Atlantis Rising (30 page)

He’d failed.

Reisen closed his eyes as the impact of his failure crashed over him. He was out of options and should end his own life. His death would be marked as the passing of the traitor who had destroyed the honor of the House of Mycenae.

The shouts snapped him out of his indulgence of self-pity. Wave after wave of vampires flew in through the windows to land on his warriors and the defenseless Platoists.

A full dozen headed for him.

He smiled, unsheathed his daggers. At least he’d die as a warrior and take some of the infernal bloodsuckers with him.

“Bring it on.”

Conlan thought he’d known torture before.

That was nothing compared to the pain that ripped through him at the sight of Riley’s nude and bloody body lying on the floor, Denal and Brennan sprawled out next to her. A sword, daggers, and an axe lay near them.

All of the weapons were coated in blood.

He flashed through the open door, transforming back into his body, anguish roaring up through his throat.

“Riley, no, no, no.” He fell to his knees beside her, ripping his shirt off to cover her nakedness. Then he pulled her warm body into his arms.

Her
warm
body. Afraid to believe, he held his palm over her mouth and nose, nearly touching her.

And felt her breath.

She was alive.

“She’s alive! By the gods, she’s alive.” He dropped his forehead against hers, breathed out a prayer of thanks. “You’re alive,
aknasha
. I will never ask for anything else.”

Alaric shimmered into shape beside him, scanning the room even as he crouched down next to Denal. “What happened here? Why are they unconscious? There are no wounds that I can see.”

“Bring me a blanket,” Conlan demanded. “I need to cover her. Take her to a bed.”

Alaric shook his head. “Do not move her yet. Let me check for internal injuries.” He moved closer, held a hand over Riley’s shoulder.

Conlan fought against his urge to snarl at the priest. His primal instincts had gone savage with the need to defend and protect, like an animal with its mate.

“I’m not touching her, Conlan. You need to—oh!” The priest yanked his hand away as if he’d been burned. Then he stared up at Conlan, shock widening his eyes.

“Move your shirt away from her back, Conlan. I must see her shoulder.” The utter bewilderment in Alaric’s voice persuaded Conlan to comply. He gently moved a corner of the fabric covering her.

And they both stared at the mark of the Trident, still smoking around the edges, branded into her skin.

“This is a mark I cannot heal, Conlan,” Alaric murmured.

As they stared at each other, then back at the blackened skin, Riley’s eyelashes fluttered open.

“Conlan? Alaric? Am I dead?”

 
Before he could answer her, she’d lapsed back into a deep level of unconsciousness. Alaric had been unable to bring her around from it and had suggested sleep. Conlan carried her to the bedroom and gently cleansed her legs and hands of the blood and gore that streaked them.

His hands trembled as he stroked the curve of her ankle, and he wanted to scream. Wanted to rage, destroy, murder someone or something.

Wanted to cry.

Did none of those things. Didn’t deserve to cry for her. He’d left her to be attacked. She could have been killed.

He wasn’t only worthless as a prince. He was worthless as a man.

She deserved better.

He paused, warm washcloth clenched in his hand, and gazed at her pale skin. Even now, his mind rebelled at the thought of anybody harming her. Someone was going to die.

Why had she been nude? What had they done to her?

Who was
they?

The thought of any man—or, worse, any
creature
—attacking her spiked a soul-annihilating rage through him.

But why the Trident? Alaric had said it was the priest’s mark, would say no more until Riley was awake.

But the priest had been shaken. Unsure. Almost afraid, if the harsh lines of his face were any indicator.

“Riley,” Conlan whispered, pulling the blanket over her now-clean form. “Please come back to me.”

A knock sounded at the door. He positioned himself between the door and the bed, hands on his daggers. “Enter.”

Ven opened the door. “We’re ready to go. I have another place, way outside of town. No houses around it for miles. Nobody but me knows about it, since I only bought it a few months ago.”

Ven crossed to his brother. Looked down at the sleeping form on the bed. “Is she going to be okay?”

Conlan knelt beside her, gently moved the hair back from her face. “She has to be,” he replied simply. “Or I will end with her.”

