid down his naked body and delicately licked at the sweat, the blood, and the other, thicker fluids that pooled to drip down his thighs. 'But I think you must needs return to your people. You have a delightful surprise waiting for you. And, in your current state, you're no longer any fun.'

Standing up, she'd waved one of her attendants over. 'Twelve of my personal guard. Twelve, you understand? Don't befooled by this temporary weakness. The brat prince of Atlantis lias… hidden strengths.' She'd run a finger down his cock, laughing as he'd tried to flinch away from her.

Then she'd flicked her gaze back to her attendant. 'Throw him out.'

Still naked, long, curling hair matted with his blood, she'd stalked toward the doorway of the cell that had served as his prison for seven years. Then she'd stopped and looked back at him over her shoulder. 'Your bloodline amuses me, princeling. Tell your brother that I come for him next.'

He'd cursed, then, finding his voice again. Called her names that he hadn't even known he knew. Until her guards came, and one of them demonstrated that he'd taken offense by way of a club to Conlan's head.

He shook off the image in his head. He was free of Anubisa's hell.

He would never be free of the memories.

He might never be entirely sane again.

But he was Conlan of Atlantis, and he had returned. His people wanted a king, not a broken failure of a prince.

Glancing across at Alaric, he saw the concern reflected on the priest's face. Maybe even Alaric wanted a king, too.

Enough of the self-indulgence of dreams of vengeance —and on to the reality.

'We're not boys causing mischief at the running of the bulls festival anymore, are we?' Conlan said, a shadow of remembered freedom crossing his mind. A time before the demands of being his father's son. Before the demands on Alaric as Poseidon's anointed.

Alaric tilted his head, expression wary, and then he slowly shook his head. 'Not for many long years, Conlan.'

'Too long,' Conlan replied. 'Far too long.' He swung his legs off the healing table and rose to stand.

'Childhood may be outgrown, but loyalty never will be. You are my prince, but—more than that—you are my friend. Never doubt it,' Alaric said.

Conlan read the truth in Alaric's eyes and felt better for it. He held out his hand and they clasped arms, an unspoken renewal of friendship that maybe both of them needed.

Then he stretched, pleased to find his body in working order again. He'd need every ounce of energy. 'So both my ascension and my matrimonial obligations to a long-dead virgin are delayed,' he said drily. 'I find myself unable to summon much concern about the latter.'

'Not dead. Merely sleeping, awaiting your need. It is your destiny,' Alaric reminded him.

As if he needed reminding. As if he hadn't had that particular duty drummed into his head for hundreds of years. Love didn't figure into the breeding patterns of the Warriors of Poseidon; most especially not into those of royalty.

He scowled at the whimsy. Love. A myth to coddle children, at best. 'I'm out of here. I'm going after that bastard Reisen. I will retrieve the Trident, Priest. And justice will be meted out to the House of Mycenae.'

Alaric grinned at him, giving Conlan a glimpse of the boy he'd once been. 'We leave now. Ven is preparing for the journey. So much for the welcome-home processional.'

Conlan tried to return the smile, but his mouth had lost its memory of how to smile, after so many years of grimacing in agony. Years of howling out his rage and despair.

Alaric raised one eyebrow, his mouth flattening into a grim line. 'That's an… interesting… expression. You'll have to tell me one day exactly what they did to you.'

'No,' Conlan answered. 'I won't.'

Chapter 2

Virginia Beach

'Dina, think about your baby.' Riley Dawson crouched down next to the room's single window, hands loose and open at her sides.

Nonthreatening, nonthreatening, nonthreatening.

Riley forced her facial muscles to relax into an expression of calm, as she watched her massively pregnant sixteen-year-old client jam the lethal end of the very large and very ugly pistol farther down the unconscious man's throat. His skin was pasty white, but she could see his chest move in shallow breaths.

He's not dead. Let's keep him that way, Riley.

'I'm thinking about my baby, Riley. Stay out of it! No way my baby is gonna grow up with a skanky alley cat like this for a daddy.' Dina's gaze darted around the room, skittered off Riley's face, then back to Morris, lying still and pale on the edge of the bed.

Riley could see that his chest was moving. He was still breathing, in spite of the force of the gun crashing into the back of his skull that she'd witnessed as she'd walked in the open door for her monthly visit. But she'd been in enough rooms crowded with the noises of EMT personnel and the smell of death to know that a life could end in an instant. And Dina's hand was trembling on that gun.

'Dina, listen to me. I'm sorry you found Morris with another girl. He made a terrible mistake. I'm sure he's very sorry about it. But you have to think about your baby. She needs you, Dina. If you hurt him, you'll go to jail, and then who will raise your baby? You know your mother can't do it.' A cramping pain burned through Riley's leg muscles, protesting at squatting on the floor for so long. She shifted a little, careful not to make any sudden or abrupt movements.

Dina barked out a laugh that sounded rusty from disuse. 'That crack ho? She ain't no mother. She ain't getting near my baby.'

'That's right. You know you're the best person in the world to take care of your baby. Have you thought of a