Atlantis Unleashed (13 page)

Scrambling to his feet again, he ignored Pharnatus's attempts to catch up to him, checking only that his grip on his sword was still firm.

The Nereid side of his soul howled wordlessly, and searing fury built in him until it reached explosive force. Not knowing or caring what could happen, Justice ripped loose the wards he'd held so tightly against the Nereid side of his nature for so very, very long.

Nereid magic, so long denied, blasted forth. Nereid power, claiming him for its own, nearly destroyed him. Hurricane-force winds whipped around him in the stark landscape, lifting boulders the size of blue whales like a youngling's toys and then dashing them to the ground with percussive force.

Behind Justice, Pharnatus screamed with fear but kept running, ever faster, to catch up to him. Justice realized this in the periphery of consciousness, in some part of himself that was not wind, not power, not rage. He ran, warm blood dripping down into his eyes from the cuts on his forehead. Must reach her. She was real. She was reality.

She was
his
reality, and if he could only claim her, he would be healed.

Keely's heart thundered in rhythm with the pounding feet of the madman racing toward her through the twisted landscape that looked like it had come from a cheap graphic novel. He was gaining ground, and he was coming for her. It was in his eyes, swirling in the madness of colors that couldn't exist. Blue, green, and silver kaleidoscoped in his eyes until she felt dizzy—almost hypnotized—and had to tear her gaze away.

Still, in spite of the madness that twisted his features, there was something. Something so familiar . . .

Ice shivered down her spine. This had definitely
not
been in the program that she'd carefully constructed in her mind in the five or six whole minutes she'd had before she'd actually stepped foot in Atlantis. She'd envisioned ruined temples, maybe a few really, really old people wandering around as caretakers. A sort of archaeological dig in progress, in other words.

Instead, she'd walked into the middle of an ancient battleground come to life. Complete with magic, madness, and mayhem, not to go all alliterative or anything.

One of the warriors—Vengeance—turned and yelled something at her, and Keely rocked back a step on her heels, only to realize that he wasn't yelling at her at all. A short curvy blonde, dressed in jeans and a simple top, was running up behind her.

Vengeance leapt toward the woman, a truly terrifying scowl on his face. “Not a good time, Erin,” he snarled. “I want you safely back at the palace. Now. You can take these two with you.”

Instead of being the slightest bit intimidated, however, the woman laughed. “Alaric sent word that he might need me,” she said. “And when has that he-man routine of yours ever worked with me, anyway?”

Vengeance turned the weight of his wrath toward the men surrounding the distorted portal. “Alaric, what in the nine hells are you doing involving Erin in this?”

The man who turned toward them and responded was one of the most frightening men Keely had ever seen in her life. He was definitely all man—like the others, he had that same alpha-male sexual magnetism. The force of his allure pretty much rocketed off the charts, in fact.

But this one was different.

Where Conlan had given the impression of royal command, and Ven was all rough-and-ready warrior, something in this one's eerie green glowing eyes and the harsh lines of his face spoke of dark deeds whispered in shadowed alleys. This one would draw blood before you even knew you'd been cut, and he'd enjoy doing it.

Keely shivered, suddenly more terrified than she'd ever been in her life.

“Do not challenge my judgment on this, Lord Vengeance,” the man, presumably Alaric, said. “If we are to have any chance to save Justice from the Void, it lies with Erin and her mastery of the Wilding.”

Ven stopped, mid-snarl, and tilted his head. “You really think that can work? Every time she tries to channel the Wilding in Atlantis, the results are, to say the least, unexpected. I'd hate for her to manage to pull nothing but his blue-haired corpse through.”

The humor drained from Erin's face as though an unseen hand had scrubbed it away. “Don't mock me, Ven. If I can do anything—anything at all—to bring your brother home, after what he did for me . . . for us . . . I will do it.”

As Ven and Erin continued to argue, Keely found herself inexplicably drawn back toward the portal. Toward the sight of the madman still pounding toward her. He was screaming something, screaming and screaming, but she couldn't hear what it was. The mirror was silent. But somehow, suddenly, she realized what it was.

She knew
who
he was.

What had Ven said? “
His blue-haired corpse.
” Blue. Hair.

It was him. It was the warrior from her visions. She closed her eyes as her hand involuntarily rose to grasp the wooden carving she wore like a talisman. It couldn't be. The fish was probably more than two centuries old. It was impossible.

And yet . . . and yet. Here she stood, in Atlantis.

She opened her eyes and immediately locked gazes with him again, inexplicably drawn to him with the sure pull of the moon tide. This time, she was sure.

It was him. Her warrior. And he was screaming her name.

Terror thrilled through her so intensely that she felt weakened by it, and a strange lethargy spread through her limbs. Always analytical, her mind studied her reaction as though at a distance. Was this how prey reacted to the sight of the predator bearing down upon it, claws unsheathed and fangs bared?

She snapped her head left and then right in an attempt to shake off the odd lassitude that gripped her. Then she realized Conlan was speaking.

“Decide now,” he snapped. “We don't have time for this, Ven. If Erin cannot channel the Wilding magic to try to open this entryway, the only other way is through death magic. And if it comes to that, I pledge myself for our brother. He saved my wife and child—I can do no less.”

A shocked silence fell. Even Keely, a stranger to the culture, instantly realized the significance of what the high prince had just said. He would sacrifice himself to rescue her warrior . . . no, not her warrior,
the
warrior . . . who was evidently trapped in this Void.

“No! You're meant to be king, you idiot!” Ven shouted.

