Oceanborne (4 page)

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Authors: Katherine Irons

Tags: #Romance, #Paranormal, #Fantasy

BOOK: Oceanborne
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“Our father,” Caddoc blubbered. His eyes were wide with fear, his complexion drained of color. Snot ran from his distended nostrils over his lips and down his chin. “You can't kill me! I'm innocent of treason! I swear on my mother's life.”
“Which is another pity.” Alex scored the scales on Caddoc's neck, cutting deep enough that blood oozed from the gash. “A pity that she still has a life for you to swear on.” But he stepped away, nodded to Athena, and returned to his own place on the right of Poseidon's chair where he sat silent and glaring.
What had possessed his father to forgive Caddoc? Any fool knew that he'd acted on his mother's orders in an attempted military coup to wrest the crown from Poseidon. Halimeda had nearly succeeded in poisoning Poseidon and in having most of the royal family murdered so that her son could assume the throne.
“I'm loyal to …” Caddoc began, but fell silent when Alex's hand tightened on the hilt of his sword.
By Ares' shaft!
Alex swore silently. It would be worth facing Poseidon's ire to rid the kingdom of this piece of sea-slug excretia. Hadn't Caddoc and his cronies ambushed Morgan and Rhiannon on their way back to Atlantis? What had Caddoc's excuse been for that? “It was a slow day, so I thought I'd liven things up by killing my brother and the woman he loved”?
A stir outside the door signaled the arrival of the king. Alex and the others stood as his father, older brother, and four other members of the committee entered the room.
“Lord High Poseidon,” announced the herald. “King of Atlantis, ruler of the seven seas, giver of mercy, mighty warrior, wise and merciful—”
“Yes, yes,” Poseidon said, waving the man out of his way. “They know who I am. We can dispense with the formalities.”
Alex tried not to show his amusement. His father, the king, was nothing if not dramatic. He'd taken the time to deck himself out in full war armor tonight. His graying hair was knotted at the nape of his neck, and a trident crown rested on his regal brow. His kilt was woven of gem-studded silver cloth, and knee-high sandals encrusted in pearls. Poseidon's sword was an equal item of priceless art, forged on the banks of the Ganges in a city whose name was lost in the ages, a sword that he knew all too well how to handle, despite his age.
Morgan filed in behind their father, followed by his aunt, Princess Eudora, her consort, Lord Mikhail, and the others. Morgan, as crown prince, slid in between Alex and their father, and everyone else quickly took their seats on benches around the table.
This was a small state room, less formal than the larger ones, but every bit as ornate with rows of columns, inlaid tiles of silver and gold, and painted wall murals detailing the Great Flood that had once destroyed most of the population both above and below the seas.
Poseidon's ice-blue eyes grew hard as he scowled at Caddoc. “What's wrong with you? You look as if you'd just been swallowed and spit out by a Madagascan squid. You might have the courtesy to pull yourself together when you come to a council meeting.”
“Father, I …”
Alex raised one golden eyebrow in warning, and his half-brother lowered his head. Damn, but he should have finished the job when he had the chance. With any luck he could have had the body out of the chamber and the blood mopped up before the king arrived. He doubted if Lady Athena or any of the others on the committee would have informed on him. They all knew where Caddoc's loyalties lay.
“Proceed,” Poseidon commanded. “I think most of you know why Lord Mikhail called this emergency meeting, but we need to make a decision on this at once.”
Alex gave Mikhail his full attention as he filled them in on the latest atrocities committed on the shores of the Aegean and the Mediterranean. “Nineteen confirmed deaths in the last turning of the moon,” he said. “Three naiads, two mermaids, a silkie, and the rest human. The air breathers are unaware of all but three attacks, and those were attributed to—”
“Sharks, I suppose,” the king supplied.
“Yes, Highness,” Lord Mikhail said. “The mermaids were found sucked of their life force, blood, and other fluids, as was the silkie. But the humans and the others were ripped to pieces. Without witnesses, we would never have known what happened to them.”
“Melqart's shades.” Lady Athena sighed. “They grow bold.”
“It's worse than you can imagine,” Mikhail continued. “One of the humans was a diver working for an international company seeking to drill gas wells to the west of Crete.”
