Atlantis Rising

sound.

She was going to die.

She choked on a laugh. Maybe they'd put her in a drawer at the morgue next to Morris.

A voice—a silken melody of sound—rang inside of her head.

The undead will never have you, little aknasha. You are too valuable to us. We need to figure out just how you acquired this interesting talent.

The velvet caress of the voice caught at her mental defenses, trying to insinuate itself into her mind.

Fascinated in spite of the situation, she tried a mental push of her own. Who are you? How can you talk to me like that? No vampire or shape-shifter has that power, do they?

She frantically scanned the skies, afraid of an attack from above, then looked behind her at the thugs.

Great. I get trapped in some mind-control games and they catch me. Brilliant, Riley. Why not just give up and lie down now?

The voice sounded in her mind again, gentleness gone, implacable ice in its place. Do not worry about those fools behind you. I'm in the mood to deliver a little death.

'Death?' Even as a small, dark corner of Riley's soul stood up and cheered at the idea, her conscience wouldn't go for it.

She'd seen enough death for one night.

She'd seen enough death for one lifetime.

'No. Whoever you are, no killing. Please, just help me get away,' she said out loud, realizing she was probably bargaining with a freaking bloodsucker.

Stand aside. Now. They're already dead. I don't like vermin who prey on helpless women. His melodic tones wrapped around her senses, raising her nerve endings to heightened alert, even as she bristled at his arrogant presumption.

You picked the wrong woman to order around, bud. And if you are some kind of preternatural badass, you picked the wrong woman to try to eat, too.

She whirled around in midstride, dropping into a defensive crouch, wondering how she could possibly defend herself against all four of them.

One of them with enough undead strength to pick up a house.

So fierce! Eat you? I'm no vamp, fierce one. But I must admit, for some reason the idea of… tasting you… isn't making me all that unhappy. And I haven't even seen your face yet. So who's using the mind control here?

His silent laughter insinuated itself into her mind, simmering with… sex. A wave of heat washed through her, over her, around her.

'I hope you're not waiting for an answer to that one,' she muttered, feeling her face flame and glad for the darkness. 'What kind of moron feels sexy when her life is in danger? Next I'll be putting on a slinky nightgown and going down in the basement with the serial-killing hockey players.'

She backed away from all of them—mind-control boy's likely direction and the thugs. But one woman didn't have a chance against all four.

Riley watched, fists clenched so hard her nails bit into her palms, as the drunks moved to surround her. The sour reek of their unwashed bodies tripled the nausea she was already fighting, and she gagged as her stomach tried to rebel.

She'd never be able to defeat all three of them, and escape was impossible, now. Not only from them, but from the stranger whispering in her mind. But she could at least punch and kick the crap out of any body part that came in reach.

They wouldn't get her without a fight.

Be still. I'll deal with these criminals. And then, aknasha, we'll have a little chat about how you transmit emotions through the mind probe. Don't even think about trying to get away from me.

Riley fell back a step as the stocky, muscle-bound man in front of her reached forward as if to grab her breast. She could smell the fumes on his breath—beer and the sour tang of something stronger.

'Come on, baby, give us a little kiss.' He puckered up and made a loud smooching sound, and the other thugs howled with laughter.

The nausea rose again in her throat at the idea of any of them touching her. She feinted back, then swung her foot with every ounce of rage inside of her right for the bastard's crotch.

And it connected, hard.

He howled, clutched at his groin, and dropped to the sand like a big, ugly rock. Riley stumbled back, and the thug behind her grabbed her shoulders, his dirty fingers digging into her skin through her light jacket. She hissed in pain, and an answering hiss of sheer male fury scorched through her brain. From behind her, someone roared his outrage to the skies.

Not someone—him.

The man holding her gasped and backed away from her.

She whipped her head from side to side, trying to keep an eye on all three of them at once.

At least the guy on the ground didn't seem to be going anywhere. He lay there, moaning and blubbering in a funny voice. Score one for her, at least.

And then she saw him. Black shadow coalesced into a tall figure running toward her so quickly it seemed as though his feet never touched the ground.

Power, raging and furious, swept over her. Her skin iced at the feel of it.

She was either saved, or she was utterly doomed.

Chapter 5

Conlan fought to breathe, nearly blinded by the red haze of rage that seared through him, choking him, threatening to obscure his vision. A berserker rage.

He welcomed it. Bring it on.

Raising his arms, he channeled the water from the sea. It funneled up into the air in shards, turning to ice as it rose. He shot the ice daggers at his targets—arrows from Poseidon's bow.

The men fell back, screaming, as razor-edged death sliced into their flesh.

'You don't touch her. Ever' he snarled, as he raised his arms in demand. Poseidon's oceans dominated the world.

Poseidon's Warriors dominated the ocean.

He was high prince and the first of the Warriors, and he would destroy them for daring to touch her.

The surf boiled at the edge of the sand, crests of waves rising to impossible heights, seeming almost to seek their prey. Conlan slashed his arms down, aiming his focus. He commanded the frenzy of waves to rise, higher and higher.

His fury swelled, threatening his control. The red haze spread further over his vision. To have the ability to strike back again after so many years of powerlessness…

Anubisa's mocking laughter sounded in his brain.

He was a fucking head case.

Then a touch—inside him. A touch of courage, of defiance.

Light to his dark. Compassion to his mercilessness.

His gaze swung to the woman crouched down in the sand, hands still up to defend herself from the bastards who'd attacked her. In the midst of it all, she'd spared the energy to respond to his madness.

He would smash them for her. Drive the water to strip the flesh from their bones.

Enjoy every last minute of it.

'No! What are you? Stop! You'll kill us!' she screamed up at him, defiant still, in spite of the terror she projected.

Beyond reason, beyond compassion, he raised his arms again, then slashed them down, commanding the