Atlantis Rising

'Rise, you pathetic sack of worm dung. What I would have you do is track it down and find these Atlanteans who dare to disturb the elements.' Rage fired her eyes to a flaming red and she barely felt the blood trickling down her face from her retinas.

'And take Drakos with you. I think he may have some of the sense that you so clearly lack.'

'But—'

She stilled, and the air in the chamber dropped to a temperature frigid enough to freeze human blood. So. This was what rage felt like. It had been centuries since she'd elevated her mood beyond lethargy.

'You question me?' she asked, her voice a whisper of torrid death.

'Never,' he gasped, pulling himself off the floor.

'Find the Atlanteans. Now. And I may yet let you live.'

Ven drove the last hundred yards or so with the lights off, burning up the street. Atlantean night vision was an asset sometimes.

Justice was out the door before Ven could shove the gearshift into park. Bastien and Alexios were out of the backseat on his heels.

Ven jumped out, looked up at the sound of wind rushing over his head. It was Christophe, determined to travel via mist, though his strength and speed were no match for Conlan and Alaric.

Ven nodded. He understood pride.

'Conlan!' Justice's voice rang out, and Ven started running.

Damn it. Not his brother. Not again.

He pounded up to the group of warriors as Justice pulled Conlan to his feet.

'Are you harmed?'

Conlan glanced at him, shook his head, sucking in air. 'No, but I'm going to kick Alaric's glowy green ass for him when I get my hands on him. Bastard magicked me out of his way to get to the Trident. Wouldn't wait for backup.'

Christophe shimmered into form beside them, face rapt, staring toward the ugly steel-and-block building on the other side of the field. 'It's the Trident,' he breathed. 'It's singing. I've never felt such power.'

Face transfixed, Christophe stumbled off in the direction of the building, unheeding of Ven's call to stop. Bastien stepped in front of him and casually popped him in the jaw, nearly knocking the warrior off his feet.

Blinking, eyes beginning to register his surroundings, Christophe rubbed his jaw and scowled up at Bastien. 'What in the nine hells did you do that for?'

Bastien grinned. 'You've had that coming for a while. Oh, yeah, and you were in some kind of trance, too.'

Conlan strode forward. 'Enough. We need to fan out and figure out what we're getting ourselves into. What Alaric is likely in the middle of already. If there are any sentries, take care of them. Quietly.'

Bastien drew his daggers. 'Quiet is my middle name, my lord. We're golden.'

Christophe snorted. 'Ugly is your middle name.'

Alexios started forward, rammed his shoulder against Christophe as he passed him. 'Another word, and you will discover an entirely new meaning of ugly, shit for brains,' he growled.

With hand gestures, Conlan motioned Justice to take point toward the left and Alexios to do the same toward the right. He went straight up the middle, muttering a quick prayer to Poseidon that Alaric would hold off another damn minute.

That was when the windows of the building shattered.

Brennan's head jerked up. 'Someone approaches.' His hands went to the weapons that were never far from his hands.

Riley had noticed they were all like that. Even in bed with her, Conlan's daggers had been on a table within reach.

Her cheeks turned pink as she realized she was, for about the fiftieth time in the past hour, thinking about Conlan naked. Sheesh, she was turning into a guy, with sex, sex, sex on her brain. Next she'd start scratching her crotch and develop a driving need to play fantasy football.

'It's probably the pizza guy,' she said. 'Yippee for on-time delivery. Let me grab my wallet.'

Brennan and Denal both stood to accompany her. She planted her fists on her hips. 'It's the pizza guy. Who is probably some skinny high school kid who will pee in his pants if you two come to the door looking like Conan the Atlantean. Okay?'

The doorbell rang, and Brennan shook his head. 'You will not go alone.'

She appealed to his logic. 'Look, if you scare the guy, he'll have some big story to tell back at the pizza place, right? Do you really want the address and phone number of your so-called safe house to be stored in the computer system of people who think a drag-dealing biker gang lives here?'

Denal drew his sword, all 'I'm the warrior, and you're the poor defenseless maiden' attitude.

Riley rolled her eyes. 'Brennan? You're the older and wiser, right? Don't I make sense?'

The doorbell rang again.

Finally Brennan nodded. 'You may go. I will stand behind the door as you effect the transaction.'

'Fine. Let's go before my pepperoni gets cold.'

She paused the movie—you had to love Fay Wray—and pulled her wallet out of her jacket on the way. Brennan handed her some folded bills.

'You will not pay for our food, Lady Riley. Although we thank you for the offer.'

She shrugged, let him put the money in her hand. 'Okay. Maybe being a royal warrior pays better than being a social worker?'

Brennan positioned himself behind the door, moving an umbrella out of the way. 'Do Atlanteans really need umbrellas? I thought you guys liked water,' she teased, hoping Denal would start talking about the dome again.

But Denal merely grinned and shook his head, lurking behind the closet door. She glanced down at the wad of bills. 'Sheesh, we don't actually need a couple of hundred dollars for pizza. The guy would get a heck of a tip!'

Laughing, she pulled open the door, still separating the bills. 'Come on in, dude, how much is—'

And was knocked backward onto the floor by the first of a swarm of hissing vampires.

Alaric faced Reisen across the heads of the cowering humans, wanting to vomit at the sacrilege of seeing the Trident in this dismal place.

With this thieving bastard.

The concussion of his first blast of energy had bounced off a circle of power surrounding the Trident and its bearer. Yet even as the Trident protected Reisen, its siren call sang ever more urgent in his head.

Rescue me, priest. Take me back to the temple of my god.

The power in it, amped up beyond any he'd known before, scorched him even while it seduced. Power beyond imagining.

And Reisen had only added the first jewel.

Yes, only the first. Restore me to my glory, Alaric, and glory and power will be yours beyond measure.

For the span of a mere whisper of thought, Alaric's thoughts turned to Quinn. But she could never be his. If power would be his only mistress, he would ride its heat.

He raised his arms, levitated into the air, and floated over the bodies of the warriors who'd fallen at his first blast.

'I'm coming for what is rightfully mine, Mycenaean,' he called, his voice deep and resonating with the power he channeled.

'Yours? You claim much for yourself, priest. The Trident belongs to Poseidon. You are merely his servant,' Reisen sneered. 'Or do you aspire to godhood now that Conlan is dead?'

'Conlan lives, fool. He is even now on his way to defeat your pathetic force—what is left of you after the shapeshifters defeated you yesterday.'

'You lie!' Reisen roared. 'You would lie about your dead prince in pursuit of your own power?'

Conlan's voice cut through the hum of gathering power. 'It seems the rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.'

Reisen jerked his head toward his very alive prince. Shock must have loosened his grasp, for his hands