Atlantis Awakening (5 page)

Ven had joked with Justice about women for more than two centuries, but suddenly, with that one sentence, something changed. Some
one
changed.

Ven
changed.

“Don't even think about it,” he growled, all traces of amusement gone from his voice. “Stay away from Erin.”

Denal's sharp gasp sounded a warning, causing Ven to unsheathe his daggers in one smooth motion and whirl around to face the threat. But the chamber door remained firmly closed, and the only things remotely threatening in the room were the shocked expressions on the faces of Denal, Alexios, and Christophe. Ven took in their widened eyes as his own narrowed. “What? Why are you staring at me like that?”

As Conlan and Alaric shot up out of their chairs in unison, Denal strode around the table until he faced Ven again. “Your eyes. They're…they're glowing,” he said, awe infusing his words. “There's a weird blue-green flame in the middle. It's like—”

“It's the flame of Poseidon,” Brennan said. “Since one can only suppose that you do not seek to achieve the soul-meld with one of us, it appears that the gem singer has affected you even more than you know.”

Ven clenched his eyes shut to block their view. Douse the flame.

Hoped it would work. Somehow knew it wouldn't.

“Ven?” Conlan's voice rang out, still calm, but resonating with royal command. “Is there something else you meant to tell me about Erin Connors?”

Ven muttered a few of his favorite curses in ancient Atlantean, then decided to try to play it casual. “Well, now that you mention it…”

Headquarters, the Seattle Circle of Light

Erin stood in the center of the circle, trying to control the trembling in her knees. She'd never been called to a special midnight gathering of the coven high priestesses before and didn't know what to expect. The candlelit room, lined with sturdy wooden bookcases and heavy midnight blue silk draperies, contained an air of solemnity underscored by the absolute cessation of her power from the moment she'd stepped through the doorway. The room must be shielded by the most powerful of wards; Erin couldn't hear even a glimmer of the song of the large geodes that rested on the bookcases. The gems on her fingers lay dark and still as well.

The rumors of Silencing she'd heard, growing up as a witch, swirled up through her memories to press against her mind. Unfortunately, the rumors had brought along their buddies: Terror and Despair. Twice in one evening she'd been blocked from her powers. She made a promise to herself: it wasn't going to happen again. She straightened her shoulders and took a step toward the massive table at one end of the midnight blue draped room. “I am here to report an incident, am I not?”

Gennae looked up from the papers she'd been arranging at her place at the center of the table, her icy features, nearly as pale as the white robes they all three wore, were arranged in an expression of mild surprise. “Did we ask you to speak?”

“No, but I—”

“That will be quite enough, Erin,” said Lillian, her fall of short gray hair swinging around her square jaw as she nodded for emphasis. “You will speak when asked to do so.”

Berenice, the third and final witch at the table, pushed her dark hair away from her face and stared at Erin for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her silky voice held nothing but contempt. “Perhaps Erin feels she does not need to heed coven law, now that she is so adept at channeling the Wilding?”

Erin narrowed her eyes and tried not to glare at Berenice, in spite of the taunt.
That's what she wants me to do. Blow up and show them all that I'm unstable. Not going to happen.

“We're going to talk about my use of the Wilding, instead of the attack?” She didn't bother to hide the disbelief in her voice.

They merely stared back at her, not speaking. So she did the only thing she could think to do. She answered the question. “I am well aware of coven law and follow it faithfully. As you all know, I have been working very hard to control the Wilding Magic. The force of it this evening took me entirely by surprise.” Erin clenched her hands tightly together behind her back, but kept her face smooth.

“Not hard enough, clearly,” Berenice sneered. “We felt it clear across town at our dinner meeting.”

Gennae held up a hand. “I would hear no more of this. You especially, Berenice, know the Wilding chooses its wielders. If a witch could choose to channel such dark magic, only the ones with the most corrupted hearts would make that choice. And the dangers inherent in the Wilding are too great to be left in the hands of one with evil intent.”

