Warriors of Poseidon 03 - Atlantis Unleashed

Jack took care of the shifters who were blocking the Jeeps before he and Quinn left with Denal. Tell the others we‟re moving out. You drive and I‟ll ride shotgun,”
    Alexios said.
    She nodded and then quickly walked away, leaving Alexios staring after her. “It still seems wrong to me that so many females must take up weapons in this battle,” he said, so quietly that Alaric nearly missed his words.
    “And yet it is their future, and that of their children, that is being corrupted by the vampires and rogue shape-shifters. What power is more formidable than that of mothers acting in concert?” Alaric replied.
    Alexios said nothing. He continued to watch the woman as she directed the others to gather up the wounded. Finally he wrenched his gaze away and turned back to Alaric. “I‟ve got to go. They need protection in case we‟ve got some threat waiting for us on the route to the hospital.”
    “Do you have need of me?” Alaric lifted his hand and a shimmering ball of pure energy coalesced in his palm. “I would be most pleased to teach a few of the attackers a lesson or two in the power of Poseidon,” he said, the rage and frustration of the past few days searing through his nerve endings.
    Alexios stared at him, eyes narrowed, then shoved his matted hair away from his face. “What I need is a shower. If I had five extra minutes, I‟d call a freaking thunderstorm and scrub the stench of their blood off of me. Damn these marauding bastards to the nine hells, anyway.
    We can‟t keep fighting them on so many fronts without reinforcements. Conlan and Ven had better step up their plans to increase warrior training.”
    Alaric agreed, but simply nodded. It was neither the time nor the place to discuss war strategy.
    The woman, Grace, approached them again, this time holding a deadly-looking pistol pointed at the floor. Even Alaric, who had little use for human weapons, recognized a top-notch weapon when he saw it.
    “It‟s time. Michelle is going to bleed out if we don‟t get her to surgery,” she said.
    “If you will allow me, I will heal her,” Alaric offered.
    She looked startled. “I—I don‟t know.”
    “Just enough to get her to the hospital, Alaric,” Alexios said. “You‟re going to need to conserve your strength in case Quinn . . .”
    Alaric felt the words like a blow to his chest, but forced the emotion into a locked chamber in the back of his soul. Quinn was a survivor. He would heal this human, and Quinn would be fine.
    He knelt by the stretcher and spread his fingers wide over the injured woman. She was slight, no larger than a child, with short dark curls. Her size and dark hair reminded him of Quinn, and for an instant he saw her face superimposed over Michelle‟s. Then startlingly blue eyes opened and Michelle gazed up at him with a spark of humor in her gaze in spite of the hideously gaping bite wound in her throat.
    “I‟m going to die, aren‟t I? That‟s just brilliant. My first mission and I go out with a bite, so to speak,” she joked, surprising him with a crisp British accent. “Bloody vampires are even worse here than they are in London.”
    Her humor touched a spark of warmth buried deep inside him, and he attempted a smile.
    “You‟re not dying today. Consider this my version of diplomatic relations between countries.”
    He called power and, as always, thanked Poseidon for gifting his high priest with the power to heal. As the sizzling blue-green energy sifted through his body and poured out from his fingertips, down into and over her wounds, the sluggishly pulsing gash in the woman‟s throat sealed itself shut and the color returned to her cheeks.
    As he sat back on his heels, the healing done, she blinked and a dazzling smile spread across her face. “If ambassadors actually looked like you, love, I think we‟d have much better international relations. Any chance you‟d be free for a cup of tea now that I can drink it without it coming out of the hole in my throat?”
    An unexpected burst of laughter escaped from his throat, and Alaric lifted her hand to his lips.
    “Another time, brave one.”
    Before he could rise, she caught his hand in her own, and her face turned somber. “Thank you.
    I didn‟t think I‟d make it to the hospital, and . . . well, thank you. If you ever need anything, please call me. Grace can find me.”
    At the oddest times—moments that came so rarely during the centuries—a human would do something that gave Alaric hope