Heart Of Atlantis

time in silence, enjoying the peace and tranquility almost in spite of herself.
    “Well, it seems like a place where you could commune with the gods quite happily,” she finally said diplomatically.
    “Poseidon is not a peaceful, communing kind of god,” Alaric replied. “When he wants me, it is usually for something involving gaining power, jockeying for power, negotiating for power, or—”
    “Yeah, I get it,” she cut in. “Those old gods are still bloodthirsty and power-hungry?”
    “Some things never change. He does his best to protect his children.”
    “Children?”
    “We of Atlantis are his children,” Alaric said. “Since you are
aknasha
, you’re clearly descended from Atlantean ancestors, so technically you’re his to protect, too.”
    “No thanks,” she said firmly. “I’ve seen what he calls protection. Letting Riley die, branding her, the way he treats you—I don’t want anything to do with any of it.”
    “If you accept me, you will have no choice,” he said, taking her shoulders in his hands and turning her to face him. “Even if I were to leave the temple, I could never completely escape Poseidon. Would it be so bad a bargain?”
    She shook her head, helpless to know how to answer. Her heart cried out for her to answer no, but her head urged caution.
    “I need to kiss you again,” he said.
    She backed away, shaking her head. “I can’t. Not now. Please. Just . . . just take me on the tour.”
    His face hardened from her rejection, but he nodded and took her hand again, as if he needed to feel her touch. As they left the room and entered a corridor, he gestured to a dull black wooden door.
    “Through that door and down those stairs is where I faced the Rite of Oblivion. I eventually survived it and became high priest,” he said with an obviously false nonchalance.
    Whatever lurked down those stairs carried bleak and painful memories for him that were so powerful she caught faint traces of the emotions from around the edges of his mental shield. She knew she should ask—they needed honesty and acceptance between them—but she could not.
    Would not.
    She had her own secrets to keep. And after she’d miscalculated so badly and spent more than a year imprisoned by the vampire she’d targeted, a ritual named for blessed forgetfulness had a certain appeal.
    In any event, she had no reserves of strength left. Not enough to face entering a room where something called the Rite of Oblivion took place. Not tonight.
    His eyes darkened, and her throat tightened at the realization that she was failing him through her silence. She had to ask at least one question; discover the answer she most needed to know.
    “What would have happened if you’d failed the test?”
    “I would be dead. You never would have met me. Perhaps an entire set of problems would have been avoided,” he said bleakly.
    “Never say that.
Never.
No matter what happens between us, now or in the future, the world has been a better place for having you in it, Alaric.” Her throat felt raw from allowing the starkly sincere words to escape. Emotion, raw and vulnerable, burned inside her until she had to fight tears yet again. Twice in one night. She was falling apart. Maybe it was better for everyone that her days as a rebel were over.
    He pulled her into his arms and rested his cheek on the top of her head. “You honor and humble me with your honesty,
mi amara
. I can do no other than return it. You must know by now that you are everything in the world to me. Please stay with me tonight. Just for a little while longer. Please.”
    And, for all of her defiance earlier, she couldn’t refuse him. Not then, maybe not ever. She’d stay strong and stay out of his bed, but she couldn’t refuse to hold him, even just for a little while.

    As Quinn showered, Alaric paced through his austere suite of rooms, seeing the place with new eyes. With
her
eyes. Everything was gray and hard-edged and bleak. No softness, no color. It was like a portrait of the inside of his soul. No wonder she’d flinched when she first walked in. He vowed to change everything. He’d add color. Texture. Sensual fabrics. Art on the walls.
    Maybe she wanted jewels or baubles or presents. He didn’t think so, but Ven always told them women loved trinkets, and Erin certainly wore enough jewelry. All those rings. But wait, those were tools and symbols of her magic. Did that count?
    He stopped dead on the edge of the floor and banged his head