Authors: Alyssa Day

Atlantis Betrayed (6 page)

BOOK: Atlantis Betrayed

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“Who the bloody hell are you and where did you come from?” Fiona glared at the intruder, her gaze traveling up and up as he slowly stood, holding his hands out in front of him. He was a few inches over six feet of tall, dark, and sinfully gorgeous, and he had no right to be here in the middle of her scouting trip, never mind those astonishingly muscled shoulders and the dark waves of hair framing the most beautiful green eyes, sculpted cheekbones, and deliciously masculine face she had ever seen on a living, breathing man. Her breathing sped up, and her heart, which had already been racing faster than the lead car in the Birmingham Super Prix, thundered so hard it surely would pound its way out of her chest any moment.

She was a thief, standing in the middle of one of the most priceless collections of gems in the entire world, and yet she wasn’t tempted to look anywhere but at him.

Oh, yes. He was trouble.

Trouble blinked; long, dark lashes closing over emerald-green eyes so gorgeous they had to be illegal in most of Europe. Then he threw back his head and laughed, and shivers traced a delicate pattern down her spine. His deep, rich laugh was dark chocolate and champagne and silk sheets all presented in one wickedly mouthwatering package.

Oh, damn, it had been far too long since she’d had sex.

Her watch beeped. Glancing down, she saw that she had twelve minutes. Declan had hacked into the security cameras and put them on a circular repeating pattern or something equally complex and brilliant, but he’d warned her a dozen times that she had exactly fifteen minutes and not a second more.

She raised the tranq gun and used her best frosty, lady-of-the-manor voice. “I repeat, who the bloody hell are you?”

“You’re Scottish,” he said, quite unnecessarily.

“Give the man a gold ring. You have ten seconds to tell me who you are and why you’re here before I shoot you.” She raised the gun, hoping the first time she had to shoot a man while looking him in the eyes wouldn’t haunt her dreams for months to come. But needs must and, well, the Siren was waiting, no matter how mouthwateringly delicious this man might be.

“The Scarlet Ninja is a woman. A Scottish woman,” he said, his gaze sweeping over her from head to toe, blistering every inch of skin under her garments, as if the heat in his eyes were a palpable touch.

Of course, the negative here was that he appeared to be a blithering idiot.

“Yes. Ninja. Woman. Scottish. Do you have something against Scotland?”

Her watch beeped. Eleven minutes.

“Ninja,” he repeated, taking a step toward her. “
Nin
.
Ja
. Have you ever cracked a history book? Scotland. Ninjas. No.”

Fiona’s watch crackled. Declan checking in, and he was going to go mad if she didn’t respond soon. She raised her wrist and spoke softly. “Bit of a problem. Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”

The luscious bit of man candy had the nerve to flash a devilish grin at her. “You can handle me anytime. I like to play dress-up games, too. You can be the ninja, and I’ll be the pirate.”

“Lovely. A thief
and
a boorish lout,” she snapped. Declan squawked from her wrist, but she lowered her hand and ignored her overprotective brother for the moment.

Ten minutes.

“Thief, huh. Pot, kettle? I guess we all know
why
you’re here, but a better question is what kind of magic were you throwing around out there?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lied, careful not to let her shock show in her eyes.

“Fine. Another question, then.” He took another step toward her, all leashed power and hard-bodied male. She felt like a particularly scrumptious piece of catnip caught in the path of a tiger. “Scarlet Ninja. Today’s answer to Robin Hood. What are
you
here for? Not that it matters.” He waved an arm at the glass boxes filled with crowns, scepters, swords, and sundry. “Luckily, there’s plenty for both of us.”

It was her turn to blink, but she was out of time for small talk. “You’ll never succeed. But I’m only here for one thing, so feel free to look around.”

He smiled, and she wondered dizzily if the devil himself had a smile as seductive. “I think I’ll stick with you. I’d like to see under that mask. That lovely skin and those blue eyes are making me wonder what the rest of you looks like, not that those scarlet silks are hiding much. A man would give much to get his hands on those curves.”

The blunt words packed a sensual punch, maybe due to the sheer honesty of the admiration on his face and in his tone. She had to clench her thighs together against the heat.

“No time for this,” she said, inexplicably both glad she wore the mask and regretting it. “Step closer and I’ll shoot you.”

He bowed, a study in grace and elegance, and she had the oddest feeling that the courtly gesture came naturally to him, as if he’d done it many times before.

Her watch ticked over again. Nine minutes.

Still keeping one wary eye on him, she turned toward the shatterproof glass case on the far wall, crossing the electronic walkway to view the sword in its solitary state.

“Vanquish stands apart, doesn’t it?” he murmured next to her ear. He was too close; he was suddenly right next to her. She couldn’t contain the startled gasp. Nobody but vampires could move that fast. He clearly wasn’t
that
, though; her senses could recognize a vampire at twenty paces. But what? She backed away, aiming the tranq gun carefully, although he didn’t seem the least bit afraid of it. He also didn’t seem to be trying to scare her.

Not that he could. She was tough and brave, right?

Mostly?

“Isolated from the rest of the room, and even from the remainder of the sword collection,” he continued, as if unaware of her reaction. “Proud and unbending, like its owner.”

