Warriors of Poseidon 03 - Atlantis Unleashed

existing.
    Although she‟d made it very clear that she had no place in his future, just the knowledge that she was alive and walking through the same time as he made the bleakness of his life somehow more bearable.
    He was a high priest imprisoned by the dictates of a god‟s whim. She was a rebel leader tortured by the memory of a dark deed. There was no way they could be together, no potential realm of the future that promised any hope.
    But the idea of her death held the extinction of all hope, and he could not countenance it. He rapidly crossed the room to Alexios, who took one look at Alaric‟s face and immediately stopped issuing commands.
    “She‟s alive, Alaric. She was wounded, but it was minor,” Alexios said, a rough compassion in his voice.
    A strange weakness raced through Alaric and he had to fight his own lungs to draw breath.
    Quinn was wounded.
    “How minor?” he snarled. “Tell me, now .”
    “Relax. It‟s just a scrape. An overenthusiastic shifter caught her with a claw or two. Denal patched her up, and the two of them and Jack took off after the vamp leaders. Just to reconnoiter. They‟re going to find out where they hole up, so we can go after them in full force later. They sent Reisen off somewhere else.”
    Alaric narrowed his eyes. “Tell me nothing about the traitor.”
    Jack had been Quinn‟s partner for some years. They were coleaders of the North American rebels, and Jack also happened to be the fiercest shape-shifter Alaric had ever seen. But then, tiger shifters had never been known for their meek natures.
    Jack was boldly confident, and Alaric suspected the tiger was developing more than a fellow-warrior attachment for Quinn. Not that it was any of his concern what Quinn did, he reminded himself, even as the pain of it stabbed through him.
    He wrenched himself out of the poisonous thoughts. Alexios was wounded, and yet the priest who should be his healer was mewling like a cursed youngling. “Your head. How bad is it?”
    Alexios jerked his head away from Alaric‟s hands. “It‟s nothing. A scratch. You know how head wounds bleed. I didn‟t even pass out this time.”
    Alaric caught the warrior‟s gaze with his own, while he called the healing power. “If I had the time to cosset stubborn warriors, I would go through the usual exchange with you, since I know how much you and the rest of the Seven need to prove how fierce and unstoppable you are. But we need you whole, so stand still before I lose the final shreds of my temper.”
    With ill-concealed bad temper of his own, Alexios snarled something about “meddling priests,” but did as Alaric had asked. It was definitely more than a simple scratch, and Alexios had been quite fortunate to escape without losing consciousness. Alaric healed the wound quickly, making sure to flush out any lingering grime and blood, channeling a stream of pure water to encircle and cleanse the warrior‟s head.
    Alexios stepped away from him the moment he‟d finished, still muttering under his breath, but then he flashed a grin. “Gotta admit that feels a lot better. I guess you temple rats have your uses, after all.”
    “Glad to be of service,” Alaric said dryly. “At least you refrained from sulking, unlike Denal—”
    Denal. The thought of the young warrior, gone with Quinn, turned his blood to ice in his veins. Was he experienced enough in battle to be of any assistance should Quinn really need him? He tried to frame the thought in a voice gone suddenly hoarse. “Denal?”
    Alexios shook his head. “Don‟t even say it. We all think of him as the youngling he used to be. But don‟t forget Denal gave his life for Conlan‟s future queen. Only her own sacrifice, in turn, brought him back. The battles he has seen in recent months have aged him. Even beyond that, Conlan and Ven did not choose the fiercest warriors in Atlantis for the Seven by random drawing.”
    Before Alaric could respond, one of the rebels, a dark-eyed, golden-skinned human female, approached them. “Alexios, we need to move the wounded to the hospital. Are you confident that we‟re good to go?”
    The woman barely glanced at Alaric before dismissing him, but gave her full, respectful attention to Alexios. She wore the bow and quiver of arrows strapped to her body as though she were very familiar with the weight of such a weapon, and the daggers strapped to both of her long, lean thighs had well-worn tape wrapping their hilts.
    “We‟re good, Grace.