Warriors of Poseidon 02 - Atlantis Awakening

say he was frustrated didn't begin to cover it. He didn't move, though, from his stance leaning against the wall across from the chamber's main door.
    Between any possible threat and his brother, as was his duty and right as the King's Vengeance. Not that Conlan couldn't take care of himself. Ven glanced at his older brother, heir to the throne. Conlan looked so much like him, if maybe an inch or so shorter. The prince sat in his usual seat at the large round wooden table, leaning back in his chair, watching the room but saying nothing.
     
    Ven finally replied to Justice's rhetorical comment, just to shave some edge off the tension in the room. "You don't like anything, Justice. Care to elaborate?"
     
    Justice stopped pacing and whirled to face Ven, that waist-length blue braid of his flying as he turned. "Do not mock my concerns, Lord Vengeance. You know full well my instincts have saved your royal ass on more than one occasion."
     
    It was the simple truth, so Ven couldn't find it in him to be annoyed. "Your point? It's not like all the ass-saving over the centuries hasn't been reciprocated." He looked around Atlantis Awakening – Warriors of Poseidon 02
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    the chamber at the others of Conlan's elite guard, the Seven, who'd shared more battles with him than he could count.
     
    Brennan, emotionless as ever, unable to feel since the curse. He and Alexios had made it back to Atlantis just a short while before Ven. Alexios, grim, unsmiling. Something had died within the warrior when Anubisa had held him captive. These days he only ever smiled when he was killing something. Ven still didn't know how far Alexios had come from the feral state in which they'd found him; the vampire goddess had had a master's touch when it came to torture.
     
    Damn, but it was great that she was dead.
     
    Christophe, eyes gleaming with barely leashed power. The most unstable of them all, perhaps. Standing next to him, Denal, youngest in age, but a warrior who had died and come back to life due to Riley's mortal sacrifice. His two hundred and twenty-odd years weighed more heavily on the youngling than it ever had before.
     
    And their missing colleague—Bastien—still in Florida forming an alliance with the shape-shifters. Forming his own alliance by way of the soul-meld with a werepanther he'd fallen in love with, if Denal's stories could be taken seriously. Ven was in "believe it when I see it mode" on that one.
     
    Alexios spoke up, jolting Ven from his reverie. "Do we really want to waste our time comparing notches on our swords, Lord Justice?" He stood near the window, the scarred side of his face turned toward the wall and away from their view.
     
    Conlan held up a hand, and Justice stopped before snapping out whatever reply had caused his muscles to tense up like that. The warrior was as bad as Christophe. Justice had a chip on his shoulder so big that somebody was bound to want to knock it off one of these days. Probably sooner rather than later. Ven hoped to be around to see it.
     
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    If he wasn't the one doing the knocking. Maybe he'd go two-for-one with Justice and Christophe, just to burn off a little tension.
     
    "I don't like it either," Conlan said, voice even. "Ven is my brother and, for some strange reason, my future queen seems to have developed a certain sisterly fondness for him."
     
    Denal laughed. "She's so sweet she likes everyone, my liege. She even likes Christophe."
     
    Christophe mock-growled at the younger warrior and reached out to smack him on the back of the head, but Denal ducked, grinning.
     
    Conlan's lips quirked in a semblance of a smile, but his face remained grim.
    "Regardless of the reasons, Riley would prefer that Ven remain in Atlantis to be near while she… faces these difficulties. However, she is a warrior at heart and realizes that we must continue our mission to protect humanity. We who are the Warriors of Poseidon can do no less."
     
    An icy chill shivered through the room, and most of the warriors standing around the table involuntarily stepped back a pace. After nearly three centuries as high priest, Alaric's signature entrance was unmistakable to them all. He carried the power of Poseidon with him even when formless as air, invisible as a breath. Brennan, who had been leaning on the chair next to Conlan's at the table, bowed slightly and moved away from it toward his own seat.
     
    Alaric shimmered