She turned to face Berenice. “Although done with the best of intentions, your own attempt to call the Wilding a decade ago nearly destroyed the entire city of Seattle.”

Berenice's face flushed a deep red. “I will not defend or discuss that decision again, all these years later. When vampires and shape-shifters made their existence known, I felt I had the opportunity to destroy them before they could gain overt power.”

Lillian murmured a sound of agreement. “And you were right to forecast the threat, Berenice. Now the vampires have their own house of Congress, and the Primus holds more power than the House and the Senate combined. With the shape-shifters controlling much of the mainstream media, the power structure of the world is forever tipped in their favor.”

Gennae shook her head, her long red hair flying behind her. “No. And no, and no, and no. She was right in her premonition, but wrong in her methods. Had we not intervened when we did, the results could have been disastrous.”

Erin couldn't keep quiet any longer. The rage had been building inside her until she thought her head might explode from the force of it. “What, exactly, would you consider
not
to be disastrous about the night the vampire Caligula murdered my entire family?” she asked, biting out the words.

All three of the witches at the table bowed their heads for a moment. When Gennae looked up at Erin again, her face had softened. “For that, I apologize. Losing your mother and your sisters was the greatest tragedy our coven has ever known and, on a personal note, Gwendolyn was my closest friend, more like a sister to me.” Tears glistened in Gennae's violet eyes. “You must believe how profoundly we all understand and share your sorrow.”

Erin held Gennae's gaze for a long, defiant moment, but then nodded. “I do believe that.” She lowered her lashes and glanced at Berenice's angry face.
Mostly.

“And, knowing your mother and her teaching, we would never believe you would risk the loss of your soul to the Wilding Magic,” Lillian added.

“I have done everything possible to shield against it,” Erin said, head held high. “I have spent countless hours researching my Gift of the singing stones, as well. But there's nothing in any of my reading to explain why a warrior from Atlantis brought out such a violent reaction in me…in my gems.”

Gennae and Berenice exchanged a nearly imperceptible glance. “Actually, Erin, there is something you need to know,” Gennae said. “About the reaction you say this Atlantean had to your Gift, and about what you will find if you continue to seek out Caligula.”

Berenice's face paled even further, if that were possible. “You cannot tell her—”

“We must tell her. It's time. Especially if she's planning to involve the Atlanteans in this impossible plan for revenge,” Lillian said. “Not to mention the attack tonight, which may be related.”

Yeah, you're all pretty good at
not mentioning
the attack, Erin thought, wondering if sheer rage would overcome her exhaustion and keep her standing upright.

“She deserves to be punished for not controlling the Wilding,” Berenice snapped.

“She deserves to know the truth,” Gennae said.

“What truth? Just tell me,” Erin demanded, the ice in her veins streaking through her body and congealing in her stomach in a frozen ball. She wished for her power and the comfort of her gems and their song; she wished to run—covering her ears—from the room.

Mostly she wished to be curled up, resting safely in Ven's arms, she admitted to herself even as she wondered at the strength of her longing for a man she'd only just met.

Gennae rose from her seat at the table and glided noiselessly around it until she stood in front of Erin, then put her hands on Erin's shoulders. “You have been like a daughter to me, Erin, and if you are so determined to follow this path of revenge, you must know the consequences.”

“But it's not just about revenge and the past,” Erin blurted out, searching the priestess's eyes for some glimmer of understanding. “It's about the future, too. It's about stopping Caligula from doing this again, to somebody else's family. Maybe to the entire human population of Seattle, or the state of Washington. What about the entire West Coast? We've felt the darkness from the area around Mount Rainier. We've seen the mounting numbers rise on the tallies of those he's turned to vampire. Why can't you understand?”

Gennae's fingers tightened painfully on Erin's shoulders, and she leaned forward for a brief hug, whispering in Erin's ear, “Don't think we're not concerned about the attack tonight. There is a spy in the coven and we are investigating.”

