Warriors of Poseidon 05 - Atlantis Redeemed

may have to face the possibility—”
    “No,” Alexios said firmly. “No. The only possibility we face is the one where we find them, alive and mostly unharmed. If you believe different, feel free to get out.”
    “Alexios,” Alaric snarled, but Quinn held up a hand, shaking her head.
    “I’m sorry, Alexios,” she said. “I’ve seen too much death lately, and I’m becoming hardened to it. We’ll find them alive.”
    “No time like the present,” Lucas said. “It’s a plus to catch vamps in the daytime, even if they are underground. They’ll be weaker.”
    They headed out the door, coordinating directions among them. Quinn stepped into the lead vehicle with Lucas and Alexios, and Alaric leapt into the air. He would fly as mist and keep an eye on her.
    Just in case.

Chapter 39
    Brennan struggled to his feet. He had to get to . . . the woman. He had to save her—he couldn’t fail her again.
    He wouldn’t fail her again, although he couldn’t remember her name. It was right there, teasing Atlantis Redeemed – Warriors of Poseidon 05
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    the edge of his mind, but not quite available. Not quite real. It didn’t matter, though. Wasn’t relevant.
    He had to focus, to ignore his body’s weakness and fight them. They hadn’t even bothered to lock his cell door yet, since he’d been collapsed on the floor and they thought he was unconscious. The two men guarding him had both gone to the door and were talking to someone else in the hall.
    Fools. He’d kill them both before they realized he was awake. Kill them and rescue the woman, and then find another way to escape, if he had to kill a thousand vampires and these thugs, too.
    The men had guns. Brennan knew how to use a gun. Ven had taught him, in spite of his reluctance. Now he was fiercely, triumphantly, glad of it.
    He took two steps, cleared the cell door, and had almost reached the thugs, who still didn’t notice him, when the world—or simply thousands of years of lost emotion—crashed down on his head, smashing him to the floor. Memories flooded into him, through him: Tiernan, collapsing in his arms in Boston. His emotions soaring back, swirling around him like playful waves.
    Tiernan, in the hotel room. In the forest. In Atlantis.
    Tiernan, Tiernan, Tiernan, whose courage and unshaken belief in him had been enough to help him survive the ever-increasing torture of the chair and the helmet.
    He remembered her. He wanted to shout and dance with joy, but the guards turned around and saw him, and anyway, the joy turned to despair, because it was too late.
    Too. Late.
    Because the words of the curse were tolling bells of death in his mind: YOU WILL ALSO BE CURSED TO FORGET YOUR MATE WHENEVER SHE IS OUT OF YOUR SIGHT.
    ONLY WHEN SHE IS DEAD—HER HEART STOPPED AND HER SOUL FLOWN—WILL YOUR
    MEMORY OF HER FULLY RETURN TO YOU, THUS ALLOWING YOU UNTIL THE END OF YOUR DAYS
    TO REPENT BRINGING DISHONOR UPON THE NAME OF THE WARRIORS OF POSEIDON.
    He remembered her. Fully, as Poseidon had decreed. That could only mean one thing. He threw back his head and howled, so loud and so long that he almost didn’t hear the guard rush up to the ones standing at the door. Pain ripped through his gut, tearing him apart, eviscerating him.
    “Isn’t Brennan dead? I told the woman that he was dead, like the scientist told me to, and she quit fighting. They killed her,” the man said, hoarse with fear or excitement. “The woman. Tracy Baum. They jacked up the juice too high, and she’s dead.”
    Brennan wanted to die. He was ready to beg for death, so that he could follow her into the next Atlantis Redeemed – Warriors of Poseidon 05
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    life. Soon, Tiernan, he vowed.
    First, he would kill them all.
    The berserker rage flamed up inside him, but this time, instead of trying to control it, he fed the fire. The sensory overload triggered another memory, and he rolled over onto all fours, hunched into himself, and slipped Alaric’s vial out of his pocket. He’d forgotten it, when he’d forgotten her.
    Now he would remember, and he would make sure that no one who’d had any part in harming her would ever forget. He drained the tiny bottle, feeling the energy shoot through his body like bottled starlight—if starlight were mixed with rocket fuel and magic.
    “Now,” he snarled, leaping to his feet. “Now you will all pay.”
    He called the power, and his body itself became a lightning rod for the energy and the starlight and the