Ven started to speak, stopped, laid a hand on Conlan’s shoulder. “Then we’ll make sure she’s okay. Let’s go.”

Conlan tucked the blanket more securely around Riley and swept her into his arms. He followed Ven down the hall, where the others stood waiting, loosely circling Alaric, who was as pale as death.

“Brennan and Denal are in the back of the Hummer,” Bastien said. “Alaric told us they are only sleeping, and will wake soon.”

“A sleep like I’ve never seen,” muttered Justice. “They didn’t even flinch when we carried them out to the vehicles. Makes you wonder what happened to them.”

Alexios pointed to an umbrella, lying on the floor. “Why the umbrella? There were weapons all over the floor when we entered behind you. I counted an axe, several daggers, and both of their swords. But no weapons from any intruders, nor any sign of them, except for their blood on our weapons.”

Christophe held his hands out, palms raised. “Not that this is my thing, but since Alaric is out of commission, I can try to feel what power might have been used.”

He closed his eyes and lifted his head, muscles in his neck straining. Then his body jerked, as if struck. “Somebody called power here. Huge power. On the level of what hit us at that warehouse, Alaric. What could do that?”

Christophe turned to Alaric. “Neither Denal nor Brennan can channel the elements on this level. What could have called this power?”

“It was the Trident,” the priest said flatly. “Poseidon delivered his staff to Riley and ordained her.”

Alaric’s laughter was tinged with dark wildness. “It appears Poseidon has claimed your
aknasha
, Conlan. Now she belongs to him.”

 
They drove to the new safe house, Alaric refusing to speculate further on what might have happened. Or even discuss what he’d meant about Riley. The house was a rambling farmhouse type, set well back from what Ven said was a sparsely traveled country road. Conlan had noticed signs for various horse-related businesses and seen a few horses in fields as they passed. He waited in the car with Riley while the others cleared the building. Nobody was taking any more chances.

“It’s not set up like a bunker now, but it has great potential to be refurbished. Plus, it has the advantage of being way the hell out in the boonies,” Ven said when he returned.

“I don’t care what it takes. Put
everyone
on watch,” Conlan said flatly. “Well, all but Denal and Brennan. Let them rest.”

“Are you kidding? I couldn’t make them rest if I tied them down,” Ven said. “Ever since they came to, they’re hell-bent on protecting Lady Sunshine. They appear to have one helluva story to tell.”

Conlan scowled at his brother, but Ven simply shook his head, his face solemn. “I’m right there with them, bro. They said she dove into the middle of the vamps. That’s way beyond the call, man.”

He glanced at the motionless shape in Conlan’s arms as they walked into the house. “She’s quite a woman. She deserves better than what we’ve gotten her into.”

Ice spread through Conlan’s veins. When he spoke, a barely controlled ferocity underscored his words. “She does. But I can’t . . . I
won’t
let her go. Not ever, Ven.”

Ven shrugged. “It’s not me you have to convince. Alaric seems to have some thoughts on the matter. I’d be glad to get out of the ‘do not pass Go, marry an eleven-thousand-year-old virgin’ rules myself. But smarter men than me are going to have to figure that one out.”

He showed Conlan to a spacious room at the end of the hall on the second floor and excused himself. Conlan gently laid Riley on the bed and covered her with the quilt, wishing her breathing weren’t so shallow.

Her skin weren’t so pale.

Then he dragged a chair across the carpet, right up next to the bed, and took one of her hands in both of his. And prayed to the god who had left him to suffer for seven years.

 
Some hours later, Ven came back to let him know that Denal and Brennan were asking to see him.

Conlan sat in his chair, still holding Riley’s hand. He needed to touch at least her skin, since her mind and emotions were closed to him.

He forced himself to breathe past the rock in his throat that threatened to choke him. Alaric had said she’d be fine. He had to hold on to that.

Poseidon’s silence had been deafening.

“Bring them,” Conlan demanded. “I won’t leave her.”

Ven nodded. “I figured as much. They’re here.”

Conlan watched as Denal and Brennan walked into the room, their gaze focused on Riley. Brennan gave him a cursory nod, then returned his attention to the bed.

Denal threw back his head and howled a cry of such anguish that the hair on Conlan’s arms stood at attention, and an icy shiver shot down his spine.

