Warriors of Poseidon 03 - Atlantis Unleashed

the fury in his eyes promised vengeance. Justice wore a matching expression on his face. The two warriors were nearly a mirror of each other, though from vastly disparate cultures.
    Or, perhaps not. If the Atlanteans had settled in Mayan lands more than eleven thousand years ago . . . Keely shook her head to clear it of the random musings. Now was certainly not the time to lose focus.
    Eleni made some small sound and looked up at Keely, deep wells of loss and sadness in her eyes. The girl made no move to come closer, but just huddled into herself as though fearing a rebuff. Keely was completely unable to maintain any kind of detachment looking at this poor child who reminded her of another little girl, so long ago.
    A little girl whose own parents were afraid of what she was.
    But at least Keely had had parents, even though they were unable to provide much in the way of emotional support. Poor Eleni had lost both of hers. Keely dropped to her knees and held out her arms to the girl, who came willingly to her and laid her small head on Keely‟s shoulder and held up the stuffed animal for Keely to see. Keely felt a sharp wrench in her stomach when she realized it wasn‟t a toy at all, but a fuzzy, well-worn slipper matted and stained with blood.
    “Mama left her slipper, you see,” Eleni confided trustingly. “I‟m worried that her poor feet are getting cold.”
     
    Las Pinturas, twilight
    Justice carried the last load of useable goods to the single house that had been left relatively unscathed by the vampires‟ destruction and handed them to the women who were organizing the stores. Some of the canned goods had survived. Several charred-at-the-edges but still serviceable blankets. Various personal items that the villagers had pulled from the wreckage.
    What the fires hadn‟t ruined, he had. He walked back to look at what was left of the village, and self-disgust roiled like acid in his gut. He‟d had no choice but to call water to put out the fires. They‟d have lost everything if he hadn‟t. But the sight of that little boy clutching his soaking-wet collection of half-burned baseball cards had turned his stomach.
    Or wrenched an organ further up in his chest, not that he‟d admit it.
    These people reminded him of the American colonists he‟d been fighting to save back on that long-ago night when he‟d carved Keely‟s fish. Brave and stubborn. Willing to live their lives here in the wild, by no man‟s—or government‟s—rules or constraints. They were farmers eking out a subsistence living, but they were proud. Alejandro perhaps the proudest of them all. He‟d done the work of ten men, ordering and cajoling his people to work quickly to save all that could be saved and barricade the building so they could hide the women and children inside when darkness fell again. Proud and courageous, both. Alejandro would make a fine warrior.
    They are fools, the Nereid sneered in his mind. No protection from the Guatemalan Paranormal Ops patrols this far out. They’re nothing but bloodsucker bait.
    “They radioed P Ops this morning after the vamps left,” Justice said. Then he realized that he‟d just answered himself out loud. “Okay, now I‟m ready for the Temple protective rooms; that‟s for sure.”
    Keely walked across the charred ground toward him. Her face was smudged with dirt and ash, but to him she glowed like a flame. She‟d tied her wealth of hair back away from her face, and he wanted to let it loose and bury his face in the silken strands. Inhale her sweet scent after so many hours of the smell of burning filling his nostrils and lungs.
    “Did you say Temple protective rooms? What are those?” she asked, always the inquisitive scientist, even bone weary as she must be.
    He bent his head to kiss her, because he could do nothing else. A feeling so huge coiled inside him that the pressure would surely burst his rib cage. There was nothing more important than Keely, no moment in his life from this day on that he would not spend thanking all the gods for her. He closed his arms around her and pulled her so close that he could feel her heart beating against his chest.
    But a warrior preparing for battle must plan strategy with his head, not with his heart, and so he reluctantly let her go.
    “I want to get you out of here,” he repeated for the twentieth time since they‟d first arrived. “I have tried and tried to call to the portal, and it will not answer my call. Perhaps I am too