Atlantis Series Complete Collection Page 24

  Her eyelids fluttered down. “Say it again.”

  “I meant to go—”

  “No. The part where you called me your wife.”

  His arms tightened around her. “We belong together, wife.”

  She rolled onto her side and faced him. “Just so you know, I happened to like it the way you gave it to me, husband.”

  He should not have hardened for hours—perhaps days—but as he looked at her and basked in her words, and need unfurled through him. If they did not get up, he would take her again, and he knew he wouldn’t have the strength to leave afterward.

  “Get dressed,” he said, patting her bottom. “Time for us to visit Jason Graves.”

  Grace lost her dazed expression. The sensual reprieve ended as real life intruded. She lumbered to her feet and stumbled to her bathroom. Wincing at the soreness of her body, she took a quick shower and slipped on a pair of black pants and a matching black, short-sleeved shirt.

  When she glanced up, Darius stood in the bathroom doorway, watching her through intense, golden eyes. Golden eyes! Her pulse fluttered in time with a single thought: he is my husband! His pants hung low on his waist, giving him a sexy, rakish air. She found herself taking a step toward him, intent on slipping her fingers beneath the black material and—she stopped that line of thought before it was too late. Before she lost herself in him.

  He didn’t appear aroused in any way. He looked…pained, like that strange weakness afflicted him again. Proud as he was, he didn’t say a word.

  “Come with me,” she said. She led him into the kitchen. There, she hurriedly fixed him a sandwich, and once he finished eating, he leaned back in his chair. He looked the same. Why hadn’t that helped? She frowned and took his hand, meaning to gauge his temperature. But as she held his palm in hers, his color returned. It wasn’t food that strengthened him, she realized, but her. Her touch.

  “You have to tell me what’s going on,” she said, holding his gaze and retaining her grip on his hand. “What causes your illness?” When he remained silent, she persisted. “Tell me.”

  He sighed. “When the gods banished us to Atlantis, they bound us irrevocably to the land. Those that try to leave, die.”

  Her stomach twisted, and her body went cold. If staying here meant his death, she wanted him gone. “You have to go home. Now.” She allowed all of her concern, all of her anguish at the thought of his demise, to seep into her voice.

  “I will return in the morning as planned.”

  “I’ll search Jason’s home on my own, then fly to Brazil. I can be in Atlantis in two days.”

  “No. On both counts.”

  “But—”

  “No, Grace.”

  She had to convince him to leave. But how? She released him and began clearing away the dishes, keeping her back to him. In seconds, he was directly behind her, holding her captive between his arms.

  “You are upset,” he said.

  She paused, saying, “I’m scared for you. I’m scared for Alex. I want this to be over.”

  An undercurrent of menace suffused his voice when he said, “Soon. Very soon.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  BRIGHT NEON LIGHTS blazed from nearby buildings. Grace sucked in a deep breath as her gaze darted left and right. I’m a criminal. I’m breaking and entering—or committing a B and E as the arresting officer would say. She pursed her lips together and fought a shiver. She’d never admit this aloud, but hidden beneath her nervousness surged an intense adrenaline rush.

  She and Darius stood outside Jason’s swanky apartment building. A slight breeze drifted past, cooling her heated skin. She pressed her back to the brownstone, and cast another glance to her right. Unfortunately Darius couldn’t magically teleport them inside. He had to visualize a room first, and he’d never been inside Jason’s. She wondered, though, how he planned to get them in undetected.

  “What if we set off the alarms?” she asked softly. Did the people strolling the streets suspect the truth? She was wearing all black, after all. Criminal colors.

  “We will not,” Darius answered confidently.

  “Security guards observe screens of every corridor, maybe every room.”

  “That does not matter. I will cast a spell to guard us before we set a single foot inside.” He leveled her with an intense stare. “Are you ready?”

  She gulped, nodded.

  “Put your arms around my neck and hold tight.”

