Atlantis Unmasked (18 page)

Alexios stood staring after Grace, unable to move. Unable to do anything but stand there like an idiot. She was taunting him.

She was
taunting
.
Him
.

He'd left her alone, untouched, the night before like he was some kind of damn eunuch, so now she thought she could taunt him with impunity. Either that or she and Sam really did have something between them.

The thought burned through his gut like a slice from a poisoned blade. No. Surely not. Grace had far too much integrity to toy with him if she were involved with the human.

Didn't she?

He realized he was gripping the handles of his daggers so tightly that his fists ached, and he forced himself to relax. To recite the focus chant aloud. Out loud, for the first time in more than a century, because he could chant in his mind all he liked but it didn't help him find his calm center.

Hells, around Grace he didn't
have
a calm center.

But Alaric had freed him. Told him the oaths he'd sworn were only to himself. That Alexios would know if he were ready to relinquish them.

He watched Grace move around the ring, shaking hands with the recruits, offering encouragement. Smiling. Laughing. She'd left her hair down and loose. He wanted to believe she'd done it for him. It floated gently around her with every breath of breeze, with every step she took.

Oh, yeah. He was ready. He could keep her safe from his own black urges. He
would
keep her safe.

“I saw a smile like that once,” said Sam, who was suddenly standing right next to him, though Alexios hadn't heard him approach. “It was on a jungle tiger that was fixin' to pounce on a gazelle.”

Alexios deliberately widened his smile, never taking his eyes off Grace. “I know a tiger and am therefore honored to be compared to one.”

Sam nodded. “Yep. Except whadaya know? Damn poachers shot the tiger mid-leap, before he could hurt that doe. Craziest thing.”

Alexios turned his head and met the man's gaze. “Am I to understand that you are issuing a warning? Be careful how you respond; I am sure that Grace would be unhappy to be compared to a helpless prey animal.”

“I'm sure she'd kick my ass for me,” Sam replied, unperturbed. “This is between us, though, and you don't strike me as the type to run and tell tales.”

“But?”

“But I care about that gal, and she doesn't have any family to stand for her so I thought I'd step up. If she wasn't as tough as she is, I'd be telling you this with a shotgun in my hands.”

Alexios inclined his head. “I respect you for that. But you should know that I have no intention of hurting Grace. Not now, not ever.”

“Maybe not. But she's a woman who doesn't give her heart or her body lightly. If you just want a fling with some random human gal, go elsewhere.”

Alexios finally turned so that he was facing Sam and stared straight into his eyes. “If I wanted a
fling
, I would.” Then he bowed to the old reprobate and headed for Grace.

His
Grace. Whether she knew it yet or not.

Alaric stared down at the mug of steaming black tea and the white napkin on the wooden table in front of him and wondered how, exactly, the human had maneuvered him into breakfast.

At a restaurant named the Bunnery.

Ridiculous humans and their need to name everything.

Alexios and the Seven would mock him forever for this one. Not that he, as high priest to Poseidon . . . The unfamiliar laugh worked its way out of his throat, interrupting the disdainful thought. He didn't have room to stand on pomp and ceremony when he was about to eat something called a
cinnamon bun
.

“You smiled again,” Michelle said, clearly delighted. “That's twice! We're making some progress here.”

“Why, exactly, are my facial expressions of interest to you?” It would never occur to him to care whether another smiled or not.

Except for Quinn, a dark voice whispered in his mind. A smile from her would be a gift beyond price.

“Well, I'm responsible for you now, since you saved my life. Everyone knows that,” she said, looking down at her own mug.

“I believe you are misinformed as to the nature of that concept. Would it not be I who am responsible for you? Also, was there not the promise of pancakes?”

“As soon as they call our number.” She smiled and pushed elegantly styled dark curls, so different from Quinn's jagged mop of hair, off of her brow. Everything about her, except for her slight form and dark hair, differed so much from Quinn.

Michelle's taste in clothing was clearly fashionable for this time period. Quinn wore items that may as well have been stolen from homeless people. Michelle's nature was open and friendly, where Quinn was dark and distrustful. Cynical and solitary.

Nothing about Quinn, in fact, should have made every thought of her sear her image—her scent—her
taste
into his very soul. He clenched his fingers more tightly around the mug, and the liquid within it began to boil and circle rapidly in a counterclockwise direction.

Suddenly, a delicate hand touched his arm. “You're thinking of her again, aren't you?”

Startled, he released the mug and looked up at Michelle. “Who?”

She smiled, but this time her smile held sadness. “Quinn. I had heard . . . well, never mind, silly gossip. Can't you go to her, work things out?”

He drew his dignity around himself like one of his priestly robes. “You know nothing of my situation,” he said, almost sorry for the way she flinched at the arrogance in his tone. Inexplicably, he liked this human and did not care to harm her, but . . . “You presume too much.”

“I know. I have a terrible habit of that. Not very British at all, sticking my nose in other people's business, is it? It's just that I'm rather good at getting my friends' situations sorted out, even if I'm total rubbish at doing the same for myself.”

