Warriors of Poseidon 04 - Atlantis Unmasked

No matter what crazy dreams of glory reckless new recruits might have, safety was usually better.
     
    “Safety,” she whispered, the word a talisman in her mouth.
     
    “Safety is an illusion,” Michelle replied, joining her. “That‟s what Alaric said, anyway, and he‟d have reason to know. That man has seen things that would drive the rest of us over the edge of sanity and right into the nuthouse, I do believe. Blithering idiots drooling on our bed sheets.”
     
    She laughed. “Also, there may be a couple of puzzled tourists outside after Alaric turned into mist in broad daylight.”
     
    Grace blinked, still caught on the precipice of a decision too vast for making. “What?
    Drooling? What?”
     
    Michelle glanced up at her, then at Alexios, too perceptive as usual. “He‟s finally gotten to you, hasn‟t he? It‟s worse than just jumping his bones, isn‟t it? Your heart is involved.”
     
    Grace slowly shook her head, watching Alexios as he moved around the training ground from recruit to recruit, adjusting one‟s grip on a sword, demonstrating proper stance to another. The sunlight turned his hair to vivid gold and her mouth dried out at the sight of the long lines of his body as he bent toward one of the women, Smith or Jones or one of the ridiculous aliases they all used, to show her the proper way to grip the practice sword. Smith turned her unnaturally perky face up to Alexios and flashed a huge smile.
     
    “Oh, no. Oh, hell no,” Grace muttered, tightening her grip on the bow. “If anybody‟s going to be smiling the „come and get me, big boy‟ smiles at him, it‟s going to be me.”
     
    Michelle started laughing. “Thank goodness. I was beginning to believe you descendants of Diana had some sort of celibacy vow.”
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    Grace glared at her friend. “How can you say that after Cedric?”
     
    “Cedric,” Michelle said, managing to say his name and sniff with disdain all at the same time. “He was a wanker, and you knew it. You always pick the idiots so you‟ll have a great excuse to dump them before you can get anywhere close to being emotionally involved. Have your feelings ever even been touched?”
     
    “I care about you,” Grace said hotly, knowing it wasn‟t Michelle‟s point.
     
    “Thanks, that‟s lovely, but you‟re not my type,” Michelle said, grinning. “I think your type is looking for you right now, though. Are you going to go for it or back away like a giant chicken?”
     
    “That‟s not fair. I‟ve been a little busy over the past few years, you know.”
     
    Michelle put her hands over her ears and made quiet clucking noises.
     
    “Oh, right. Great. That‟s really mature.” Grace rolled her eyes and threw an elbow, but Michelle jumped out of the way, still clucking.
     
    Across the courtyard, Alexios turned away from Smith, and his gaze zeroed in on Grace. Even across the distance separating them, Grace could see the heat rising in his eyes. An answering flame unfurled somewhere deep inside her body and slowly spread from her core through her limbs to the tips of her fingers and toes and the top of her head, until she felt as though her hair must rise straight into the air from the sheer electrical charge of it.
     
    “He wants you, Grace,” Michelle murmured. “Are you going to be brave enough to do something about it?”
     
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    “He‟s four hundred years old,” Grace countered, suddenly seeking desperately for some protection—any excuse—from the power he had over her.
     
    “So he‟s certainly had time to learn a few things in bed,” Michelle said, with a wicked grin. “You know, I could use a diversion. If you don‟t want him—”
     
    “I want him,” Grace admitted, to Michelle and to herself. Then, taking a firm grip on her bow in one hand and her courage in the other, she started toward him.
     
    Alexios watched her walk toward him, all long legs and lean elegance, and his breath rasped in his throat, arid and harsh as the dream of water to a traveler lost in the desert.
    As she walked, she caught her hair back at the nape of her neck and tied it away from her face. The challenge, then. She‟d leave no hair in her eyes to distract her from the target. He‟d never seen her miss; but then again he wasn‟t much for missing, either. It was more than a challenge of daggers and arrows. It was a