Atlantis Rising

be tired of wearing the same clothes. Stopped by your place to see if anybody unfriendly was hanging out there and brought you some stuff to wear, some of your girly crap, whatever.'

Conlan started to smile and took the bag from him. 'So I see Riley has the same effect on you that she does on Denal, baby brother.'

Ven narrowed his eyes. 'Yeah, well, don't forget I can kick your ass twice a day and three times on Fridays, old man.'

Riley jumped out of the bed, wrapped in the sheet, and rushed over to them. 'Thank you, thank you, thank you! I was desperate to get my hands on some clean clothes. You're the best!'

She slipped between Conlan and Ven and stood on tiptoes to press a quick kiss to Ven's cheek, then snatched the bag out of Conlan's hand. 'Thank you so much! Now if you two will excuse me, I'm going to get dressed so we can figure out how to recover the Trident and save the world.'

Ven and Conlan both stood there, gaping, as she hurried to the bathroom, wrapped up like a mummy and trailing the end of the sheet behind her.

'A little pillow talk?' Ven asked, grinning at his flustered brother. 'By the way, I didn't see any signs of vamps posted at Riley's house. They must have been after us.'

'Thanks, Ven. I don't know what I'd do if…' He paused, eyes narrowing, then shook his head. 'Riley is the most amazing woman—no, the most amazing human—no, not even that. She's the most amazing person I have ever encountered. She accepts whatever is thrown at her and moves to conquer it.'

Ven shoved his hands in his pockets, a tendril of concern snaking through him. 'So, she's pretty amazing. And she also seems to have conquered you, brother. Have you told her about your destined queen yet?'

Conlan clenched his jaw. 'No. I don't—No. But I need to talk to Alaric, Ven. Things are going to have to change.'

Ven said nothing, not sure of what words would accomplish. Things were going to change, that was for damn sure. He just wasn't sure whether or not that was a good thing.

Riley dug into the bag, thrilled to see that Ven had known enough about women to bring an assortment of her toiletries. Now for clothes.

She pulled out a handful of silk and leather.

He had to be kidding.

This was what Atlantean warriors considered useful battle gear for empaths? Silk camisoles and her one and only miniskirt?

She rolled her eyes. The skirt was the only leather in her closet, so biker-look man must have thought it was the thing to wear. At least he'd shoved her favorite pair of boots and a blue sweater in there, too, so she wouldn't freeze to death.

By the time she dressed, Conlan was gone. She spent about five seconds thinking about how she so didn't want to face the warriors, when everybody would know what she and Conlan had been up to all night, but the scent of coffee overrode any shyness and she wandered down to the kitchen, chin raised.

Only to find the room empty. But a full pot of coffee—fresh, from the smell of it—sat there tempting her. She selected a muffin from the enormous, half-empty box on the table to go with it and sat down at the table, prepared to enjoy a quiet breakfast before she saved the world.

Heh. Social worker takes on the Primus. Film at eleven.

'Of my detached body parts, most likely,' she muttered.

Somebody cleared his throat behind her, and she nearly dropped her coffee mug.

'I beg your pardon, Lady Riley?'

She turned to find Denal standing in the doorway to the hall. 'Nothing. Just mumbling to myself, which is never a good sign. Come in. Do you want some coffee?'

He bowed to her and, oddly enough, it didn't faze her. She must be getting used to it. Great.

Add swelled head to the list of things she needed to worry about.

'No, thank you, but I would avail myself of another of those blueberry muffins, if I may?'

She laughed. 'Denal, seriously, we have to work on your language. Bring it into this century. And, sure, avail away. Pull up a chair.'

He bowed again and took a seat across the table from her, back to the wall. Then he took a muffin and sank his teeth into it, a look of bliss spreading over his face.

She grinned; she couldn't help it. He looked like a nine-year-old kid like that. Which made her wonder. 'Denal, exactly how old are you? You guys keep throwing out words like 'centuries' when you're talking about stuff, but I had too much to wrap my brain around to go there before.'

He swallowed and wiped his mouth with a napkin, then looked at her seriously. 'I am soon to celebrate the anniversary of my birth, Lady Riley. Do you celebrate such times?'

'Yes, with cake and ice cream and balloons. And, please, just Riley, okay? So how many candles will be on your cake?'

He looked puzzled. 'Candles?'

'One candle per year. So my next cake will have twenty-eight candles, which is way too close to thirty for my liking,' she said, shuddering at the thought. 'And you?'

He grinned at her. 'I am afraid my cake would give rise to a conflagration, Lady… Riley. My candles would number two and twenty.'

She laughed. 'Right, junior. Twenty-two is hardly enough for a conflagration. You couldn't even roast a marshmallow with twenty-two candles.'

Denal finished his muffin and selected another, then shook his head. 'Two hundred and twenty. Perhaps enough to roast a chicken or two.'

She blinked. 'Oh. Well. You look great for your age,' she said weakly.

Two hundred twenty years old? And he was the young one? But…

'Denal, how old is Conlan?'

He looked surprised. 'He has not shared that with you? But I thought you and he… Um, rather—'

It was her turn to smile, even though she could feel her cheeks turning pink. 'It's okay, Denal. We're still… feeling our way through things.'

He looked down at the table, which suddenly must have become fascinating, since he wouldn't raise his gaze to meet hers. 'I offer my apologies. I did not mean to cause you discomfort.'

'Trust me, this is nothing. You should have been around for some of the things my sister did to embarrass me when we were kids.'

He finally looked up, mischief gleaming in his eyes. 'I was the youngest of eight, and have seven older sisters. I can imagine full well how things must have been between you. Mine used to dress me up like a doll and make me sit through interminable tea parties.'

'Oh, I am so gonna use that against you, kid,' Bastien's good-natured rumble of a voice cut through the room. 'Maybe we can set up a tea party for you on our next mission?'

Denal jumped to his feet, crumbs dropping to the floor. 'If you ever tell anyone that story, I'll—I'll—'

Bastien laughed. 'Might want to stop there, until you grow a little bit, youngling. Besides, I'm tired from being out on patrol all night. Wouldn't be a fair fight, would it?'

Riley fought to keep from grinning at the idea of Denal going up against Bastien. The older warrior towered over him by nearly a foot and was as broad as the side of a small hill.

But the conversation brought her back to her earlier point. 'Good morning, Bastien. So, if Denal is a youngling, how old are you?'

'Good morn, my lady. I have nearly four hundred years, praise be to Poseidon.' Bastien ambled over to the coffee and poured the rest of the pot into an enormous mug that looked like a doll cup in his hand.

'And Conlan?' she asked, not sure she even wanted to know the answer.

Bastien cocked his head and gave her a quizzical grin. 'Prince Conlan is merely a few weeks away from the age of his ascension to the throne, of course. He will celebrate five hundred years on that day, when he meets his