“Gas wells? Why weren't we informed of that before?” Lady Jalini demanded. “We can't afford to have humans exploring the ocean floor—”
“Exactly,” Mikhail said. “These attacks come at the worst possible time for us.”
Alex glanced at Morgan. His brother had recently taken on the responsibility for concealing Atlantean concerns in the Mediterranean, the Ionian Sea, and the Aegean. The waters there were shallow, and it required a joint effort of hundreds of trained priestesses working together and using their paranormal abilities to conceal palaces and outposts maintained by the kingdom. While the mother city was situated in the depths of the mid-Atlantic, evidence of the culture surrounding Greece and Crete was too great to dismantle. And if the earth dwellers found evidence of Atlantis, who knew how quickly they would search for the heart of the kingdom?
“There's more,” Princess Eudora said. “It's my sorry lot to report that at least three Atlanteans are missing and unaccounted for in the area.” Her blue eyes filled with tears as she looked at Poseidon. “And one, brother, is our own dear Orion.”
“Orion?” Alex sat bolt upright. Orion had been on leave, true enough. But he'd said that he intended to spend his time enjoying the sexual delights of a certain mermaid. “He's not overdue, yet,” he said to his father. “He was—”
“Taking pleasure with Sjshsglee,” his aunt said.
“Hers was one of the bodies found floating off the ruins of Troy,” Mikhail said. “If Prince Orion was with her, we have to suspect the worst.”
CHAPTER 4
D
eep beneath the sea floor, off the coast of the ruins of the ancient city of Tyre, the Lady Halimeda raged. “You call this a palace? You're a god and this is how you live?” Halimeda swept the crystal goblets and gold platters inlaid with silver from the wooden table. Glass shattered, and the golden filigree plates crafted in Samarkand when Venice was merely a mudflat, bounced and rolled across the sandstone floor, marring the exquisite patterns and denting the rims.
“Silence, woman!” A thunderous roar echoed through the low, shadowy room. “Will you never cease your endless whining?”
“You promised me riches, wealth beyond my imagination,” she howled. “I had more servants as a concubine in Poseidon's seraglio than here.”
“You have slaves.”
“Monstrosities. Things with two heads and fangs. They disgust me.”
“I sent you a new body servant only yesterday. A mermaid.”
“She was dead. Useless. Sucked dry of her blood.”
“You are too particular.” The booming voice became cajoling. “If you were as powerful a sorceress as you claim, you could have restored her.”
Glass crunched under Halimeda's slipper and she swore. “You can't restore them once they're dead.”
Melqart laughed, a sound that raised the hairs on the back of Halimeda's neck. “I can.”
“Good for you. The rest of us, not being immortal, have to make do.” She'd not let him bully her. He'd saved her for his own purpose, not for any altruistic reasons. If he wanted her, she was valuable to him, and it would pay to have him remember that she was no ordinary woman.
Melqart growled. “Do not forget yourself. I could render you as lifeless as that mermaid if you displease me.”
“Yes, yes, you've told me that before. But, I'm so bored I may as well be dead. There's no entertainment. No music, no plays, no one to talk to. What good is it to have priceless gowns if there's no one to envy them?”
“You're a witch. You cast spells. Surely you can conjure up an audience or a band of musicians.”
“ ‘Cast spells,' ” Halimeda mimicked. “It's not as easy as you think.”
“And not as easy to be a god in these godless times when men have forgotten who created them.”
“I'm sure.”
His voice rose in anger, and something else…. Selfpity? “I require adoration. Tribute. Sacrifice.”
“And I require food,” she snapped. “I'm starving.”
The nine-foot granite statue of Melqart shimmered and rocked on its pedestal. “Thankless whore! Who saved your worthless life from death by poison? Your face was rotting off, remember? I gave you back your beauty, a beauty greater than Helen of Troy's, and do you appreciate my mercy?”
“I'm hungry!” she screeched. “I'm in no mood for adoration when my bellybutton ring is scraping my backbone.” An ivory spoon lay on the floor and Halimeda kicked it viciously. It struck the wall and bounced back, striking her in the shin. “Ouch.” She stomped on it, snapping the delicate handle and continued her tirade until the bowl was crushed as well.
“That was tribute from India,” the disembodied voice hissed. “Do you have any idea how many men died to lay it at my altar?”