“And did you forget the baby on the way? If anyone's dying here, it will be me. He's my brother, too, and he sacrificed himself to the vampire goddess for me.”

The two of them—two of the deadliest-looking men she'd ever seen, although that seemed to be fairly common down here—squared off, looking ready to fight for the right to be the one who died. They were so alike they could nearly be twins.

The exact same dark fury clashing in two nearly identical pairs of eyes.

The exact same hardening of two identically chiseled jaws.

The exact same tensing of heavily muscled arms and shoulders, as they readied to spring at one another.

“Cut it out, you idiots,” Erin shouted, sprinting up next to Keely. “What good does this do for any of us, especially Justice? We need to solve this. Nobody dies today.”

Keely felt a wave of dizziness threatening to topple her from her feet. In the space of an hour, she'd gone from her nice, calm, bland office at Ohio State to a place where crazy people were fighting over who got to kill themselves to rescue more crazy people, who were running through a place that couldn't possibly exist, because of a vampire goddess who couldn't possibly exist.

“Of course, I
am
standing in Atlantis,” she said out loud, staring up at the dome over her head. “Either that, or I'm having some sort of psychotic breakdown.”

Erin patted Keely's arm. “It's okay. It affects all of us poor humans that way at first.”

Then, her actions completely contradicting her words about being a poor human, Erin lifted her arms into the air, threw her head back, and began to sing. The song was wordless, with a melody so layered with darkness and power that it seemed as if it couldn't be coming from a human voice.

The notes almost physically plucked at Keely's emotions, calling forth long-hidden memories of pain and despair. Bleakness washed through her; the hopelessness of a life lived uselessly—potential unrealized, opportunity wasted. Regret and sharper pangs of guilt poured through her, lapping at her defenses through the waves of the song's currents. Every hurt she'd inflicted—every hurt she'd
sustained
—swirled around her in a miasma of remorse and misery.

She wanted to die. She
deserved
to die. Why were they all still taking breath? She found herself clutching fists full of grass that had shaded from vibrant green to dullest gray, like the colors of her pitiful, pathetic world.

A harsh voice sliced through the fog that gripped her soul in greedy claws. “Enough! Erin, that's enough. Your song is having no effect on the Wilding, but a harsher one than you realize upon everyone standing here in its vicinity.”

Keely blinked as the song faded, coming back to some semblance of herself. She realized it had been Alaric who'd spoken, because he was gripping Erin's shoulders and gently shaking her. Silvery blue light surrounded the two of them, but as he stepped away, Keely realized that the light had come only from Erin.

Erin had somehow sung despair into reality. Hello, and welcome to Fairy Tale Central.

Keely stumbled to her feet from where she'd landed on her knees. She looked around and saw that the reinforcements had arrived. Another dozen or so warriors, but they'd all fallen to the ground as well. As she started to turn back toward the portal, she realized that one of the newly arrived warriors, a look of harsh determination on his face, was leaning on his spear.

The pointed end. And he was pushing it into his chest.

She screamed and started running, knowing she couldn't make it in time. “No! It was the music; it was just the music! Somebody stop him!”

Startled, the warrior looked up at her. In an instant, one of the others knocked the spear out of his hands. Keely was running too fast to stop, though. She skidded right into the two of them, knocking them both over. As she lay there, flat on her back with the wind knocked out of her, she started to laugh. Once she started, she couldn't stop.

Two faces came into her field of vision, looking down at her. The two warriors she'd bowled over with her not-so-graceful approach. They looked concerned, which made her laugh harder.

“This must be a nervous breakdown. I've been working too hard for too long, and so my brain is just taking a little vacation. This is a fantasy, which is why I'm surrounded with magic and vampires and gorgeous men, oh my,” she managed to say, in between almost painful, gasping breaths.

One of the men grinned, but the other—the one who'd been on the point of shish kebabing himself—remained sol emn. “I know not why the music affected me so, my lady,” he said. “But I am forever in your debt that you would save me from my own actions.”

He held out his hand for hers. As he pulled her to her feet, she tried desperately to regain control of herself. As the last of her laughter faded, she heard a different sound.

This time, it was definitely not music. It was a terrifying, soul-searing howl.

“It would appear that your magic has affected the entryway insofar as to remove the sound barrier,” Alaric said to Erin, who had moved to stand near Ven. “I am not sure it is an improvement.”

“I've never heard a sound like that come from Justice,” Ven said. “Whatever Anubisa did to him—” He left the thought unfinished as he moved to shield Erin, drawing his daggers from their sheaths. “It's party time. Here's hoping he's at least a little sane, or that you can stop him before he gets hurt, Alaric.”

Keely's gaze shot to the entryway, and any last vestige of laughter inside her disappeared as though it had never existed. Because her warrior—the one they called Justice—had reached the window, and his horrible screaming stopped, as if someone had flicked a switch. He caught her in his gaze, face hardening as if he dared her to look away.

Up close, he was even more terrifying. Under the blood, grime, and tangled hair, she saw that he resembled his brothers, except for the blue hair. Under all that filth, she knew it was blue. She knew it was beautiful. She'd seen his hair clean and shining, so many times over the years, as he bent to the task of carving her little fish.

Beauty was the right word, she realized, still trapped in his gaze. Justice had a dark beauty, as if a fallen angel had turned predator and stalked the earth. But more than that, beyond any physical characteristic, there was something in his presence—something in his eyes—that called to a primal part of her in a way that had never happened when she'd seen him in her visions.