  After only a slight hesitation, Grace intertwined her shaky fingers around his neck, pressing her breasts into the hardness of his chest. Tingles raced through her nipples. “We could get into serious trouble for this,” she said. “I don’t know why I suggested it.”

  He grazed her lips with his own. “Because you love your brother.”

  Ripping fabric drifted to her ears a split second before Darius’s shirt fell to the ground. His long, glorious wings unfurled. Her heartbeat galloped as her feet lost their solid anchor on the ground. Whoosh. Whoosh. A cool breeze stirred.

  “What’s happening?” she gasped, but she knew the answer. “Darius, this is—”

  “Do not panic,” he said, his grip on her tightening. “I have not forgotten how to fly. All you need do is hang on to me.”

  “I’m not panicked.” She laughed. “I’m exhilarated. We’re flying on the Darius Express.” They moved quickly, smoothly, higher with every second that passed.

  He uttered a chuckle of his own and shook his head. “I expected fear from you. Will you ever cease to amaze me, sweet Grace?”

  “I hope not.” She looked down, loving how the cars and people appeared like small specks, loving the giddiness of hovering in the air.

  The moon loomed closer and larger, growing in intensity until she could only gape at its luminance. Darius chanted under his breath, and a strange vibration unfurled from him, a vibration that began as nothing more than a slight tremble, then grew into an intense shaking through the entire apartment building. No one below seemed to notice.

  The shaking stopped.

  “We are safe now,” he said.

  She didn’t ask how exactly since they had reached Jason’s upper balcony. As his wings glided them slowly forward, Darius set her firmly on the ground. The action drew a grunt from him, and she glanced up at his face. His cheekbones stretched taut and lacked any color. He kept his gaze from her as he drew in a shaky breath.

  “You’re weak again,” she said, concerned. “Perhaps you should go home and—”

  “I am fine.” Irritation—with her or himself?—lashed from his tone.

  She gulped, determined to get him out of here as quickly as possible. “Let’s hurry, then.”

  White gauzy drapes billowed around the French double doors. Grace brushed them aside and tried the knob. Locked. “Do you know how to pick these?”

  “No need.” Darius ushered her aside, positioned himself in front of the doors and spewed rays of fire. The wood around the glass panels quickly charred. The tinkle of glass erupted as the panels fell and hit the ground.

  “Thank you.” Stepping over the jagged pieces, Grace waved her hand in front of her nose to whisk away the smoke. Unabashedly she entered Jason Graves’s home. “It’s so dark,” she whispered.

  “Your eyes will adjust.” He didn’t use a breaking-and-entering voice. He used a why-are-you-whispering-you-silly-woman voice.

  Even as he spoke, her vision opened and objects became clear. A chaise longue, a glass coffee table. “What about motion sensors and security cameras?” she asked. “Are we one hundred percent protected from those?”

  “Yes. The spell disabled them.”

  Allowing herself to relax, she padded throughout the living room, tracing her fingertips over the paintings and jewels—yes, jewels—hanging on the walls. “So much wealth,” she said. “And none of it belongs to him. It’s like we’ve stepped through the mist and into Atlantis.”

  Darius remained at the threshold, his teeth bared in a red-hot snarl as he took in the
stolen Atlantean artifacts.

  “I know you’re a child of the gods,” she said, hoping to distract him from his fury, “but you’re not technically a god. Where does your magic come from?”

  “My father,” he said, losing his infuriated edge. He entered, his steps clipped. “He practiced the ancient arts.”

  The image of his parents’ lifeless bodies flashed in her mind again, exactly as she’d seen them in her vision when he’d cast his binding spell. She ached for the little boy he’d been, the child who’d found his family slain. She couldn’t imagine the pain he must have suffered—and still suffered.

  “I’m sorry for their deaths,” she told him, letting her remorse and sorrow seep out with the words. “Your loss of family.”

  Darius stilled and glanced over at her. “How did you know they were…gone?”

  “I saw them. In your mind. When you cast the binding spell.”

  His shoulders straightened, and surprise flashed through his eyes. “They were my life,” he said.