“Do I care?” She spun around. “Show yourself, Melqart. I dislike carrying on a conversation with a chunk of rock.” Her face contorted. “Unless you're afraid to face me.”
“You're insane.” The image of a man with the head of a bull flickered against a windowless wall. “Do you dare to accuse me, Melqart—God of war, Lord of the Underworld—of cowardice?”
“You promised me that I would live like a queen. Look at this place! It's hardly more than a cave. Cold and dark. I doubt if it's been properly cleaned in a millennia.”
The bull snorted and tossed his massive horns. He opened his mouth and glittering rubies, emeralds, and uncut diamonds spilled onto the floor. A cascade of pearls followed the jewels. “Look around you.” The voice that issued from the bull's throat was that of a man, but distorted, animalistic. “Gold. Silver. Ivory. What more could you want?”
“Food.” She rested her balled fists on her hips. “Can I eat pearls? Precious gems? What good to me are your empty dishes and cups? I thirst! I hunger!”
“Very well.” He snapped his fingers and lightning flashed.
Instantly, the banquet table that she had so recently swept clean groaned under the weight of dishes containing figs and dates and raisins, vegetables, and breads. An entire roast pig nestled on a bed of greens. Olives and pitchers of frothy drinks crowded baskets of fried fish, oysters on the half-shell, steamed crabs, roasted lamb, and sliced beef. Grilled pigeon in gravy, stuffed songbirds, and boiled eels were adorned with steamed shrimp and mussels. Cakes and breads, whole rounds of cheese, and containers of yogurt, and dripping honeycombs lined the long board.
“Well, what do you say to that?” the bull-man demanded.
Halimeda smiled. “It smells wonderful.” She reached for a slice of lamb and screamed when her hand passed through the meat and platter as if it were air. “Illusion! Nothing but illusion! Am I to be satisfied with conjurer's tricks?”
The bull wavered and its head morphed into that of an elephant, trunk raised and ivory tusks bloodstained. “How many times must I tell you? You no longer need to eat. You are beyond such humanoid weakness.”
Sobbing with frustration, she grabbed for a loaf of wheat bread. She could smell it, imagine the taste on her tongue. But, again, she could grasp nothing. The round loaf was perfect, still piping hot, but it wasn't real. “I want food,” she shrieked. “You've deceived me.”
The elephant's small eyes darkened to pitch, and the image faded. There was another flash of lightning and in place of the pachyderm, Halimeda saw an enormous black dog with a bronze battle collar crouched a few feet from her. The animal's hackles rose and its teeth bared as it growled, sending a wave of foul breath into the air and making her gag. Slobber dripped from the dog's jaws as it leaped onto the table and tore into the roast pig.
Halimeda forced a bored expression and clapped slowly. “A fine performance, but I'm still without nourishment.”
The beast raised its head and stared at her with glowing eyes, and icy fingers of fear clutched at her bowels. Halimeda gritted her teeth and glared back. Her trembling chin firmed. If Melqart thought he could intimidate her with circus animals, he'd have to think again.
“This is not what I was promised,” she repeated. “I require live maids to do my hair, live bath attendants, live seamstresses.”
“Every servant that I've given you flees from your presence. I can't imagine what a live servant would do,” he said.
“I don't care for your choices. You give me mindless demons,” she accused, warming to her grievances. “Spineless things that give me nightmares. They all stink of rotting flesh. You haven't kept your bargain.”
“Do you believe you've kept your part of the bargain?” Melqart growled. “Where is your son who you promised would pay me homage?” The hound's body vanished, leaving only the head and chewing jaws.
Halimeda waited until she sensed that the god of war had taken refuge in the statue again. Usually, his manifestations didn't last long. “My son will come when I call him,” she said. The stone image radiated cold, as if a door to the underworld had opened. She suppressed a shiver.
“Why do Poseidon and his whelps still rule Atlantis?”
“I'm a sorceress, not a magician. These things take time.”
She stalked to one side of the chamber and peered into a wide floor-to-ceiling mirror. As usual her image did not reflect. She could see the table, the obscene heaps of imaginary food, but she could not see her own face. “You promised me beauty, but where is it? What proof do I have that you're not lying about that, too?”