She dismissed his flight of fancy. “A conqueror. A predator.”

He turned to face her, the heat from his body radiating through the inches separating them until she felt herself beginning to lean forward into him. She stumbled back a step and raised the gun, aiming it at his heart.

He didn’t pay the slightest attention to it. Those green eyes lasered into her as he tilted his head. “And you don’t care for predators? You, who yourself live your life in search of prey? Dressed like a
ninja
?”

“My prey doesn’t breathe.”

“Doesn’t it? The treasures of a society are not the living, breathing representations of its history?”

Not an idiot, then. In spite of those cheekbones and sculpted lips. The pretty boy had a mind.

Click.
Eight minutes.

“Bit fancy for a predator, isn’t it? I’d imagine predators use more practical blades.”

His attention snapped back to her, that piercing focus almost palpable. “Funny. I was thinking something similar earlier tonight.”

“Why were you thinking about Vanquish?”

“I plan to steal it.”

A jolt of sheer adrenaline raced through her, chasing chills down her spine, and she whirled around to face him straight on. “No. You can’t. It’s mine.”

Chapter 5

Christophe’s mental warning system for critical danger had stood him in good stead for many long years and saved his ass, not to mention his life, on too many occasions to count. Right now warnings were flashing through his brain on high alert. This woman was clearly dangerous. She was definitely trouble. He should be wary and on his guard.

Instead, he was elated.

She was a little bit of a thing, maybe five and a half feet tall, but she seemed bigger because pure attitude added a few inches. And those ice blue eyes—well, even without the husky, sexy purr of her voice, he would ignore more than a little warning flare for the chance to see her face. The silk of her loose garments couldn’t hide her ripe, curvy body, and a wicked corner of his mind kept picturing what she might look like in his bed, wearing nothing but that scarlet mask.

His cock hardened at the thought of it, and it was almost enough to distract him from what she’d said.
Almost
. Vanquish was hers? He thought not, lovely ass or no.

“
What’s
yours?” He schooled his voice to calm, silken menace and allowed power to glow in his eyes and resonate through his words. Grown men—humans, shifters, and vamps alike—had all trembled at the sound of that voice.

She laughed.

“Ooh, scary glowy eyes. Do you try that trick on everyone, or just the odd ninja you meet when you’re planning a heist?” She glanced at her watch and, in spite of the casual amusement in her voice, he could tell her anxiety level was ratcheting up. Whatever she was up to, it looked like she was running out of time.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He stepped closer, taking two quick strides, until he was so close to her that the barrel of her gun pressed into his chest and the scent of her tantalized him.

She didn’t have it in her to shoot him.

He was almost sure.

“Back away, big boy,” she told him, pressing her body weight, such that it was, into the warning until the gun dug into his skin beneath his shirt. “Don’t make me shoot you. It would be messy, and who needs that?”

“What are you trying to steal?” he repeated, ignoring the gun and the banter, because it was pretty obvious exactly what she’d meant.

She sighed and stepped back, then lowered her gun and flicked something small and silvery at the base of the glass case. “More than twenty-three thousand gems in this collection, and we’re both after the Siren. Too bad, you really are extremely luscious, but that gem is mine.”

Before he could think of a response, she tucked her gun into a holster on her leather belt and stepped closer to him. Her scent teased him again, swamping his senses with the light fragrance of jasmine underneath a spring rain.

“Perhaps just a taste? As a sort of good-bye?” she murmured, maybe to herself, and then she rose up on her tiptoes and pulled his head down to hers with one hand. With the other, she lifted her mask a little and pressed a soft, gentle caress of a kiss against his lips. Utter shock kept him motionless just long enough for her to drop her mask, step back, and press something hard into his abdomen.

“Lovely. I really do regret this,” she said.

And then she shot him.

“You
shot
me—” he blurted out, but looking down, it wasn’t the expected bright red of his blood flowing out of his body that he saw, but bright red . . . feathers? A dart. It was a
dart
.

And feathers. Dancing feathers, and the room spun around them. Magical feathers? Oh. Oh, no. Not magic . . .

Drugs . . .

As he hit the floor, his Atlantean metabolism instantly began to push the drugs out of his system. But instantly wasn’t quick enough, if the way the floor was trying to suck him into it was any clue.

She bent down, and his senses reeled at the sight of her features all gone topsy-turvy, until his drug-hazed mind realized that he was looking at her upside down. Her mask had dropped down a little to show the wry curve of luscious lips. Even after she’d shot him, he still wanted to taste that mouth again.

“I really am sorry, you know. Hopefully since you haven’t actually stolen anything yet, they won’t imprison you for too very long,” she said, with what sounded like sincere regret. “Best of luck to you.”

She said something else, but by then the drug had temporarily—at least, he
hoped
it was only temporarily—overwhelmed his body’s efforts to push it out, and the gray pushing at the edges of his vision swarmed in to take over his conscious mind. The last thing he saw before the blackness claimed him was the small rectangle of paper, with its tiny scarlet image, that she’d dropped on the ground.

“Ninja,” he managed.

Her unexpected peal of laughter echoed in the swirling dark.