Warriors of Poseidon 06 - Atlantis Betrayed

fairy book is great. Fast-paced, lots of suspense. Later I might go for ice cream.”
    He grabbed Denal’s arm and steered him out of the path of the doorway as the crowd began to filter out, signed books clutched in tiny fingers. “Look, it’s a long story and I’ll have to tell you later. Now you Atlantis Betrayed – Warriors of Poseidon 06
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    have to leave. Meet me tonight. I’ll contact you. In the meantime, go play tourist and find out anything you can about the Scarlet Ninja.”
    Denal looked like he might protest, but Christophe outranked him, so he finally nodded and left the store. Christophe turned and found Fiona staring at him, her lovely eyes narrowed. Probably suspicious, now that she’d caught him conspiring. Of course, she thought he was a criminal, which was almost funny, coming from the Scarlet Ninja, but there were criminals and then there were criminals. He had a feeling she didn’t place him in the high-minded category.
    But she’d slept with him, so maybe . . . maybe nothing. Maybe she slept with all the criminals she met. A sheet of red-hot rage blurred his vision for a few seconds, and when it passed he stood stock-still, in shock.
    Was that jealousy?
    Jealousy?
    Not possible. Not once in his centuries of existence had he felt such a stupid, worthless emotion.
    Jealousy was for fools and suckers, and he was neither. She could have sex with anybody she wanted—and he’d kill any man who touched her.
    The force of the threat—no, the sure certainty—in his mind rocked him back on his heels. She was dangerous. She was setting him off-balance in the worst way and causing him some sort of insane mental illness. Jealousy. Thoughts of brutal, bloody murder for any man who dared to touch her.
    He needed to get away from her. Now. Get the Siren and get out of London and never have anything to do with any ninjas for the rest of his life.
    “Christophe?” She called his name from the table where she still stood, chatting with a few customers.
    “Do you have a moment?”
    It was now or never. He was closer to the door than to her. He needed to get the hells away from her in case this madness or magic she’d infected him with could somehow become permanent if he stayed near her any longer.
    Now or never.
    No.
    Every fiber of his being rebelled against the idea. He was Christophe of Atlantis, more magically powerful than any in the Seven Isles except for—possibly—the high priest. He could handle one problematic female whose only real magic was bending light—well, unless he counted the enchanting effect of her enormous blue eyes. He took a last, long, rueful glance at the door and then started toward her, wondering if, somewhere, the gods were laughing.
    The bell tinkling as the door opened was his only warning before a woman rushed past him into the store, crashing into him so hard he spun halfway around and had automatically started to reach for his daggers, when he realized the elderly, if rather stout, woman posed no obvious threat. He caught her as she teetered and almost fell.
    Atlantis Betrayed – Warriors of Poseidon 06
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    “He’s done it,” she blurted out, gasping for breath, her face red. “The Scarlet Ninja’s gone and robbed the Tower of London.”
    Christophe released her. Fiona stumbled to a halt in the middle of the shop, staring at the woman as if she had three heads.
    “What? Are you sure?” Fiona said.
    Christophe caught her gaze almost before the words were out of her mouth, and he shook his head almost imperceptibly. She didn’t want to be remembered by anyone in this crowd for asking about the Scarlet Ninja.
    On the other hand, what normal person wouldn’t? He followed up. “Where did you hear that?”
    The woman put her hand over her heart and struck a pose, thrilled to be the center of attention for such dramatic news. “It’s in the papers. Not only that, but he stole old William the Conqueror’s sword, what was called Vanquish, don’t you know, and he killed three guards to do it.”
    Every person in the room burst out into excited and shocked babbling as Christophe, with as much courtesy as he could muster, cleared a path to Fiona. She simply stood, an island of quiet in the noise, the blood draining from her face. “It’s not true,” she whispered when he reached her. “You know it’s not true.”
    “I know. I also know we need to find out what is true.” He took her hand, almost without realizing it, as a