Warriors of Poseidon 04 - Atlantis Unmasked

Lucas‟s face, and he bent to pick up a stone, and then skimmed it over the water‟s surface. “Healthy. That‟s the issue. That‟s why I called for this meeting.”
     
    “I didn‟t think you wanted me out here in the dead of winter, freezing my nuts off, just to blather on about fish and beauty,” Alexios said, jamming his hands further into the pockets of his long black leather duster. He‟d spent too many years over the centuries basking in the temperature-controlled warmth of Atlantis. He was getting soft.
     
    And the day one of Poseidon‟s warriors turned soft was usually the day he got killed. Or worse, lost two years of his life.
     
    The scars on his face burned with remembered fire and his gut started to roil. Alexios closed his eyes for a moment, reciting a simple focus chant in his mind.
     
    Not now. Some memories were made to repress.
     
    When Alexios opened his eyes, Lucas was shaking his head. “No, not to blather, as you so elegantly put it. Although a fresh-caught rainbow trout, pan-seared and glistening with lemon and butter, can be truly a thing of beauty—”
     
    “Lucas.” The single word hung in the air between them for a long moment.
     
    “I know. I know,” Lucas replied, his voice turned to ice whose chill rivaled the delicate sculptures hanging from the tree branches behind them. “But naming a thing gives it power, and I had wished, if only for a short while . . . Still. No matter. We‟re in trouble.”
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    Alexios felt the internal shift. In the space of a heartbeat, he went from standby alert status to battle ready. Scanning the area with Atlantean senses set to clear, sharp focus, he‟d unsheathed his daggers almost without noticing it.
     
    “Where? Now?”
     
    “No. I don‟t know. Maybe.” Lucas ran a hand through his thick, dark brown hair. “It‟s two things. First, we‟ve got local vamps setting out to enthrall shifters, and that goes against all rules of the Fae accords. You know I‟m not much for politics, but even I know that .
    It‟s here, Alexios.” The shifter‟s voice held real anguish. “It‟s even here in Yellowstone pack territory. After all the inter-pack cooperation we‟ve developed over the past decade, working together to get the indigenous wolf population back up to non-endangered levels.”
     
    “You‟ve done an amazing job. Your animal counterparts are healthy and thriving throughout the entire three-state region of the park.”
     
    “Yeah. Yeah.” Lucas started pacing back and forth, an almost tangible hostile energy surrounding him.
     
    Alexios felt the prickly sensation that told him the hair on the back of his neck was standing up. Lucas didn‟t need a full moon to shift, a boatload of anger would do the trick nicely.
     
    “You said „first,‟ which usually implies a „second.‟ ”
     
    Lucas stopped pacing and clenched his hands into fists, then sucked in a deep breath and stretched his fingers out and back, loosening the tension in his hands. It was an old warrior‟s trick, useful after too many hours of wielding a sword in one‟s grasp.
     
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    Evidently it helped with claws, too.
     
    “Right. Sorry. The idea of traitors in my own pack damn near sends me into the moon sickness,” Lucas said. After another three or four deep breaths, that sizzle of hostile energy around him dampened. “Second, the Fae are suddenly in the game. They‟re putting out the word that they want to talk to you.”
     
    “Me? I haven‟t run into any of the elf kind for years. Decades, even. What would they want with me?” Alexios resheathed his daggers, but didn‟t relax his vigilance.
     
    “Not you, particularly. Your kind. Atlanteans. They want to bring a prince gift to Conlan‟s new heir.”
     
    Alexios narrowed his eyes. “The high prince‟s son or daughter isn‟t even born yet, though we expect Riley to give birth pretty much any minute. But we‟ve kept this a tightly wrapped secret. How is it the Fae know about the baby?”
     
    Lucas shrugged. “They have their ways and have had for longer than our packs have recorded history. They know all, see all, you know the drill. But the more important question, my friend, is what kind of gift they intend to bring. You know the dangers that come with accepting a gift from any of the Fae—or, worse, of refusing one.”
     
    “Depends on the