Heart Of Atlantis

treating humans as little more than cattle. The Warriors of Atlantis are needed more than ever to help hold back the attack. Now, finally, Atlantis must rise.
    In order to do so, the seven missing jewels from Poseidon’s Trident, scattered to the far reaches of the globe, must be found and restored. So far the warriors have located and retrieved all but one of the gems—and have found the loves of their lives along the way.
    Now, all that remains is to find Poseidon’s Pride, the final jewel, and only Alaric can accomplish this dangerous mission . . . if he chooses to do so. But he has vowed to remain at the side of the woman he loves and never leave her again, the fates of Atlantis and the entire world be damned.
    Thanks for coming along on this amazing journey.
    Alyssa
    Research note for the fact junkies like me: As you know by now, I love to use historical fact and actual archaeological discoveries in my books. I was delighted to read that archaeologists at Gobekli Tepe in Turkey discovered what is believed to be the world’s oldest temple, dated at approximately eleven thousand years old. Since that is exactly when Atlantis sank beneath the waves in my books, this fit in with the history of my Warriors of Poseidon perfectly. The Smithsonian Magazine reported:
    Six miles from Urfa, an ancient city in southeastern Turkey, Klaus Schmidt has made one of the most startling archaeological discoveries of our time: massive carved stones about 11,000 years old, crafted and arranged by prehistoric people who had not yet developed metal tools or even pottery. The megaliths predate Stonehenge by some 6,000 years. The place is called Gobekli Tepe, and Schmidt, a German archaeologist who has been working here more than a decade, is convinced it’s the site of the world’s oldest temple. Read more at http://www.smithsonianmag.com/history-archaeology/gobekli-tepe.html.

The Warrior’s Creed
    We will wait. And watch. And protect.
    And serve as first warning on the eve of humanity’s destruction.
    Then, and only then, Atlantis will rise.
    For we are the Warriors of Poseidon, and the mark of the Trident we bear serves as witness to our sacred duty to safeguard mankind.

Prologue
    The wilderness near Sedona, Arizona, just past twilight
    Alaric, sword at the ready, stepped into the path of the oncoming vampire and struck its head from its body before it had a chance to get anywhere near Quinn.
    “Stay down,” he shouted at her, another futile plea disguised as a command. She wouldn’t listen. She never listened.
    Quinn, all smoldering heat and explosive fury wrapped up in a small, dark-haired package, smiled at him, and he nearly lost his balance.
    “A gentleman wouldn’t keep yelling at me,” she said, firing one of the many guns she kept on her at all times. Then firing another. “Why are they attacking now? How did they find us? I’m sick to death of battling vampires and shifters, and it’s bad enough when we know
why
they’re after us. This? This is just crazy.”
    “I never claimed to be a gentleman, and most vampires are, by their very nature, insane,” he said, launching himself into the air toward a pair of wolf shifters that clearly intended to claim either a rebel leader or a high priest of Atlantis—or both—for a late-night snack. The moonlight glinted blue streaks in Quinn’s untidy mop of hair, and he had a fraction of a second to wonder why he was noticing her hair in the midst of a heated battle. Why the scent of her skin and curve of her lips formed the puzzle pieces of his greatest obsession.
    He refused to admit the truth of it, even to himself. Battle now. The rest of it later.
    Alaric released the energy sword and conjured ice daggers as he flew up and over the shifters, and then hurled both of them down at precisely the exact time and angle needed to simultaneously pierce both of their hearts. They fell, thudding to the ground together in a shapeless mass of unrealized rage and thwarted ambition.
    Enemies were here to deal death tonight, and Alaric, who’d been Atlantean warrior and high priest to Poseidon for centuries, had no intention of allowing even one of them to succeed. Not if he could help it.
    “Beware,” he called out, but a tiger’s scream drew his attention from Quinn after she shot an attacking wolf shifter.
    Jack, one of fewer than a dozen tiger shifters still in existence, fought like a berserker from old, only a dozen paces from where Alaric and Quinn stood. A