Wild Hearts In Atlantis – Warriors of Poseidon 1.5

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  Wild Hearts In Atlantis

  Warriors of Poseidon Series – Book 1.5

  (In Anthology – Wild Thing)

  By Alyssa Day

  Chapter One

  Bastien surveyed the battlefield, jaw rhythmically clenching and unclenching. "Strategy

  is everything in war. Watch and learn, youngling."

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  His opponent narrowed his eyes and studied the field. "Proceed at your own peril,

  warrior. Know that I will crush you into the ashes of ignominious defeat."

  "Oh, for the gods' sake, will you two get on with it, already? I have dibs on the next

  game, and I have a feeling air hockey and I are going to be very good friends," Denal

  said, from where he sprawled out on the long, low couch. "You're going down to Loser

  Town, ladies, so just hurry it up, already."

  Bastien laughed. "Damn, Justice. Looks like your unparalleled rep as a kick-ass warrior

  may be taking some heat, if little Denal can get away with calling you a lady."

  Lord Justice flipped his waist-length braid of blue hair back over his shoulder and

  sneered. "Seems like he called you a lady, too, in case you missed it."

  Bastien served a lethal hit straight into justice's goal. "Hey, I'm golden. When you're

  nearly seven feet tall, these pitiful insults bounce right off. Atlantis has never seen a

  warrior the likes of me," he said, grinning. Then he threw his head back and drew in a

  lungful of pure, sea-filtered air and gazed out over the balcony railing at the glory of

  Atlantis. White marble buildings gleaming in the liquid gold of magic-created sunlight.

  Poseidon's Temple the grandest of them all, proudly standing tall in the center with its

  gold-capped columns. The deep, unfathomable blue of the ocean currents gently gliding

  past the dome that covered them all.

  "It's good to be home," he murmured, almost to himself. He was tired. Hells, they were

  all tired. The missions to the surface, never less than dangerous, had turned lethal

  lately. Poseidon's Warriors had protected humanity for more than eleven thousand

  years, but always in the shadows, under the radar.

  Incogfuckingnito, as Ven would say.

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  Bastien thought back to his training and the words that were burned into his soul—the

  creed of the Warriors of Poseidon:

  All will wait. And watch. And protect.

  And serve as first warning on the eve o f humanity's destruction. Then, and only then,

  Atlantis will rise.

  For we are the Warriors o f Poseidon, and the mark o f the Trident we bear serves as

  witness to our sacred duty to safeguard mankind.

  "Even when they're stupid enough to let vampires into their Congress and shapeshifters into their media," he growled.

  Justice raised an eyebrow at him, but before he could make some crack about warriors

  who talked to themselves, the enormous wooden doors, inlaid with gold, silver, and

  copper-colored orichalcum, that led from the spacious balcony to the palace's royal

  audience room, swung slowly open. A warrior strode out to the balcony. Bastien tried

  not to laugh, as Denal nearly fell off the couch in his haste to stand at attention.

  "Lord Vengeance," Denal snapped off, arms rigidly at his side.

  Ven never broke stride. "At ease, dude. Seriously, Denal, we've gotta get you over this

  rookie thing before you drive us all nuts."

  Denal's face hardened, and he appeared to age a century's worth of days right before

  their eyes. "I think being murdered by vampires and then brought back to life as a result

  of our lady queen's sacrifice is a legitimate entry to the title of seasoned warrior, my

  prince."

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  Ven's own face sobered. "And so it is, Denal." Then he grinned again. "But if you call

  me ‘my prince' again, I'm gonna kick your ass."

  Bastien figured it was a good time to change the subject. "Speak ing of the wedding,

  when is that blessed event occurring, Ven?"

  Ven turned to him, and Bastien realized anew the strain Ven had been under lately. The

  planes of Ven's face were harsher and more severely drawn than they'd been just

  weeks before.

  Before High Prince Conlan had met Lady Riley and the two of them killed the vampire

  goddess, Anubisa.

  "When does Conlan wed Lady Riley? I'm looking forward to that celebration. Atlantis

  deserves to ring with joy, after these weeks of plotting out the upcoming war with the

  vampire—shape-shifter alliance."

  Ven glanced around the newly renovated balcony, then shook his head and smiled. "I

  still can't believe Riley talked Conlan into turning this space into a games room. We've

  even got foosball. I love that woman."

