Warriors of Poseidon 03 - Atlantis Unleashed

years.”
    A shaky but determined feminine voice interrupted them, coming from the far corner of the room. “Well, that was a pretty good imitation of it, then.”
    As one, the three warriors whirled to face the threat, pointing raised weapons at the figure who peered out at them from behind a large red-leather sofa. A human female, wrapped in nothing but a torn length of fabric, stood up and stared at them defiantly. Her dark hair was tangled around her shoulders and one eye was swollen and bruised as though she‟d been struck—hard—in the face. In spite of her disarray, she had a compelling beauty that drew Alexios, made him want to assist her in some way.
    She lifted her chin and gazed at each of them in turn. “Unless I‟m either hearing things, or I‟m crazy, you‟re from Atlantis, and you hate these monsters as much as I do. So how about we make a deal? You help me get the story of a lifetime, and I‟ll help you find your friend.”
    Christophe laughed and lowered his sword. “Right. Naked and beaten, in this room, and you expect us to believe you‟re some kind of reporter? You‟re as sick and twisted as the rest of them.”
    “That may be,” Alexios said slowly. “But why is she the only human still conscious?”
    Brennan made a strange growling sound and stepped forward, but Alexios shot out a hand to grasp his arm. Brennan stopped dead, but never took his gaze from the woman.
    She shook her head, her slender fingers twisting in the fabric she held closed over her breasts.
    “No, you don‟t understand. I‟m—”
    “It‟s okay,” Christophe said, leering. “Did I mention I like sick and twisted? We should definitely get to know each other sometime.”
    Brennan‟s growling throttled up into a full-fledged roar, and he broke away from Alexios‟s restraining hand and shoved Christophe halfway across the room.
    “You don‟t understand,” the woman repeated, with only a slight hint of nerves threading through the determination in her voice as her gaze darted back and forth between them. “I write for the Boston Herald . I know where your friend is. I heard them talking about him being in someplace they call the Void.”
    Alexios swore. “If Justice truly is in the Void, we cannot hope to find him. The way is—”
    “Through magic,” she said to Alexios, though she never took her eyes from Brennan, who had retreated into some sort of fugue state as he stood, hands clenched into fists, staring at her as if he would devour her.
    “Dark magic. I know some people. Look, let me find my clothes, and we can at least talk. My name is Tiernan Butler, and I‟m—” She suddenly stopped midsentence, her eyes rolling back in her head, and began to collapse to the floor. Either Christophe‟s magic had hit her with a delayed reaction, she was more injured than she‟d let on, or the shock had finally caught up to her.
    Before Alexios could move, Brennan flashed through the room, a miniature meteor shower of sparkling mist blasting through the air in his wake. He swept the woman up into his arms and turned to face Alexios and Christophe, baring his teeth. All that naked rage and fury was once again on his face, battling with an emotion shining and deadly, like an unsheathed sword.
    An emotion Alexios had never once seen from Brennan.
    But he‟d definitely seen that look from someone else recently. When Prince Conlan looked at Riley, his bride-to-be.
    Possession.
    “Damn,” he muttered.
    “Brennan, put down the nice human,” Christophe said, grinning as if at some wondrous joke.
    “She‟s—”
    “Mine,” Brennan said flatly. “She‟s mine. Come near her and die.”
    Alexios lowered his sword arm and sheathed his weapon, then sighed and lifted his head to stare at the ceiling. “Great. Outstanding. So now I‟ve got unconscious and bloody humans, Justice possibly in the Void, and Brennan losing his tiny little mind. Welcome to my nightmare.”
    An icy wind sheared through the room and materialized into the form of Poseidon‟s high priest. Alaric, clad in black that was only alleviated by the shimmering silvery green light of the power glowing in his eyes, took in the situation in a single glance. “You are in luck, warrior. I specialize in nightmares.”
    In the space between thoughts, Alaric lifted his hands and shot a pulsing blue-green energy sphere directly at Brennan, who flew into the air, still clutching the unconscious woman, to try to escape it. But Brennan, especially