Erin focused on not changing her facial expression, since Berenice was staring at her with narrowed eyes.

Gennae released her grip and stepped back. “Oh, we understand all too well, Erin. Caligula is consolidating his power over as many of those called to the dark as he can.” She paused and bowed her head, as though she couldn't bear to look Erin in the eye any longer. “That may in fact be who was behind the attack on you tonight. You said you felt dark magic…” Her words trailed off.

“You have to tell her, Gennae. Or I will.” Lillian said. Her voice held so much sorrow that Erin blinked and glanced over at the older witch, then gasped at the tears streaming down Lillian's face.

“Gennae. What is it? Please tell me. You're frightening me,” Erin said.

“And so you should be frightened,” Berenice called out, standing up from her chair. “After what I saw—” She broke off, shaking her head.

Gennae finally raised her head to look into Erin's eyes. “Yes. It is time. First, we recently have acquired more detailed knowledge of the nature of your Gift. According to the representative of the Fae currently visiting the North American Magickals coven leadership conference, your Gift may be a rare inheritance from the elvenfolk.”

Erin blinked. “You're telling me I'm part elf?”

Lillian barked out a laugh. “Don't ever let any of the Fae hear you say that. They're fed up with the popular culture misconceptions of the elvenfolk. I heard one of the Canadian Fae sliced a vampire's head off merely for mentioning the North Pole.”

It was too much to process. “So, I may be part elf…part elvenfolk. So what? We're all part something, I suppose. What else did this representative say?”

“He called you a gem singer, Erin, when I explained your Gift. He said it was a talent lost in the annals of myth even to his kind,” Gennae explained, kindness and something that looked a lot like pity in her eyes.

Erin hated to be pitied. “Go ahead. Tell me the rest of it, already.”

Gennae bit her lip, uncharacteristically hesitant. The shadow in the corner of Erin's field of perception was the only sign that Berenice had moved, but suddenly the witch stood next to Gennae. As Erin stared at the two of them, Lillian walked slowly up to flank Gennae on her other side.

“What is this? Strength in numbers?” Erin tried for a casual laugh, but it came out sounding strangled. “Just tell me already.”

“The last recording of a gem singer in Fae history was before the Cataclysm that sank Atlantis,” Lillian said, glancing at Gennae as if for the go-ahead. “You also may be part Atlantean.”

Relief made Erin feel a little giddy. “That's it? I'm part elvenfolk and part Atlantean? That's not a big deal. In fact, it may make Ven and his men more willing to help me. We're long-lost cousins!” She thought of how he made her feel. “Very, very
distant
cousins.”

Gennae sighed, a soul-weary sound that swept Erin's shaky attempt at humor away before it. “It's not that simple, Erin. There's something else you need to know.” She drew a deep breath. “Your entire family was not murdered that night. Caligula captured your sister and later sent us proof that he had turned her.”

Erin's knees buckled for the second time that night, and she nearly fell to the ground. “What? Who? My sister? Which sister? It's a lie! I would have known—I would have felt her—I, I—” She looked to Lillian in supplication, but the gray-haired witch simply stood there, nodding her head in agreement.

“No! No, you're all wrong. I would have known. Somehow I would have known—”

“It is truth, Erin,” Gennae replied, cutting off her desperate attempts at denial. “Your sister Deirdre is vampire.”

Seattle

Erin stood in front of the enormous brick waterfront building, clutching the cardboard tray and the paper bag, and double-checked the address. Her complete lack of sleep the night before wasn't all that surprising, considering the attack and the impossible news about Deirdre. She swallowed around the lump in her throat. It couldn't be true. They had to be wrong, and she'd prove it. Deirdre would never choose to live as a vampire.

She fought back the tears and put the pain aside to deal with later. She'd had ten years of practice with that technique.

