at the other end, his face as grim as Alexios had ever seen it.
Alexios slowed to a stop, his heart plummeting. No. It couldnât be. Not the baby. There had been so many problems during her pregnancyâthe first Atlantean-human mating in recorded history. He was unable to form the words to ask the question, but Brennan answered him anyway.
âIt goes badly. Riley and the baby are both at risk.â Brennanâs face hardened. âAlexios, they might die.â
Thousands of miles away from Atlantis, driving a beat-up old Jeep down a nearly deserted road, Grace felt a wave of anguish slice through her heart like a finely honed katana . But sheâd never felt a Japanese sword pierce that particular part of her anatomy. Once through the side, sure. A couple of hits on arms and legs. But never a chest wound.
Yanking the steering wheel to the right, Grace pulled off onto the edge of the road and put her head down on the steering wheel, gasping for air until the pain passed. The Fae. That damn elf must have done something to her. Some sort of delayed reaction spell.
But even as the thought entered her mind, she realized it didnât ring true. The pain hadnât felt like Fae magic.
It had felt like Alexios . Wherever he was, he was hurting.
And, warrior woman or not, descendant of Diana or not, there was nothing she could do about it.
Chapter 4
Atlantis, the palace
Alexios followed Brennan through the giant doorway into the opulent palace throne room, barely noticing the pristine white marble floor inlaid with designs of gold, copper, and sparkling orichalcum, a metal unique to Atlantis. He strode past the marble columns and never spared a glance for the ornate golden throne that had fascinated him so as a child, but simply followed Brennan through yet another doorway, this one much smaller, into another room, also much smaller. Prince Conlanâs private meeting room. Conlan had never been much of one for pomp and circumstance; the formal elegance of the throne room his father had ruled over had never held much appeal. Most of the important business of the kingdom was conducted here, on comfortable chairs and at battered wooden tables.
That is, most of the business of peace. For the rest, Conlan and his elite guard met in the war room. Another refuge, though starkly utilitarian. Another scarred wooden table. Alexios shook his head to clear it of fancy. The baby and Riley might be dying, and he was thinking about stupid tables. He was a fool.
Or else his mind was trying to protect him with denial. Alexios had seen more than his share of death over the centuries, but the childâs life had never had a chance to begin.
âPlease, Poseidon, hear my plea,â he whispered urgently, a fist squeezing the place inside his chest where his heart had once been. Now, he was sure that nothing but a blackened husk remained of heart and hope. If the baby died . . . but no. He wouldnât think it.
He couldnât think it.
Entering the room, he saw Justice and Keely first. Lord Justice, now that they all knew he was half brother to Prince Conlan and his brother, Ven, the Kingâs Vengeance.
Not that Ven would put up with being called prince anything.
Justice had his arms around Keely, like he always did. Ever since both the Atlantean and the Nereid halves of his personality had come together and soul-melded with Keely, the warrior was rarely far from her side.
Alexios ruthlessly squashed the twinge of envy he often felt at the sight of them. They were self-contained. Complete in each other, not needing anyone else. If anyone deserved to have that kind of happiness, it was Justice. Heâd fought against a cursed birthright for centuries, unable to claim his own brothers as kin. Now he had a new family: Keely and their adopted daughter, Eleni, a beautiful Guatemalan child whoâd lost her parents to vicious vampire attacks.
They deserved to be happy. All of them deserved to be happy.
Alexios slowed to a stop, his heart plummeting. No. It couldnât be. Not the baby. There had been so many problems during her pregnancyâthe first Atlantean-human mating in recorded history. He was unable to form the words to ask the question, but Brennan answered him anyway.
âIt goes badly. Riley and the baby are both at risk.â Brennanâs face hardened. âAlexios, they might die.â
Thousands of miles away from Atlantis, driving a beat-up old Jeep down a nearly deserted road, Grace felt a wave of anguish slice through her heart like a finely honed katana . But sheâd never felt a Japanese sword pierce that particular part of her anatomy. Once through the side, sure. A couple of hits on arms and legs. But never a chest wound.
Yanking the steering wheel to the right, Grace pulled off onto the edge of the road and put her head down on the steering wheel, gasping for air until the pain passed. The Fae. That damn elf must have done something to her. Some sort of delayed reaction spell.
But even as the thought entered her mind, she realized it didnât ring true. The pain hadnât felt like Fae magic.
It had felt like Alexios . Wherever he was, he was hurting.
And, warrior woman or not, descendant of Diana or not, there was nothing she could do about it.
Chapter 4
Atlantis, the palace
Alexios followed Brennan through the giant doorway into the opulent palace throne room, barely noticing the pristine white marble floor inlaid with designs of gold, copper, and sparkling orichalcum, a metal unique to Atlantis. He strode past the marble columns and never spared a glance for the ornate golden throne that had fascinated him so as a child, but simply followed Brennan through yet another doorway, this one much smaller, into another room, also much smaller. Prince Conlanâs private meeting room. Conlan had never been much of one for pomp and circumstance; the formal elegance of the throne room his father had ruled over had never held much appeal. Most of the important business of the kingdom was conducted here, on comfortable chairs and at battered wooden tables.
That is, most of the business of peace. For the rest, Conlan and his elite guard met in the war room. Another refuge, though starkly utilitarian. Another scarred wooden table. Alexios shook his head to clear it of fancy. The baby and Riley might be dying, and he was thinking about stupid tables. He was a fool.
Or else his mind was trying to protect him with denial. Alexios had seen more than his share of death over the centuries, but the childâs life had never had a chance to begin.
âPlease, Poseidon, hear my plea,â he whispered urgently, a fist squeezing the place inside his chest where his heart had once been. Now, he was sure that nothing but a blackened husk remained of heart and hope. If the baby died . . . but no. He wouldnât think it.
He couldnât think it.
Entering the room, he saw Justice and Keely first. Lord Justice, now that they all knew he was half brother to Prince Conlan and his brother, Ven, the Kingâs Vengeance.
Not that Ven would put up with being called prince anything.
Justice had his arms around Keely, like he always did. Ever since both the Atlantean and the Nereid halves of his personality had come together and soul-melded with Keely, the warrior was rarely far from her side.
Alexios ruthlessly squashed the twinge of envy he often felt at the sight of them. They were self-contained. Complete in each other, not needing anyone else. If anyone deserved to have that kind of happiness, it was Justice. Heâd fought against a cursed birthright for centuries, unable to claim his own brothers as kin. Now he had a new family: Keely and their adopted daughter, Eleni, a beautiful Guatemalan child whoâd lost her parents to vicious vampire attacks.
They deserved to be happy. All of them deserved to be happy.
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