Warriors of Poseidon 05 - Atlantis Redeemed

making it up to her.
    “I need you to be calm. For me. I’m freaking out here, and you’re not helping,” she said softly.
    Shame swamped him. He must find his control, for her even more than for himself. He closed his eyes, searching for his serene center, but it was impossible. His newly found emotions were churning like a tempest at sea. He could manage a semblance of tranquillity—the thinnest of veneers—but no true calm. Not until he had her safe in Atlantis, preferably locked in his rooms, for the next hundred years at least.
    “Brennan?”
    He opened his eyes. She was so pale; her eyes dark and haunted. She needed him, she’d said.
    He’d be damned if he’d let her down.
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    “That man,” she began, her voice soft and trembling. “I—I killed him.”
    He moved a little closer to the bars between them, a small movement so as not to attract the guards’ attention. “I know. He was a monster. I saw him hurt your friend in that video. He deserved to die.”
    She flinched a little. “Is it so simple in your world? You just pick who deserves to die? No trial?
    No remorse? It’s not like that for me.”
    He remained silent, not knowing how to comfort her. Emotion was too new to him—a foreign language in which he could not navigate nuance. Wielding words like blunt weapons would cause more harm than help now.
    “And yet I killed him, you’re thinking,” she said. “But it wasn’t like that. I—I picked up that dagger to defend myself when one of the guards came at me, and then you were there fighting them, and the lights were off, and I heard his voice and swung around. I was going to hit him, and, well, I guess I did hit him, but the knife was in my hand and . . .”
    Her voice trailed off and she covered her face with her hands. He could tell she was sobbing, because each shaking movement of her shoulders fractured another piece off the edges of his heart. He needed to hold her, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. The electric charge on the bars would kill a human with any prolonged contact. It had almost knocked him out, and he had an Atlantean warrior’s strength and endurance. He tried to find his calm center again, to analyze their options, but the only thing he came up with was, again, the obvious: they were in very deep trouble.
    “We’re kind of screwed, aren’t we?” she said, unknowingly echoing his thoughts as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve.
    “No. We are not. Remember that Alexios will be on his way to find us very soon.” He put far more confidence in his voice than he felt. Alaric had told them that any type of massive electrical force would interfere with their abilities. Brennan studied the wiring connected to the bars and conceded that the entire setup certainly qualified as massive.
    Oh, yes. They were definitely screwed.
    “That was a lie. You don’t believe Alexios is on his way at all, do you? I think we should—” Her eyes widened as she jerked her head up to stare at something over Brennan’s left shoulder.
    “How about you let me do the thinking,” came the surly, accented voice from behind him.
    “These morons guarding you should let me do the thinking, too.”
    Brennan slowly turned and positioned himself so that he could see the new player but still keep Tiernan in his line of sight. The man was built like one of Yellowstone’s bison. Thick, broad, all muscle and no neck. He wasn’t quite as tall as Brennan but twice as wide, probably not an ounce of fat on him. He also was far from stupid; keen intelligence shone from his unusual gray Atlantis Redeemed – Warriors of Poseidon 05
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    eyes as he assessed the situation.
    “I hear you’ve been making a run at the bars, over and over,” he said to Brennan. “Want to tell me how you’re not dead yet?”
    Brennan said nothing, just swept a dismissive glance over the man.
    “Right. Well, you’re not a shifter, and you’re not a vampire, and you’re sure as hell not Fae, so I’m wondering what other kind of wee beastie we’ve caught in our net.”
    British. Or somewhere in the British Isles. Brennan hadn’t heard “wee beastie” in several hundred years.
    “A rich beastie,” one of the goons called out, and the rest of them started laughing.
    “Shut up, or I’ll shut you up,” the newcomer said, but without heat. He was still studying Brennan, who had the uncomfortable feeling that the man