Ven's address looked more like a warehouse than a home. But he'd called and apologized for leaving so abruptly the night before, then invited her to his place to discuss their impending alliance. He'd made some cryptic comment about not worrying—her safety was guaranteed. She knew vampires did not walk in the daylight, and she was on guard now against any new witch attacks, so she hadn't been worried, anyway.

She glanced up at the four stories of the imposing structure again and shook her head. Maybe it was like those trendy downtown lofts? Only part of it was Ven's?

The massive steel door had only one buzzer next to it, so she pushed that and heard a faint gonging sound reverberate from inside the building. Seconds later the door swung open and Ven stood in front of her wearing only blue jeans, his damp hair brushing against his shoulders.

Erin snapped her mouth closed when she realized she was gaping at him. It wasn't every day a witch was confronted with a chest like that. Holy Goddess, the man was built. Ripped, even. And the unusual tattoo high up on the left side of his chest intrigued her, even though she wasn't much for tattoos. A circle and a triangle with some sort of symbol crossing them both.

She yanked her gaze up to his face, blushing a little, but quit worrying about what he thought of her ogling when she saw his face and the sleepy concern in his eyes. The opals on her fingers glowed and sang to her, but she closed her mind against their call. Not today. She had no time for this weird gem-singing stuff today.

“You look like I feel—total death warmed over, with a side of misery,” she blurted out.

He blinked at her, but then he caught sight of what she held and seemed to wake up a little. “Gee, thanks. Hey, you brought coffee? You are an angel.”

She smiled at the expression of pure longing on his face. “No, I'm a witch, but thanks for the compliment. Are you going to invite me inside, or are we going to have breakfast on your doorstep?”

He hastily backed up, holding the door for her. “Sorry. I'm kind of wiped. Only slept an hour. Is there food in that bag?”

He took the tray of four quad venti lattes from her, bent his head over the cups, and inhaled deeply as he kicked the door closed with one large, bare foot. “Bliss.”

“I hope you like lattes. I didn't know if they'd be too girly for a big tough Atlantean warrior to drink, but if so, that's more for me,” she said, nerves swirling in her empty stomach. She should have eaten one of the pastries on the way over to help mitigate the gallon or six of stomach acid sloshing around in there.

“I brought an assortment of pastries, too,” she said, looking around the huge entranceway. The skylights on the ceiling filtered the weak winter sunlight down to them. Farther ahead, the building was divided into floors in a bizarrely open architectural style. Industrial-style metal partitions, walls, and doorways lined the hall.

“I'm secure enough in my manhood to drink froufrou coffee drinks,” he said, grinning at her. “Come on.”

He led the way down the hallway and she focused really, really hard on not noticing what an amazingly muscled back he had. Or that the amazing back curved down into a truly fabulous backside.

She scowled, suddenly disgusted at herself for noticing how gorgeous and muscled Ven was when she had a job to do. More of a sacred quest, now, really.

She idly glanced into a couple of open doorways as they walked by. Through one of them she caught glimpses of intriguing metal statuaries. Through another she saw what looked to be an extensive luxury car collection, and an almost painful twist of warmth tightened in her chest. “Wait,” she called out. “Was that—”

She backtracked to the open doorway and looked inside. A giant room, evidently used as a garage, held probably twenty classic cars and a few very modern, very sleek sports cars. She spotted the black Jaguar he'd driven the night before by the garage door, but then got distracted by a gorgeous cherry red roadster. Dropping the sack of pastries on the concrete floor, she wiped her hands on her jeans and walked over to the beauty. As she touched the hood with reverence, she glanced back at Ven, who stood in the doorway. “Ohhhhh. You own a Duesenberg?”

He followed her into the room, placing the tray of coffee on a small table near the door. “Yep. A 1929 Duesenberg J 350 Willoughby, manufactured here in the U.S. in the—”

“The Indiana plant, yeah, I know,” she murmured, her hand caressing the smooth curve of the hood. “My dad was born and raised in Indianapolis. He moved out here and met my mother and never moved back. He loved these old cars and took me to a lot of car shows when I was little.”

