Warriors of Poseidon 02 - Atlantis Awakening

in Atlantis fairly desperate? You have kind of an Alaska thing going on there? The odds are good, but the goods are odd?"
     
    It was sheer bravado. There was nothing odd about this man; he was pure, potent male.
    The wavy, too-long black hair that framed sculpted cheekbones. Eyes as dark as the promise of revenge. A wall of muscled chest that strained the black T-shirt he wore under that leather coat. Not to mention the faded jeans covering huge muscled thighs.
    Her mouth suddenly got a little dry.
     
    Yeah, nothing odd here.
     
    He narrowed his eyes, but seemed more speculative than annoyed. "You think my goods are odd, witch? I'd be glad—"
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    "Not here!" She quickly scanned the room, but none of the drunks appeared to be paying them the slightest bit of attention. The dive bar was way too low-class for the vampires or their spies, or so she hoped. People had died for making smaller mistakes.
    "That word still summons up genetic memories of burnings and stakes for far too many non-Magickals," she murmured.
     
    He stood up off the barstool, a fluid motion that made her think of a caged panther and brought him way too close to her. The large opals gracing her two ring fingers began singing—a low, urgent call. Thank the Goddess that he couldn't hear them. "Let's get out of here, then," he said.
     
    Ven held out a hand as if to assist her, then paused and tilted his head. "Do you hear that? What's that music?"
     
    Erin felt the blood literally drain out of her face. Maybe she'd thanked the Goddess too soon.
     
    Poseidon's Temple, Atlantis
     
    Alaric, high priest to Poseidon, leaned against a slender marble column and folded his arms across his chest, studying the warrior who paced back and forth across the Temple rotunda before him. "What exactly is it that you're worried about, Conlan?"
     
    The high prince of Atlantis shot Alaric an irritated glare. "I'm not worried, Alaric. Princes don't worry. Kings don't worry, either, and you keep reminding me we must go through with the Rite of Ascension and coronation within the next thirty days, or risk breaking some sacred tradition or other." Conlan snorted and resumed pacing.
     
    "Then what is it that you are not worried about that has you pacing across Poseidon's Temple like a rat scurrying to escape a drowning ship, my prince who is almost king?"
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    Alaric returned, voice mild. "And sacred traditions are sacred for a reason, but of course you know that."
     
    Conlan halted again, turned to face Alaric, and shoved his hand through his hair. Alaric caught a fleeting glimpse of his boyhood friend in the gesture, and gathered his patience.
     
    A troubled prince was of much concern to the high priest. A troubled friend was of much concern to the man.
     
    "Tell me."
     
    "It's Riley," Conlan said, his anguish clear in the deepened lines around his mouth and eyes. "The midwives say the pregnancy is not going well. She is so sick, every day, all day long. Instead of growing large and healthy with the child, she is wasting away before my eyes."
     
    Alaric straightened. "And the human doctor?"
     
    Conlan shook his head, face grim. "Nothing. They say the baby is fine, and that Riley will get over it. It's a 'phase.' Morning sickness, they call it, which is a damned stupid name—she's sick all day long. But Riley isaknasha —and as an emotional empath she can read the truth behind their placating words. The baby is in danger." He took a deep breath. "We need you, Alaric. You are the most powerful healer of any."
     
    Alaric called for power, felt the elements instantly respond, and knew by the heat in his eyes that they were glowing bright green with the force of his channeling. Sent out a mental plea to Poseidon. Received the same response he'd gotten every other time he'd asked, even begged, for the power to help Riley.
     
    Silence.
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    "Poseidon has never granted his priests the power of healing in any part of pregnancy or childbearing, Conlan. You know this. The midwives of the Nereid Temple are the only ones who may intercede in these matters."
     
    "To the nine hells with that! They can do nothing. You're more powerful than any high priest Atlantis has ever known—even the Council knows it. Break the rules, Alaric."
    Conlan stopped, as if realizing his voice had risen nearly