“You would see it if you wanted to,” he said, suddenly consoling. “You have it in your head that the poison destroyed your loveliness, and you refuse to see your own magnificence. Am I to be blamed for your stubbornness?”
She whirled on the statue and glared into the sightless empty eye sockets. The thought that they had once held jewels flicked through her mind, and she wondered if Melqart was as powerful as he had been in millennia past. “Maybe I'm an illusion, too,” she dared. “Maybe this is all a lie, and I died in that dungeon. Perhaps you're nothing more than a bad dream.”
“Don't say that! Don't dare to say that!” The statue writhed and twisted into the likeness of a giant moray eel. Its mouth yawned, revealing jagged teeth and a bloody interior. Bits of flesh dribbled between its lips. “I took away your pain, Halimeda, but I can give it again. Would you like to know true suffering?”
She had always known when she'd pressed Poseidon too hard or touched a soft spot, so she quickly altered her demeanor. “Come, my lord, let us not quarrel between ourselves. I don't doubt your courage. And, of course, I know that you truly exist, but I'm cross and weak from lack of food. Provide for me all that you promised and my son will come and bring offerings at your shrine.”
“He'd better.” Slime dripped from the eel's body as it slowly morphed back into the statue of the bull-headed man. “If your son Prince Caddoc disappoints me, I'll feed him to my shades, and all your pleading for his life will be for naught.”
 
Orion looked down at the woman kneeling at his feet and shuddered as an almost uncontrollable sense of desire possessed him. Her damp hair hung over one shoulder, and tendrils curled at the nape of her neck, making him want to bury his face in the enticing hollow and taste her skin. Her scent drew him like adona fern, firing his imagination.
The thought that he could have her here on this floor made his loins throb. It would be easy. No mortal woman could resist an Atlantean male if he loosed his full aura of sexuality upon her. His people were far advanced over the earth-walkers in many aspects, but their weakness was an enhanced need for sexual stimulation. In the way that bull sperm whales became maddened by the need for mating, so did Atlanteans, both men and women.
But here was forbidden fruit. If he took what could be so easily his, Orion would risk honor, career, and his place in line to the throne. He had no wish to become Poseidon; that task would rightfully go to his brother Morgan, but breaking law and tradition for pure sensual pleasure was crossing the line.
He wanted Elena … wanted her with a passion that made his blood run hot and his mind giddy with lecherous possibilities. He wanted to run his hands over her smooth, scale-free body, cup her breasts in his hands and coax the nipples into hard, tight nubs. He could imagine the silken texture of her skin and the soft whimpers she'd make as he drew those sweet nipples between his lips and sucked her breasts until she screamed for release, before he'd roam lower to explore the damp crevices between her thighs. He wanted to feel the soft, dark curls of her woman's mound against his lips and to slide his fingers slowly inside her before …
No! He couldn't weaken. Stifling a groan, Orion fought the smoldering arousal that threatened to ignite into a blazing heat. Control … he must retain control of his body and will. To do less would be his undoing.
Mating with an unwilling partner was one of the greatest of sins among the Atlanteans, punishable by a particularly unpleasant and lengthy death sentence. Women were equals in every way, other than physical strength, and to take advantage of a weaker opponent was looked upon with disgust. Yet, if she desired him, even if she was a land dweller, could their union be so terrible? And she would want him if he willed it. A touch, a glance, a whispered suggestion would be all that it would take to bring about the ends that he wanted so badly. But that, of course, was cheating.
“It's true,” Elena cried. “It
is
here. And here! And here!” She ran trembling fingers over a stone tablet inscribed with hieroglyphics from the time of the New Kingdom. “As sharp and clear as if they had been carved yesterday,” she babbled. “See this.” She pointed to a line of characters.
“The cry of the dove rings out.
Dawn breaks, where doest thou fly?
Stop, sweet bird, why must thou …”
“
Scold me
,” he translated.
Elena stared at him in astonishment. “You read hieroglyphics?”
He shrugged. “I was always good with languages.”
Confusion flickered in her dark eyes, and he knew she realized that she'd underestimated him. He wasn't what she'd thought. How far off she really was, he suspected she'd never guess. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and turned back to the text.
“I discovered my … my sweetheart—”
“
My lover
,” he corrected huskily. “
I discovered my lover …”

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