“They still live around here?” Ven asked.

The iron fist squeezing her heart clenched down even further. “No. No, he died nearly nine years ago. After the…tragedy…he couldn't find the strength or will to keep living. I think he made up his mind to die, and he did.” She tried to blink back the tears burning at the edges of her eyes, but a few escaped and slid down her cheeks.

Ven raised one finger and caught her tear as it fell, but never touched her skin. “You give honor to your father with your tears, Erin. I am so sorry for your loss. May Poseidon and the gods and goddesses of your ancestors watch over him on his journey into the light.”

She wiped her eyes with her hand, trying desperately to silence the emeraldsong that had blazed out of her rings at his almost-touch. She had never once heard the emeralds sing to her since the day of her Choosing, and now they were a Broadway chorus. Nonstop music whenever Ven was around.

She looked up into his dark, dark eyes, afraid of what she might see. The fascinating blue-green light that had so disturbed him the night before was gone, and she was relieved. A tiny part of her whispered in her mind,
Or disappointed.

She shut down the tiny voice and the emeralds through sheer force of will and concentrated on what Ven had said about her father. “That's beautiful, thank you. Is that a traditional Atlantean saying?”

He bowed to her, the gesture somehow not lessened by the fact that the man offering it was standing shirtless in blue jeans, clearly fresh out of the shower. Ven's natural gallantry was like something she'd seen in the old movies she loved so much. Something about him…

“Are you very old?” she blurted out.

Straightening, he grinned, then raised an eyebrow. “That depends. Do you like older men?”

She rolled her eyes. “Nice. Always with the lines, right? You must have women falling all over you.”

He abruptly turned away from her, saying something under his breath that she didn't catch.

“What was that?”

“Coffee. I said coffee now, talking later.”

Filing away his odd reaction to be considered at another time, Erin retrieved the bag of pastries and followed him out of the room, casting a last look at the Duesy on the way.

I'll get him for you, Dad. For all of us. And I'll save Deirdre, too.

 

Ven gritted his teeth over the highly freaking inappropriate sensations sweeping through every inch of him. The second he'd reached out to touch the tear falling off her cheek, he'd known he should pull his finger back. But, somehow, he hadn't been able to do it. Now he battled the urge to touch that same slightly damp finger to his lips, but clenched his hand more tightly around the edge of the coffee tray instead.

Control. Command. Confidence. His watchwords for nearly half a millennium; suddenly in peril from the mere sight of one small human female sorrowing over her lost father.

How did she manage to look so damned sexy in blue jeans, boots, and a sweater, anyway? It was even a thick, bulky sweater that hid the curves he'd seen on display in that silky thing she'd worn the night before. But the pale blue of the wool and the sunlit-sky blue of her eyes—all that blond hair, even tied back in a ponytail—oh. Hells. He was in big trouble.

Just agreeing to let Alexios and Denal shadow her on her short trip here this morning, instead of going himself, had nearly caused him to growl like a wounded bear at the emotionless warrior and the youngling. They'd been right. He'd needed at least an hour of sleep. But logic didn't resonate with his fierce and growing need to protect Erin.

To protect her
personally
. Hells, maybe coffee would help.

He finally reached the restaurant-sized kitchen at the end of the hall and blew out a sigh of relief. Safety in numbers. Ignoring the curious looks from the three warriors who waited there to meet Erin, he strode over to the red formica-topped table in the center of the room and put the tray of coffee down with more force than necessary. The sloshing coffee splashed up through the drink spouts on the cups and splattered on the table, bringing dark metaphors to Ven's mind of his control splattering up against the charms of one gem singer of a witch.

Yeah, so I suck at metaphors.

“Ven?” Erin's voice came from the doorway, where she'd stopped and stood, frozen, staring at Denal, Justice, and Alexios.

