Warriors of Poseidon 01 - Atlantis Rising

feel anything from him.
     
    Ven, though, either wasn't as strong or else he was too tired to care. She felt it from him—the sorrow, the weariness, the horror at what they'd done.
     
    But she didn't understand the emotions. "What did you do to the bodies?" she asked, echoing Quinn.
     
    "We had to dispose of them. We can't leave that kind of mess for the human authorities," Conlan said, jaw clenching.
     
    "But—no! You can't do that! We have to call 911 and—"
     
    "He's right, Riley," Quinn said wearily, head drooping. "This is something beyond even the P Ops. Especially if they really are from Atlantis."
     
    Conlan held a hand out to Riley, and she blinked at him in utter disbelief. "But, that can't be right. Paranormal Ops guys deal with this kind of stuff all the time, right? I mean—"
     
    "Riley," Conlan said, voice gentle. "There is nothing left for them to find. Please. We need to get your sister out of danger."
     
    Riley hesitated another minute, then nodded, squaring her shoulders. "Sure. Fine.
    You're right. Atlantis exists, vampires attack me, I nearly get killed by my client's boyfriend, and my sister is in league with werewolves. What's abnormal about that?"
     
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    She tightened her arm around Quinn, and they headed down the path toward the cars and, hopefully, toward some answers.
     
    Conlan stared out the window into the fading sunlight, pondering how the world could go mad in a matter of hours. Neither Quinn nor Riley would speak to him on the drive back to the house, and Quinn had fallen asleep almost immediately upon their arrival. Riley sat, unmoving, in a chair near her sister's bed, as she had all afternoon.
     
    Alaric was still missing.
     
    He'd sent Bastien on patrol, to see what he could sniff out, while Christophe used his freakishly genius ways on the internet to hack into any local media networks he could find.
     
    Ven had gone to track down a contact in the local shapeshifter population, Alexios with him. Maybe there would be news of what exactly a local pack of wolves was doing messing with Reisen and his men.
     
    Although, knowing Reisen, it was the other way around. The House of Mycenae wasn't exactly subtle about their feelings that the only good shapeshifter was a dead one.
     
    Brennan paced by on the grass outside the window, standing guard, and sketched a salute toward him, then pointed up. So Justice had taken up a position on the roof.
    Good.
     
    Denal sat on the floor outside Riley and Quinn's room, daggers at the ready. He was taking his duty as Riley's self-professed champion and defender very seriously.
     
    Even, to Conlan's amusement and consternation, as regarded his prince.
     
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    "She doesn't want to speak to you now, my lord," Denal had said, white-faced—probably at his own audacity—but firm, standing in front of the door to the bedroom.
     
    Conlan had nodded his head, acquiescing.
     
    For the moment.
     
    But he'd leaned close to his young warrior and spoken quietly. "You serve her well, Denal. But know this. If I wanted to go to her now, neither you nor any force of nature itself would stop me. Remember that in the future."
     
    Denal, to his credit, hadn't backed down. But Conlan had heard the explosive exhalation of breath as he'd walked away from the room and its guard.
     
    Conlan closed his eyes and tried to reach out to Riley, but her mental shields were still locked into place. Then he sent a summoning on the shared Atlantean mental path.
    Alaric, where are you? We need you, priest.
     
    It was nearly nine-thirty by the time Quinn woke up. Denal, camped out at her door, had tried to persuade Riley to eat something several times, but the sight of Quinn lying near death in the middle of some kind of supernatural über-battle had ruined her appetite.
     
    Quinn lay sprawled out on her back, arms flung wide, the same way she'd always slept.
    As Riley stared at her, Quinn's eyes fluttered open.
     
    "Riley?" she whispered, voice hoarse. "Where are we?"
     
    "You fell asleep in the car, Quinn," Riley said, leaning forward to grasp her sister's hand.
    "We're in a house that belongs to Conlan's brother, Ven."
     
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    Quinn squeezed her hand—a brief pressure—and struggled to sit up. She looked down at her shoulder. She still wore the ruined shirt she'd had on when