  Justice finally spoke. "Everyone does." He walked over to a support column and leaned

  against it, the hilt of his ever-present sword rising above one shoulder. "You called it,

  naming her Lady Sunshine. She spreads light and happiness everywhere she goes," he

  said, sarcasm drenching his words. "Even a few of the Elders serving on the Council

  actually smiled at her when she stopped by to mention that they should—oh, no big

  deal—just maybe change the way everything in Atlantis has been done for millennia."

  Bastien had heard enough. "Cut it out, justice. Riley has the heart of a lion, and

  Poseidon himself named her as Prince Conlan's future wife and queen. Even now she

  carries Conlan's son. So the sooner we have the wedding, the better for all of us."

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  Justice narrowed his eyes. "The better for Conlan and Riley, at least. The rest of us? I'm

  not so sure."

  Ven sliced a hand through the air. "I don't want to hear any more of that shit from you,

  justice. As one of the Seven, Conlan trusts you to have his back. That includes battling

  political nightmares, not just bloodsuckers and shape-shifters."

  Justice bowed slightly and headed for the door, but Ven called him back. "Stay. It's

  actually fortuitous I caught you three together, because I need to talk to you all."

  "What is it, Ven?" Bastien asked, immediately coming to full alert. He was the most

  senior of the Seven, and always the most alive when serving his liege. The parts of his

  soul made for aught else than battle were long-since shriveled and dead inside him. He

  never minded kicking a little vamp or shape-shifter ass, either.

  "We've decided to begin forming our own alliances to try to catch up with the ten-year

  head start the vamps have on us. Barrabas had his nasty claws in every political

  intrigue in the country, in his role as Senator Barnes."

  Bastien barked out a laugh. "Yeah, and didn't it warm your heart to see how that

  bloodsucker bought it?"

  The four warriors all shuddered simultaneously. Evil three-thousand-year-old vampire or

  not, there was something about watching a guy get his nuts ripped off that sent a cold

  chill snaking up your 'nads. When Anubisa had yanked Barrabas's undead heart from

  his body, it'd almost been a relief.

  Ven recovered first. "Yeah. Well, here's the deal. Conlan wants to name an official

  Atlantean liaison to the shape-shifters."

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  "Makes sense. The furballs are big on protocol and hierarchy. The alphas of the various

  prides, streaks, packs, and all the other groups are way less likely to go prickly if they're

  dealing with somebody they perceive as having status," Bastien said, nodding. "Justice

  is the perfect choice. Hell, with all that blue hair, he looks half animal himself."

  Ven shot Bastien a look. "It's not justice, big guy. Conlan wants you to do it."

  Bastien's jaw dropped open, then he caught himself and grinned, catching on. "Right.

  Very funny. Make the all-brawn, no-brains of the organization take on a political role.

  Sure. Hey, you almost had me, Ven. You're good."

  But Ven wasn't smiling. "You're the only one in Atlantis who thinks your value is merely

  in your physical strength, Bastien. Seems to me Poseidon isn't gonna let you get away

  with that much longer, but that's between you and the sea god."

  Before Bastien could think of a reply, a cold wind swept through the warm, sunny space,

  then shimmered into shape. Speak of the devil.

  Devil—Poseidon's high priest—nigh on the same difference.

  Alaric invoked the fear of the sea god in anybody who dared cross his path. Not many
  did.

  Alaric's eerie green eyes glowed with power and then narrowed, as if he were thoughtmining Bastien's musings. But nobody these days had the ancient Atlantean power to

  sift the thoughts of another not soul-melded to him. Or so Bastien hoped.

  Alaric finally spoke, fiery gaze boring into Ven. "What the sea god wills is beyond your

  limited knowledge of such affairs. Perhaps you should perform your duty as the King's

  Vengeance and leave the responsibilities of Poseidon's Temple to me."

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  Ven inclined his head. "As you say. I'm here to give Bastien his marching orders, since

  the Council called Conlan back into closed session."

  He turned back to Bastien, who was still reeling, trying to process. "You remember that

  hot ranger you saved from that gang of bikers in Miami a couple of years ago? National

  Park Service chick? Smelled like a shape-shifter?"

  Bastien felt his insides shrivel up a little even as he nodded. "Kat Fiero? Yeah. Vague

  recollection."

  Vague recollection o f that day, twenty-one months and three weeks ago.

  "Vague recollection, my ass," Ven said, grinning. "It was the one time Mr. Even Keel got

  his smooth riled."

  Too late, Bastien realized he shouldn't have come up with her name so fast, because

  now everybody else in the room was staring at him. Curious. Considering. Maybe, in

  justice's case, mocking.

  At least he hadn't said anything really stupid.

  Like mentioning how the sunlight had kissed her tawny hair into spun gold.