“Come in, Erin, I need to introduce you to the Three Stooges here. Larry, Moe, and Curly,” he said, grabbing his shirt from the back of a chair and shrugging into it. Then he took one of the cups out of the holder, wiped the side with a napkin, and took a healthy gulp.

“Who?” said Denal, looking confused. Hells, confused was Denal's default expression, especially when it came to pop culture. He really ought to give the kid a break.

“Three letters for you, Denal. D. V. D. It's never too late for an education in truly classic television.” Ven walked back to where Erin still stood in the doorway, her eyes wide, and gently took the bag of pastries from her. “Erin, more officially, may I introduce three of my fellow warriors: Justice, with the fancy blue hair; Alexios, leaning against the wall; and Denal, the youngling of the bunch. All three serve Poseidon in the protection of humanity, as do I.”

Erin turned those beautiful blue eyes toward Justice, nearest to her, and Ven fought the urge to step between them, as every muscle in his body tensed to battle-readiness. For some whacked-out reason, he didn't want Erin to look at Justice.

Whoa. Need to figure that one out.

Erin, clearly unaware that Ven was going batshit next to her, nodded at each of the three warriors in turn. “My name is Erin Connors. I am very honored to meet you.”

 

Erin tried not to stand there gaping like a beached fish, but it was pretty darn hard. She'd never been in a room with so much testosterone in her life. The warriors all stood well over six feet tall, and wore enough weapons to stock an armory. Not to mention that they were all gorgeous, gorgeous men. She figured Atlantis must be some sort of heaven underwater for the women there. Except if the men looked like this, the women were probably all tall, slinky supermodel types. The thought made her shoulders slump a little, considering her own nonslinky, nontall, nonsupermodel self.

She smiled tentatively at Justice. “Blue” was such a lame, doesn't-come-close kind of word to describe the rich sea colors rippling through his long hair. Navy, midnight, cerulean, royal, and even a few strands of periwinkle gleamed under the bright lights of the kitchen. He'd been standing near the far wall braiding it when she walked in, and, as she watched, he tied off the end with a short length of leather cord, stepped toward her, and bowed. The decorated and engraved hilt of the sword sheathed on his back looked worn, as if well used, and the sight of it reminded her again of her mission. As if she could ever forget.

“I am at your service, Lady Erin, so long as our goals are in accord,” he said so smoothly that it took her a moment to realize it hadn't exactly been unequivocal support.

“Thank you, I think,” she said wryly. She caught a glimmer of surprise and then amusement in his eyes before he masked his expression back to impassivity. “Same goes. From what Quinn and Jack told us of the Warriors of Poseidon, your service is worth quite a great deal.”

She held out a hand to shake his and nearly jumped out of her skin when the amber on her middle fingers sounded a discordant note in her mind. A note she'd never heard. The amber protected her from the threat of dark magic and called to her with a wild, jangling song when there were vampires or anybody else wielding black or death magic near her. This hadn't been that song; it was nothing like the warning from the night before—but it had been…something.

Something unnatural. She stepped back from Justice and sent out a slight whisper of power toward him to try to sense what he was. But something within him slashed out at her seeking tendril of magic and sliced it in two. His eyes flared with power and something else for a long moment. Something deadly.

“You
are
Atlantean, right, Justice?”

He raised one eyebrow and the corners of his lips quirked in a mocking smile. “As Atlantean as Poseidon himself. You are very intriguing, aren't you?”

“Quinn spoke truly, my lady,” Denal said, drawing her attention away from Justice, but not before she resolved to keep a close eye on, and a safe distance from, the blue-haired warrior. “We are honored to help you battle the dark forces.”

Denal also bowed to her, but added a flourish. He drew the two daggers from the sheaths on his massive thighs and crossed them before his chest as he bowed. As he resheathed the blades, he grinned at her, and she understood why Ven had called him the youngling. She had a mad urge to ruffle his hair.