Warriors of Poseidon 03 - Atlantis Unleashed

a darker, more predatory cast. A dangerous smile crossed his face, and a look of such purely sexual intent filled his expression that she actually shivered and took a step back.
    “Yes,” Justice who was no longer only Justice said. “Yes, you will go with us.”
    Before she could reply, the room exploded into action. Conlan threw his hands in the air and channeled that blue-green energy again. Ven dove across the room toward Justice, no weapons in his hands but grim purpose in his eyes. Justice dropped to the floor and swept out a leg, knocking Ven‟s feet out from under him. As Ven bounced back up, crouching into a fighting stance, Conlan threw two perfect spheres of energy at Justice.
    Justice laughed and almost casually raised one hand. The spheres burst into showers of harmless sparkles. Then he pointed a single finger at Conlan and shot a stream of silvery green fire at him, knocking the prince clear across the room and smashing him into a wall so hard that Conlan stayed down for a moment.
    Ven took the opportunity to lunge at Justice, but Justice was ready for him. He threw his hands into the air, shouting a word of power, and fastened a spiral coil of shimmering water around Ven, imprisoning him within it. No matter how hard Ven fought to get out, the spiral adjusted to his efforts and held him firm, arms trapped at his side.
    Ven snarled something at Justice that Keely was pretty sure was downright nasty, but she was in such a state of shock from the sudden violence that she just stood there, helpless, wondering what kind of defenses she could put up against magic like that.
    Only one came to mind.
    Compassion.
    Justice roared out a sound of utter dominance and triumph, and she knew the Nereid had taken over. Somehow, she had to get through to the Atlantean Justice.
    Her Justice.
    She stood, perfectly still, only trembling the tiniest bit, as he stalked toward her like the predator he was. She had no intention of being prey, however.
    When he came close enough to touch her, she tried her only weapon. “Justice, I need your help. You have to fight him, for my sake. I‟ll do anything I can to help you, and I‟m glad to go to San Bartolo. We‟ll find the Star of Artemis together. But you have to be in control. I‟m afraid of the Nereid.”
    He stopped, arms held out in front of him, reaching for her. His muscles shook with the force of the internal battle that must be raging inside him. Finally, long moments later, sanity and reason returned to balance the hunger and possession in his eyes.
    “I‟m in control, for now,” he said roughly. “But I need you. You must come with me, or I‟m afraid I‟ll lose this battle forever.”
    So Keely, who had rarely made an unplanned move in her life, threw caution to the Atlantean winds and stepped forward into his arms—and into her future. “Just try to keep me away.
    Mayan murals? A pyramid? Possibly an eleven-thousand-year-old sapphire with magical powers? Hey, what archaeologist could resist?”
    The lines around his mouth deepened and he looked at her with stark, burning hunger. “For me, Keely. I need you to come for me, not for science or for pity or for any other reason. I need you to come for me .”
    “Yes,” she said, giving in finally to the inevitable truth between them. No matter what happened, she wanted this one moment of honesty. “I‟m coming for you. Only for you.”
    He shouted out a wordless cry of triumph and swept her into his arms. Then, just as before, the world dissolved around them in a cascade of potential realities, and she closed her eyes and hung on for the ride.

Chapter 29
    Holy Ghost Cemetery, St. Louis
    Alaric had long since lost any tenuous grasp he‟d had on his temper. After an entire night of searching the city for any sign of Quinn, Jack, and Denal, he‟d finally caught a faint glimmer of conscious thought from Quinn‟s very interesting mind, only to track it here to this place of death, a few short hours past dawn, and then lose it again almost as soon as he‟d arrived.
    He floated as mist above the grave markers; so many of them dated in early 1849. Some illness, then. Probably another cholera epidemic. He remembered doing what he could for the humans of that time with Atlantean medicines and healing. Some of them had thought him the angel of death, come to carry them away.
    He‟d laughed at the idea then, but it was true that too many times he had delivered death.
    He‟d always confined the killing to