  Or how the strength in her tall, perfectly shaped, curvy body had shot him into waking

  fantasies so explicit he'd had to leave the beachfront bar and walk directly into the

  ocean, fully clothed, in an attempt to cool down. After he'd battled his way through a half

  dozen or so vamps who'd thought to play with a beautiful shapeshifter caught on her

  own.

  Mr. Even Keel. If only they knew. The calm amiability he fought so hard to present to the

  world was a joke. Decades of battling the evil that stalked humankind had withered the

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  rationality within him. If they only knew how close he'd come to going full-on berserker

  after discovering what the vampires had done to the babies in that orphanage in

  Romania, they'd be afraid of him.

  Anyone sane should be afraid of what he'd turned into, after he'd been forced to clean

  up the mess.

  Babies turned vampire were an abomination, but his soul would never recover from

  what he'd been forced to do. Three cycles of purification in the Temple had not been

  enough. Nothing would ever be enough to cleanse the stain on his soul. A woman like

  Kat deserved better than the monster he'd become that day.

  "Yeah," he repeated, voice raspy. "I remember her. Mostly how you were hitting on her

  and she blew you off," he said, trying to turn the heat back on Ven.

  Ven grinned. "Yeah, she blew me and my attempts at charm back on our collective

  asses. Point is, there's a nest of shape-shifters in the Big Cypress National Preserve

  that's gone rogue, in defiance of the big-shot Florida alpha's edict that they ally with the

  vamps. We're hoping we can get them on our side. The Big Cypress group is panthers,

  and the alpha is a truly badass dude named Ethan."

  "And Kat?"

  "She's our way in, we hope. From what we hear, she's half human. Intel from Quinn."

  Bastien slowly nodded. Lady Riley's sister was one of the leaders of the human

  rebellion against vamp and shape-shifter domination, and she tended to have extremely

  good information. "That would make sense. Kat seemed… different. I could smell the

  big cat, feel its power under her skin, but it wasn't the same as your run-of-the-mill

  furball."

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  Justice whistled. "You felt her cat's power under her skin? What else did you feel? Just

  how hot is this chick?"

  Gut clenching, Bastien whirled to face justice and whipped the hockey puck across the

  room at him. Justice jerked his head to the side, and Bastien watched in horror as the

  puck buried itself in the wall next to the warrior's face.

  "What in the nine hells was that?" Denal whooped, then strode over to pull the puck out

  of the wall.

  It took him three tries.

  Bastien felt his face flush hot with shame. A good warrior never lost control. His years of

  training had drummed that into his brain every bit as much as the arts of sword play and

  battle strategy.

  What had come over him?

  An image of the curve of Kat's neck flashed into his mind.

  Oh, damn.

  He bowed to justice. "My deepest apologies, Lord Justice. I don't know… I—"

  Justice cut him off, voice gone a deadly calm. "If you were anyone else, I'd kill you for

  that. You've saved my ass enough times to earn a free shot. But watch yourself in the

  future, Bastien."

  Alaric glided noiselessly across the room to stand in front of Bastien and stare up into

  his eyes. The fierce green glow of the priest's gaze pierced heat across Bastien's face,

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  and he wondered if Poseidon would use Alaric to strike him down for endangering

  another of Prince Conlan's elite guard.

  Wondered if any punishment the sea god had in his capricious mind could be any more

  dangerous than facing Kat again. In the nearly four hundred years of his existence, no

  female had affected him like that one. His duty was to protect humanity, but not once in

  his long centuries as a warrior had he taken it so very personally.

  She wasn't even human.

  She was forbidden.

  The priest finally spoke. "Interesting. This mission will prove very… interesting. I may

  have to visit south Florida soon."

  And then Alaric shimmered back into mist and swept right off the balcony, leaving

  Bastien to face the warriors who were his closest friends—and the mission he wasn't

  anywhere near qualified to handle.

  Oh, yeah. I'm golden.

  Chapter Two

  Kat sat in her jeep, shirt soaked through with sweat from the heat of south Florida in

  autumn, and wondered when a simple trip to the grocery store had turned into a test of

  courage. The thermometer at the bank had read eighty-five degrees, not all that unusual

  for this time of year, and the wild cat in her wanted to curl up in the sun on a rock

  somewhere.

  Take a nap, maybe.

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  Take down a sheep or two.

  "Yeah, right. Take a break from reality."

  "The reality in which Kat Fiero, official National Park Service ranger and daughter to the

  former alpha of the Big Cypress panther coalition, had never once taken down a sheep.

 

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