Warriors of Poseidon 06 - Atlantis Betrayed

kind of childhood trauma ever heal?” Conlan shook his head. “I don’t know. You’ve been inside his head, what do you think?”
    Alaric thought about it until they’d reached the palace gardens. Then he stopped, and Conlan halted to face him and listen. “I don’t know. Something is wrong—twisted—inside him. What humans did to him when he was such a small boy caused him to hate them all, as a race, with an almost zealous passion.
    Can that ever change? I simply don’t know.”
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    “And yet he protects them,” Conlan said. “There must be hope in that.”
    “He protects them as duty, and as obligation. He fights vampires because he likes killing, not out of any altruism. He hones his magic in forbidden ways, but I cannot catch him at it, so I cannot censure him for it. Something—or someone—will drive him to the edge of reason, and then we will know whether Christophe will either heal and come to find some peace, or be forever destroyed by the bitterness festering inside him.”
    “When will that happen, do you think? It would be good if we could schedule around it, since we have so many other crises to deal with,” Conlan said wryly.
    “I’ll keep that in mind,” Alaric replied, in the same tone. “While we’re discussing such pleasant topics, we need to move on to the maidens still held in magical stasis. The elders have warned me that the magic shows signs of deteriorating and we must either release them all or risk their deaths.”
    Conlan winced. “Riley calls them the frozen virgins, and she told me if I don’t free them immediately, I can sleep on the couch for the rest of our marriage.”
    Alaric shook his head in mock sorrow. “I cannot believe I’ve lived to see the day when our mighty high prince and fiercest warrior was brought low by the whims of a helpless human female.”
    “Helpless. Ha! There’s a word I’d never apply to Riley, at least not in her hearing, if I were you, my friend. She’s small but mighty.”
    “I consider myself warned. Shall I send Denal to London, then?”
    Conlan paused, and then he nodded. “Yes. He has a calming influence on Christophe, in any case, and perhaps with a new mission, Denal will quit mooning around over my wife.”
    Alaric couldn’t suppress the grin. “I believe Riley called it puppy love.”
    “Yeah, yeah. He’ll get over it when he finds a woman of his own. But in the meantime it’s damned annoying the way one of my sworn warriors glares at me whenever I kiss my own wife.”
    “Perhaps it’s not glaring so much as the same nausea we all feel at your repulsive love-struck state, my prince.”
    Conlan threw an elbow, and Alaric just managed to avoid it. “Don’t forget I can kick your ass, priest or no, my friend.”
    “Yes, Your Highness.”
    Conlan threw up his hands, muttering a suggestion in ancient Atlantean as to Alaric’s future activities, some of which were clearly anatomically impossible even for one as powerful with magic as he. Alaric simply laughed and went to find Denal, but his humor faded and vanished as his thoughts returned to Christophe.
    Something would have to be done about the warrior, probably sooner rather than later. Given the nature and power of Christophe’s magic, Alaric would be the one forced to do it. It wasn’t a task he Atlantis Betrayed – Warriors of Poseidon 06
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    looked forward to. Perhaps this mission in London would finally bring Christophe some measure of peace.

Chapter 12
Campbell Manor
    Christophe woke from a fantastic dream where he was in bed with the most gorgeous woman he’d ever met to realize two things: (1) it wasn’t a dream, and (2) it was turning into a nightmare.
    “What in the nine hells?” he yelled out, reaching for a dagger as the ominous and furious face loomed over the side of the bed. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on his perspective, his daggers weren’t currently in reach of his hands, which were full of warm, curvy, and definitely naked female.
    “I would have preferred you steal the good silver,” Hopkins snapped, depositing a tray on Fiona’s bedside table.
    Fiona squeaked something and yanked the covers over her head, but not before Christophe saw that her cheeks were flaming red.
    “I would prefer that you didn’t come in a room without knocking,” Christophe replied, echoing the butler’s starched tone.
    “As if you have any right to have