“She’s dead?” Denal stumbled closer to the bed. “That wasn’t a dream, then?”

“She lives,” Conlan said. Denal’s attention finally turned to his prince.

“Alaric says she’ll be fine. She’s sleeping the same peculiar deep sleep as the two of you were.”

“Thank the gods,” Brennan said, voice low and reverent, as he, too, approached. “Thank Poseidon, for it truly was him in the room with us, was it not?”

Conlan’s hand shot out and caught Brennan’s arm in a steel grasp. “Tell me. What happened? Was there a battle? Why was Riley unprotected?”

Brennan dropped to one knee before him, head bowed. “We failed you, my prince. We failed to protect her.”

Denal knelt also, lifted a hand to touch Riley’s hair. Conlan allowed the gesture, somehow knowing that the warrior needed to prove to himself that she lived.

Then Denal dropped his face to the edge of the bed and began to sob. Great wracking sobs that shook his entire body with the force of them. Riley’s name was in there, and other, wordless, sorrow.

Conlan released Brennan and put a hand on Denal’s shoulder. “Tell me, Denal. Pull yourself together and tell me.”

He looked up, saw Alaric had joined Ven at the doorway. The others crowded the hall behind them. “Come in, all of you. Find seats. We need to hear this.”

Alaric, moving as one old and exhausted, took the room’s remaining chair. Ven and the others filed in and found perches on the floor or leaning against walls.

Denal’s shoulders stopped heaving, and he took a deep breath. “Brennan should tell it. Having no emotion would be a blessing beyond all reckoning at this moment. I can’t—” His voice trembled, and he stopped, shaking his head.

Brennan stood straight before them. “If only I could feel the pain that should be burned into my soul. Lady Riley deserves no less.”

Slowly, and ascribing all fault to himself, Brennan relayed the night’s events, his gaze continually returning to Riley as he spoke.

Denal interrupted several times, trying to shoulder the blame.

Brennan shook his head at the younger warrior and concluded. “And then I pulled the sword out of Denal’s body, and the poison from the vampire bites overwhelmed me. I was dying, my lord.”

Conlan listened, silent, shaking with rage. When Brennan paused, Conlan leaned forward. “We have acted as protectors and only stepped in when the vamps attacked humans in the past. But they brought this to our doorstep. They hurt Riley. Now they die.”

He looked around at his men and Alaric, all of whom nodded, grim faces echoing his own determination. “They all die,” he repeated.

Alaric spoke up, voice quiet. “But we need to know what happened after that. Riley must wake up and tell us her part of the story. Clearly Denal is alive, and Brennan is no longer infected with the vamps’ poison. And there are . . . other matters.”

None but Conlan had seen the brand seared into Riley’s back. He nodded, appreciating the priest’s discretion.

Denal raised his head to stare at the priest, eyes reddened from the tears that still fell. “I know what happened after that. Somehow, I saw it all. I was in a beautiful place, filled with the sweet scent of the ocean. Nothing hurt, not even the sword wound that ended my life. But as I rested and welcomed the peace, I saw Riley on the floor of that room, holding my body.

“I, too, saw and heard everything that happened. Lady Riley bargained with the sea god himself. She offered her own life for ours.”

The voice from the bed was so thin and hoarse that Conlan thought he was imagining it. “He told me you do not bargain with a god,” Riley whispered. “So why am I still alive?”

Conlan was out of the chair, thrusting Denal to the side, in an instant. Riley looked up at him, her eyes huge in her pale face.

“Riley! You’re awake.”

He touched her hair, her face, leaned forward to press the gentlest of kisses to her mouth. Thank the gods.

Thank the
gods
.

She smiled at him, tears glistening in her eyes. “What’s more amazing is that I’m
alive
, I’m guessing. Especially after that crack about Poseidon frolicking with a Nereid. I hear gods have had people hanged for less.”

She shifted in the bed, grimaced. “My shoulder really hurts, though. I’m not sure what happened to it.”

Conlan felt the tears running down his face, didn’t care. “It’s okay. We’ll take care of it. You’re alive, and that’s all that matters. If you had gone from me—”