Warriors of Poseidon 01 - Atlantis Rising

kidding.
     
    This was what Atlantean warriors considered useful battle gear for empaths? Silk camisoles and her one and only miniskirt?
     
    She rolled her eyes. The skirt was the only leather in her closet, so biker-look man must have thought it was the thing to wear. At least he'd shoved her favorite pair of boots and a blue sweater in there, too, so she wouldn't freeze to death.
     
    By the time she dressed, Conlan was gone. She spent about five seconds thinking about how she so didn't want to face the warriors, when everybody would know what she and Conlan had been up to all night, but the scent of coffee overrode any shyness and she wandered down to the kitchen, chin raised.
     
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    Only to find the room empty. But a full pot of coffee—fresh, from the smell of it—sat there tempting her. She selected a muffin from the enormous, half-empty box on the table to go with it and sat down at the table, prepared to enjoy a quiet breakfast before she saved the world.
     
    Heh. Social worker takes on the Primus. Film at eleven.
     
    "Of my detached body parts, most likely," she muttered.
     
    Somebody cleared his throat behind her, and she nearly dropped her coffee mug.
     
    "I beg your pardon, Lady Riley?"
     
    She turned to find Denal standing in the doorway to the hall. "Nothing. Just mumbling to myself, which is never a good sign. Come in. Do you want some coffee?"
     
    He bowed to her and, oddly enough, it didn't faze her. She must be getting used to it.
    Great.
     
    Add swelled head to the list of things she needed to worry about.
     
    "No, thank you, but I would avail myself of another of those blueberry muffins, if I may?"
     
    She laughed. "Denal, seriously, we have to work on your language. Bring it into this century. And, sure, avail away. Pull up a chair."
     
    He bowed again and took a seat across the table from her, back to the wall. Then he took a muffin and sank his teeth into it, a look of bliss spreading over his face.
     
    She grinned; she couldn't help it. He looked like a nine-year-old kid like that. Which made her wonder. "Denal, exactly how old are you? You guys keep throwing out words Atlantis Rising – Warriors of Poseidon 01
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    like 'centuries' when you're talking about stuff, but I had too much to wrap my brain around to go there before."
     
    He swallowed and wiped his mouth with a napkin, then looked at her seriously. "I am soon to celebrate the anniversary of my birth, Lady Riley. Do you celebrate such times?"
     
    "Yes, with cake and ice cream and balloons. And, please, just Riley, okay? So how many candles will be on your cake?"
     
    He looked puzzled. "Candles?"
     
    "One candle per year. So my next cake will have twenty-eight candles, which is way too close to thirty for my liking," she said, shuddering at the thought. "And you?"
     
    He grinned at her. "I am afraid my cake would give rise to a conflagration, Lady… Riley.
    My candles would number two and twenty."
     
    She laughed. "Right, junior. Twenty-two is hardly enough for a conflagration. You couldn't even roast a marshmallow with twenty-two candles."
     
    Denal finished his muffin and selected another, then shook his head. "Two hundred and twenty. Perhaps enough to roast a chicken or two."
     
    She blinked. "Oh. Well. You look great for your age," she said weakly.
     
    Two hundred twenty years old? And he was the young one? But…
     
    "Denal, how old is Conlan?"
     
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    He looked surprised. "He has not shared that with you? But I thought you and he… Um, rather—"
     
    It was her turn to smile, even though she could feel her cheeks turning pink. "It's okay, Denal. We're still… feeling our way through things."
     
    He looked down at the table, which suddenly must have become fascinating, since he wouldn't raise his gaze to meet hers. "I offer my apologies. I did not mean to cause you discomfort."
     
    "Trust me, this is nothing. You should have been around for some of the things my sister did to embarrass me when we were kids."
     
    He finally looked up, mischief gleaming in his eyes. "I was the youngest of eight, and have seven older sisters. I can imagine full well how things must have been between you. Mine used to dress me up like a doll and make me sit through interminable tea parties."
     
    "Oh, I am so gonna use that against you, kid," Bastien's good-natured rumble of a voice cut