Warriors of Poseidon 01 - Atlantis Rising

nodding heads.
     
    Leapt to his feet, then took to the air. "Then she needs us. Denal, Brennan—they all need us now."
     
    And he transformed to mist, soaring across the room to the window that would lead him to the outdoor air and back to Riley.
     
    Calling out to her with his emotions as he did.
     
    Praying, when he felt only blankness, that it wasn't too late.
     
    Reisen opened his eyes. The power drain had taken him under, probably for a while, if the stiffness of the arm bent under his body was any indication. He struggled to sit up, looking around the dim room. The moonlight through the windows shone the only light on the devastation.
     
    Bodies, both human and Atlantean, lay scattered on the floor. Many were stirring even as he watched; not dead, then, but caught in the blast.
     
    Then he realized what was missing. Conlan and the Trident were gone.
     
    He'd failed.
     
    Reisen closed his eyes as the impact of his failure crashed over him. He was out of options and should end his own life. His death would be marked as the passing of the traitor who had destroyed the honor of the House of Mycenae.
     
    The shouts snapped him out of his indulgence of self-pity. Wave after wave of vampires flew in through the windows to land on his warriors and the defenseless Platoists.
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    A full dozen headed for him.
     
    He smiled, unsheathed his daggers. At least he'd die as a warrior and take some of the infernal bloodsuckers with him.
     
    "Bring it on."

Chapter 30
    Conlan thought he'd known torture before.
     
    That was nothing compared to the pain that ripped through him at the sight of Riley's nude and bloody body lying on the floor, Denal and Brennan sprawled out next to her. A sword, daggers, and an axe lay near them.
     
    All of the weapons were coated in blood.
     
    He flashed through the open door, transforming back into his body, anguish roaring up through his throat.
     
    "Riley, no, no, no." He fell to his knees beside her, ripping his shirt off to cover her nakedness. Then he pulled her warm body into his arms.
     
    Her warm body. Afraid to believe, he held his palm over her mouth and nose, nearly touching her.
     
    And felt her breath.
     
    She was alive.
     
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    "She's alive! By the gods, she's alive." He dropped his forehead against hers, breathed out a prayer of thanks. "You're alive, aknasha. I will never ask for anything else."
     
    Alaric shimmered into shape beside him, scanning the room even as he crouched down next to Denal. "What happened here? Why are they unconscious? There are no wounds that I can see."
     
    "Bring me a blanket," Conlan demanded. "I need to cover her. Take her to a bed."
     
    Alaric shook his head. "Do not move her yet. Let me check for internal injuries." He moved closer, held a hand over Riley's shoulder.
     
    Conlan fought against his urge to snarl at the priest. His primal instincts had gone savage with the need to defend and protect, like an animal with its mate.
     
    "I'm not touching her, Conlan. You need to—oh!" The priest yanked his hand away as if he'd been burned. Then he stared up at Conlan, shock widening his eyes.
     
    "Move your shirt away from her back, Conlan. I must see her shoulder." The utter bewilderment in Alaric's voice persuaded Conlan to comply. He gently moved a corner of the fabric covering her.
     
    And they both stared at the mark of the Trident, still smoking around the edges, branded into her skin.
     
    "This is a mark I cannot heal, Conlan," Alaric murmured.
     
    As they stared at each other, then back at the blackened skin, Riley's eyelashes fluttered open.
     
    "Conlan? Alaric? Am I dead?"
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    Before he could answer her, she'd lapsed back into a deep level of unconsciousness.
    Alaric had been unable to bring her around from it and had suggested sleep. Conlan carried her to the bedroom and gently cleansed her legs and hands of the blood and gore that streaked them.
     
    His hands trembled as he stroked the curve of her ankle, and he wanted to scream.
    Wanted to rage, destroy, murder someone or something.
     
    Wanted to cry.
     
    Did none of those things. Didn't deserve to cry for her. He'd left her to be attacked. She could have been killed.
     
    He wasn't only worthless as a prince. He was worthless as a man.
     
    She deserved better.
     
    He paused, warm