Warriors of Poseidon 01 - Atlantis Rising

yet let you live."
     
    Ven drove the last hundred yards or so with the lights off, burning up the street.
    Atlantean night vision was an asset sometimes.
     
    Justice was out the door before Ven could shove the gearshift into park. Bastien and Alexios were out of the backseat on his heels.
     
    Ven jumped out, looked up at the sound of wind rushing over his head. It was Christophe, determined to travel via mist, though his strength and speed were no match for Conlan and Alaric.
     
    Ven nodded. He understood pride.
     
    "Conlan!" Justice's voice rang out, and Ven started running.
     
    Damn it. Not his brother. Not again.
     
    He pounded up to the group of warriors as Justice pulled Conlan to his feet.
     
    "Are you harmed?"
     
    Conlan glanced at him, shook his head, sucking in air. "No, but I'm going to kick Alaric's glowy green ass for him when I get my hands on him. Bastard magicked me out of his way to get to the Trident. Wouldn't wait for backup."
     
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    Christophe shimmered into form beside them, face rapt, staring toward the ugly steel-and-block building on the other side of the field. "It's the Trident," he breathed. "It's singing. I've never felt such power."
     
    Face transfixed, Christophe stumbled off in the direction of the building, unheeding of Ven's call to stop. Bastien stepped in front of him and casually popped him in the jaw, nearly knocking the warrior off his feet.
     
    Blinking, eyes beginning to register his surroundings, Christophe rubbed his jaw and scowled up at Bastien. "What in the nine hells did you do that for?"
     
    Bastien grinned. "You've had that coming for a while. Oh, yeah, and you were in some kind of trance, too."
     
    Conlan strode forward. "Enough. We need to fan out and figure out what we're getting ourselves into. What Alaric is likely in the middle of already. If there are any sentries, take care of them. Quietly."
     
    Bastien drew his daggers. "Quiet is my middle name, my lord. We're golden."
     
    Christophe snorted. "Ugly is your middle name."
     
    Alexios started forward, rammed his shoulder against Christophe as he passed him.
    "Another word, and you will discover an entirely new meaning of ugly, shit for brains,"
    he growled.
     
    With hand gestures, Conlan motioned Justice to take point toward the left and Alexios to do the same toward the right. He went straight up the middle, muttering a quick prayer to Poseidon that Alaric would hold off another damn minute.
     
    That was when the windows of the building shattered.
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    Brennan's head jerked up. "Someone approaches." His hands went to the weapons that were never far from his hands.
     
    Riley had noticed they were all like that. Even in bed with her, Conlan's daggers had been on a table within reach.
     
    Her cheeks turned pink as she realized she was, for about the fiftieth time in the past hour, thinking about Conlan naked. Sheesh, she was turning into a guy, with sex, sex, sex on her brain. Next she'd start scratching her crotch and develop a driving need to play fantasy football.
     
    "It's probably the pizza guy," she said. "Yippee for on-time delivery. Let me grab my wallet."
     
    Brennan and Denal both stood to accompany her. She planted her fists on her hips. "It's the pizza guy. Who is probably some skinny high school kid who will pee in his pants if you two come to the door looking like Conan the Atlantean. Okay?"
     
    The doorbell rang, and Brennan shook his head. "You will not go alone."
     
    She appealed to his logic. "Look, if you scare the guy, he'll have some big story to tell back at the pizza place, right? Do you really want the address and phone number of your so-called safe house to be stored in the computer system of people who think a drag-dealing biker gang lives here?"
     
    Denal drew his sword, all "I'm the warrior, and you're the poor defenseless maiden"
    attitude.
     
    Riley rolled her eyes. "Brennan? You're the older and wiser, right? Don't I make sense?"
     
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    The doorbell rang again.
     
    Finally Brennan nodded. "You may go. I will stand behind the door as you effect the transaction."
     
    "Fine. Let's go before my pepperoni gets cold."
     
    She paused the movie—you had to love Fay Wray—and pulled her wallet out of her jacket on the way. Brennan handed her some folded bills.
     
    "You will not pay