  “I know,” she said softly, aching for him.

  “Perhaps one day I will tell you of them.” The offer emerged hesitant, but there all the same.

  “I would love that.”

  He nodded, a little stiff. “Right now, we must search for any information this Jason has about Atlantis and your brother.”

  “I’ll check the library for the Book of Ra-Dracus.” She looked around. “I’m willing to bet he’s the one who stole it from my brother.”

  “I will search the rest of the home.”

  With a last, lingering glance, they branched off. The floors were polished mahogany panels, and the decor something out of a medieval home and garden magazine. Upstairs, Grace quickly found the study. Piles of books littered every corner, and some appeared old and well used. She flipped through each one, finding references to dragons and liquid nitrogen, magic spells and vampires, but none were the Book of Ra-Dracus. A large walnut desk consumed the center and a world globe made completely of…what was that? Some sort of jewel, perhaps? Purple, like an amethyst, but jagged like crystal. She studied it more closely. In the center, a waterfall churned around a single body of land. Around Atlantis. And a pulsing sapphire.

  Though she wanted to study it more closely, she forced herself on the matter at hand. She moved toward the desk and shuffled through the papers on top. Finding nothing of importance, she withdrew a letter opener and, after struggling for several minutes, pried open the drawer locks. Inside the bottom drawer, she discovered photos that shocked and repelled her. She covered her mouth to muffle her horrified gasp. The graphic images depicted dragon and human warriors covered in a white foam, blood flowing from multiple bullet wounds. Some showed Alex and Teira. The two were lying in a jewel-encrusted cell, dirty but alive. Several held grotesque imprints of tall, pale creatures with eerie blue eyes feasting off the dragon bodies. The humans standing off to the side watched, their expressions a mix of fear, disgust, and titillation.

  Why take photos of his crimes? As a memento? To prove the existence of Atlantis? Or did he hope to write a book, How I Like to Kill? She scowled.

  She replayed the vision of her brother that Darius’s medallion had supplied. This room wasn’t the one Alex first occupied. This was a different room, one she knew resided in Atlantis. Those jeweled walls were very similar to what she’d seen inside Darius’s home. When her husband returned to his home, she thought, more determined now than before, she was going with him.

  Perhaps Darius sensed her growing disquiet, because the next thing she knew, he stood over her.

  “What do you—” He paused, then very slowly, very precisely, reached over her shoulder and slipped the photos from her hands. She tried to pry them from him because she didn’t want him to see the travesties done to his friends. He held tightly. “This is Javar and his men. And these are vampires.”

  Vampires. She shuddered. Having proof of their actual existence settled like lead in her stomach.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, turning to face him. His eyes narrowed, but even from those tiny slits she could see their color glowed ice-blue. Fragments of grief radiated from him and into her.

  “What else is in there?” He set the photos aside with one fluid motion, a deceptively calm motion.

  Allowing him to change the subject, she said, “That’s it. Did you find anything?”

  “More artifacts from Atlantis.” Radiating cold determination, he clasped her hand. “Jason Graves deserves so much more than death. He deserves to suffer.”

  Another shudder worked through her, because she knew he would do everything in his power to see that Jason got exactly what he deserved.

  And she planned to help him.

  * * *

  GRACE WANTED TO bang her head against the wall.

  She and Darius arrived home several hours ago, yet he still remained rigid with tension. He refused to speak. She hated this, hated the remorse radiating from him.

  He sat on the couch, his head back, his eyes closed. Not knowing what else to do, she quietly approached. “I want to show you something.”

  His eyelids reluctantly opened. When he offered no reply and made no move to rise, she added, “Pretty please with a cherry on top.”

  Not a single word left his lips, but he stood. Grace wrapped her fingers around his and ushered him into the bathroom. She didn’t explain her actions; she simply removed his clothing, then her own. He was in need of loving—and she was going to give it to him. All the loving he could stand.

