Warriors of Poseidon 04 - Atlantis Unmasked

see it snarling and distantly hear that it was screaming, but no sound could fully penetrate the percussion of his rage thrumming through his skull, through his spine, through every nerve in his body.
     
    His fists took up the beat, took up the rhythm, and he started pounding on every inch he could reach, beating the shifter with every ounce of his strength behind each punch.
     
    “You. Hurt. My. Woman,” he said, reduced to nearly incoherent speech. Grunting, caveman-like utterances. Me Alexios. Her Grace.
     
    Hurt her and die.
     
    His fists pistoned forward, over and over, catching the beat of the drums in his head, and then there was screaming or shouting or someone calling his name, but he couldn‟t hear it over the drums, couldn‟t understand it through the beat of the drums, except the sound was different. Silvery and musical and lovely, even while shouting. It was her. It was Grace. And she wanted something . . .
     
    She wanted him to stop.
     
    He blinked and suddenly the sound of her voice—pleading and demanding and Grace —cut through the drums, and he looked down at his fists and there was redness and stickiness and the cat lay lifeless underneath him. If he hadn‟t killed it, he‟d come damn close.
     
    Grace grabbed his arm and shouted in his ear. “Alexios, damnit, you stop it right now!”
     
    He fell to the side, rolling and shoving and scrambling to be away from her and away from the cat‟s bloodied body, but even as he moved, the cat shimmered with the Atlantis Unmasked - Warriors of Poseidon 04
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    oncoming Change. In seconds, the cat was gone and a man lay in its place, bloodied and broken but still breathing.
     
    Still breathing.
     
    Alexios didn‟t know whether to be relieved or sorry.

Chapter 15
    Grace stared down at the man she‟d thought she knew. The man she thought she might be falling in love with, who she‟d finally convinced during the day and at dinner to give her a glimpse of the man behind the mask. His true self that lay hidden behind his warrior persona.
     
    But maybe this was his true self. Maybe centuries of battle, no matter that it was always on the side of right, was enough to scour any trace of humanity from a man‟s soul. But was humanity even the right word to use?
     
    Perhaps these Atlanteans started from a baseline that didn‟t contain any gentler emotions. Maybe there was lust and rage and the cold, steely calculation of battle strategy, but no room for kindness, hope, or love.
     
    Maybe wanting to take a step forward into the future with him meant nothing more than exchanging one battlefield for another. She‟d become a warrior before she‟d grown into a woman, and now she wondered if she would ever make that metamorphosis. Perhaps it was something missing in her. Maybe her own lack of gentler emotions drew this type of man to her.
     
    She took a step back, as if some long-dormant flight-or-fight response had finally kicked in on the side of flight. She would never run from the monsters, but she could run from this man who might break her heart.
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    She took another step back and hit something hard. A pair of strong arms steadied her and Sam‟s voice spoke softly in her ear. “I saw the end of that. He did it for you, Grace.
    He did it because that damn panther hurt you. He saw your blood, and something inside him busted right past any civilized thought.”
     
    She pulled away from him, shaking her head. Disagreement, maybe. Denial.
     
    But Sam spoke again, stronger. “He‟s a man, Grace, and whether you want to admit it or not there‟s something between the two of you. His need to protect was burning so fiercely through his belly and brain that he probably couldn‟t think straight. But it‟s better this way. At least he got to you before it was too late. Not all of us have been so fortunate.”
     
    Grace flinched at the pain rasping in Sam‟s voice. Something in his past trying to bubble to the surface. She wanted to ask, but took a look at the way his face hardened and thought better of it. She owed him more than to pry into his personal life.
     
    Alexios made a noise—a small, strangled noise—and slowly pushed himself up to stand, bracing himself against the wall with one hand. He winced a little as his bruised and battered hand touched the wall, but then he leaned heavily against it. “I‟m sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse. “It hurt you—the