A woman at the back pass-through window called out a number, and Michelle popped out of her seat. “That's us.” Before he could follow her, she was back with a tray of food. After they'd settled again, something Michelle had said caught at him. “Your friends? You consider us to be friends?”

She blinked, a forkful of pancakes held in midair. “Of course we're friends. Not very many people have saved my life, you know. You're in a very elite group of three. You, Grace, and Alexios.”

“I am honored, then, to call you friend, though you owe me no obligation for a simple healing. But I have no need of this sorting you mention.”

Michelle took a long sip of her jasmine-scented tea. The delicate aroma was fragrant enough to tease his senses. It suited her.

“Well, of course I could be projecting,” she admitted. “I just went through rather a bad breakup in London before I came back here. Frankie wasn't a big fan of me throwing my life in the line of fire again and gave me an ultimatum.”

He dedicated his attention to his pancakes, considering her words.

“You chose to leave?”

“I'm here, aren't I?” she said, unknowingly echoing his earlier words to Alexios. She attempted a smile. “I've never been very serious in my many loves, but I think Frankie may have broken my heart.”

Alaric leaned forward and caught her hands in his own. “Tell me where this Frankie lives, and I will immediately travel there and end his life for you.”

She gasped, then peered up into his eyes and, evidently reassured by what she saw, started laughing. “Oh, you're too evil. No, thank you, I don't need you to end her life for me. She's quite a lovely woman, and we had a grand time together for the past several years. But it's time to move on and let her find someone safer to build a life with.”

He'd suddenly had enough of the conversation. Far more than enough. “Safety is an illusion,” he pointed out, pushing his chair back and standing. “I must leave now.”

She started laughing and reached inside her bag. “That's fine, just let me leave a tip.”

Ah. Payment. He tended to forget the mundane realities of life Above. “I am prepared for this. Allow me.” He dropped several coins on the table, glad that he'd remembered to bring them.

Michelle glanced down at the coins, then stared up at him with very wide eyes. “We don't exactly leave tips with priceless ancient gold coins, Alaric,” she said, retrieving them. “I'll get this one.”

She placed a few of the green bills on the table and then walked over and held out his coins. “I thought
I
had a hard time with converting money. Sheesh! Why don't you keep these and we'll get you some proper currency?”

“Please retain those coins for payment for our breakfast,” he said, his pride stung a little. “You will be able to convert them into the proper form, I trust?”

She waved to the servant who was rushing over to their table, no doubt to clean the table or count the green papers. It was a strange system.

Alaric followed Michelle onto the sidewalk for the walk back to the fort and shortened his stride enough to keep pace with her. He could not vanish into thin air on a busy street filled with wandering humans without causing her to offer uncomfortable explanations to any passersby.

“Alaric, truly, these coins must be worth a fortune,” she said, staring down at them. “Please take them back for important things.”

“Your rebel cause is important, is it not?” He narrowed his eyes at a group of loudly singing young men who were approaching them from the opposite direction. The men abruptly quit emitting the horrible noise and stumbled to the edge of the road to allow Alaric and Michelle to pass.

She turned her head right and left, staring at the men, then glanced up at Alaric, grinning. “It's a gift, isn't it? That ability to make the masses of humanity part like the Red Sea before you. And, yes, our cause is very important. Vital. We're so thankful you—”

He strode out into the street to cross to the other sidewalk, contemplating the destruction a well-placed energy sphere could cause to the cretin who squealed to a stop, honking his horn at them.

“I need no thanks. I was merely inquiring. Give the coins to Grace so she may purchase supplies.”

She grabbed his arm and pressed closer to his side as the vehicle moved past them with another offensive squealing noise. He contemplated the effect a small tidal wave would have on the fool, but refrained.

“Ah, Alaric, you don't happen to know anything about crosswalks or stoplights, do you?”

He shrugged. “We clearly had the greater need to cross; the imbecile in the vehicle was wasting precious planetary resources by driving that enormous truck.”

She sighed. “Red light, green light? Means nothing. Okay, breakfast with you is a life-threatening experience. So noted. Also, thank you for the coins. Grace would puff up with pride and say no, thanks, but I happen to know she's very worried about funds for food and arms. So I'll just accept on her behalf. I know a friend of a friend who's a coin guy. We'll see what we can get.”

As they approached the front gates of the fort, she tugged on his arm. “Wait. These aren't some supersecret Atlantean coins that will look like forgeries to a numismatist who doesn't believe in Atlantis, are they?”

He shook his head. “Greek, Roman. Maybe some Spanish. We never really used coins in Atlantis; what few we minted were for ceremonial usage and are never used for currency.”

“Oh, naturally,” she said, grinning again. “One day I hope to come visit you in Atlantis.”

“One day I hope that you shall. Now I must leave. Please give Alexios the message that I go to find Quinn but will return in time for the meeting.”

“You bet. Good luck.” She held up her arms and hugged him again, then started toward the fort. He leapt into the air, transforming into mist, and focused on connecting with Quinn. West. She was somewhere . . . west. And she was in trouble.

With Quinn, safety wasn't even an illusion. It was an impossibility.