  After turning the knobs and allowing the water to heat, she stepped inside the tub and tugged Darius in behind her. Still he remained silent. Hot water cascaded down their naked bodies, and as she stood in front of him, she lathered his chest with soap.

  “I’ve got a joke for you,” she said, mentally converting jokes she knew into dragon jokes.

  He frowned—his first reaction. It didn’t matter that he’d only given her a frown. She’d take anything she could get.

  “What did the dragon say when he saw a knight in shining armor?”

  His brow wrinkled, and he sighed.

  “Oh, no, not another canned meal.”

  Slowly, so slowly, his lips inched up in a smile.

  I did that, she thought with a surge of pride. I made him smile. She basked in the warmth of it and all the while his smile continued to grow. So sweet, so endearing, it lit his entire face. His eyes darkened, becoming that golden-brown she loved. He traced his fingertip over her cheekbone.

  “Tell me another one,” he said.

  She nearly sank to her knees in relief at the sound of his rich, husky voice. Grinning happily, she slipped behind him and traced her soapy hands over his back. “It’s long,” she warned.

  “Even better,” he said, tugging her in front. He nibbled on her ear, dragging the sensitive lobe through his teeth.

  “There was a dragon who had a long-standing obsession with a queen’s breasts,” she said, growing breathless. “The dragon knew the penalty to touch her would mean death, yet he revealed his secret desire to the king’s chief doctor. This man promised he could arrange for the dragon to satisfy his desire, but it would cost him one thousand gold coins.” She spread her soapy hands over his nipples, then down his arms. “Though he didn’t have the money, the dragon readily agreed to the scheme.”

  “Grace,” Darius moaned, his erection straining against her stomach.

  She hid her smile, loving that she had this much power over such a strong man. That she, Grace Carlyle, made him ache with longing. “The next day the physician made a batch of itching powder and poured some into the queen’s bra…uh, you might call it a brassiere…while she bathed. After she dressed, she began itching and itching and itching. The physician was summoned to the Royal Chambers, and he informed the king and queen that only a special saliva, if applied for several hours, would cure this type of itch. And only a dragon possessed this special saliva.” Out of breath, she paused.

  “Continu
e,” Darius said. His arms wound around her so tightly she could barely breathe. His skin blazed hot against hers, hotter than even the steamy water.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Continue.” Taut lines bracketed his mouth.

  “Well, the king summoned the dragon. Meanwhile, the physician slipped him the antidote for the itching powder, which the dragon put into his mouth, and for the next few hours, the dragon worked passionately on the queen’s breasts.

  “Anyway,” she said, reaching around him and lathering the muscled mounds of his butt, “the queen’s itching was eventually relieved, and the dragon left satisfied and touted as a hero.”

  “This does not sound like a joke,” Darius said.

  “I’m getting to the punch line. Hang on. When the physician demanded his payment, the now satisfied dragon refused. He knew that the physician could never report what really happened to the king. So the next day, the physician slipped a massive dose of the same itching powder into the king’s loincloth. And the king immediately summoned the dragon.”

  Darius threw back his head and barked with laughter. The sound boomed raw and new, and she fell deeper in love with him at that moment. She’d never heard anything so precious because she knew how rare such amusement was for him. She hoped he found such joy every day they spent together.

  When his laughter subsided, a sensual light glowed in his eyes. His features were so relaxed, so open. “I’m intrigued by this breast feasting,” he whispered, rubbing his nose against hers.

  “I am, too,” she admitted. “I have an itch.”

  “Allow me to help you.” He pressed his lips to hers in a lazy, delicious kiss. His fiery flavor, his heat, his masculinity, still managed to enthrall her. Need and desperation wrapped around every inch of her body, and she threaded her wet hands around his neck.

  His palms caressed a slippery path down her spine and stopped at the small indentation at the base. When those scorching fingers dipped lower, cupped and pulled her tightly against him, she sucked in an eager breath. She pressed her lower half into him, cradling his erection. Her nerve endings were alive with the memories of making love, and longed to repeat the experience.