Atlantis Redeemed (9 page)

“But I—”

“You did nothing that any frat boy with a keg and a toga party hasn’t done,” she said, interrupting him again. “Yet somehow you’ve been punished for more than two thousand years? And I can’t believe I’m even saying that. Two thousand years. Just how old are you? Are all Atlanteans as old as you?”

“I killed the mother of my child when she carried him in her belly.” The words came out harsh, rasping his throat. Scorching his heart.

The color drained from Tiernan’s face. “You . . . what? You—But wait.” She drew a long, shuddering breath. “No. That’s not true. Or rather, some part of it is not true. I can feel something . . .”

As she fell silent, those enormous dark eyes of hers fixed on him in shock and horror, the pain rose in his chest, cutting off his breath. He bent forward in the chair, catching himself with his hands before he fell out and his face hit the floor. Agony at the loss of his child, bitter remorse over Corelia’s death—both vied for control of his sanity.

He began the deep breathing exercises again, forcing himself to climb back into the chair. “It is truth,” he said. “Truth enough, anyway.”

“Truth enough isn’t good enough. Tell me exactly.”

He bowed his head and complied, recounting Poseidon’s blistering condemnation and accusation. “So you see,” he concluded, “she died because of me. My own child died because of me. I have no right to either life or happiness, but I have spent every day since that one fighting to save other women, other children, from death. Searching for something I could never find or deserve.”

“Redemption,” she whispered. “But, Brennan, she never told you about the baby? You said you offered to marry her.”

“She laughed at me when we were discovered and I offered marriage. Said a mere warrior could never be good enough for her. I was a dalliance, at best, and a means to scratch an itch, at worst,” he said slowly, experiencing again his furious humiliation, as if it had happened only hours before.

Worse, far worse, humiliation became gut-wrenching pain as he continued. “She never told me about the child. Never a hint. Refused all communication. She had a marriage planned . . . I heard later that her intended husband had learned of her affairs and of the pregnancy from tale-bearing servants. He denounced her publicly, and her so-called friends from her social class abandoned her.”

He clenched the wooden arms of the chair so tightly the wood splintered and broke in his hands. Slowly, he released the fractured pieces of wood and watched them fall to the floor, not caring that he’d ripped open the palm of his left hand. Blood dripped, drop by fat, glistening drop, onto the carpet.

“So much blood,” he whispered. “She cut her wrists, they said. The human body contains so very much blood, did you know that?” He looked up at Tiernan, desperate that she should understand. “For centuries after, I saw that image in my nightmares. Her life and her blood, drained out on the marble tile. My child’s life drained away with it. All my fault.”

 

 

 

 

“No,” she said. “No, it wasn’t your fault.”

Tiernan knew from her Gift that every word he’d spoken was the truth, or what he believed to be the truth. She also knew that his perception of events was badly skewed; that there was no way any but the smallest portion of blame was his.

“You were wild, like so many young men. Like I would have been, if I hadn’t . . . if things had been different. But that woman—Corelia—she was the one who used you, Brennan. She was the one who harmed herself and her own child, because she believed she was too good to marry a mere warrior.”

He looked up at her, and she imagined she saw a glimmer of hope through the pain in his eyes. It was too much to take in, though, too much to understand or even try to understand. She didn’t know him, couldn’t know what he was thinking, but some part of her wanted to help him release so much undeserved guilt and pain. But now wasn’t the right time, and she probably wasn’t even the right person.

Anyway, he was bleeding on her carpet. That much she could fix. Sympathy and a stronger emotion, one she didn’t want to analyze, overcame the lingering wariness she’d felt. She took a deep breath and released the door handle.

“You need to bandage that hand,” she said, heading for her backpack. “I have a mini first-aid kit in my bag. Let’s get you cleaned up and then we can figure out what to do. Oh, and you’re totally paying for that chair, my friend. A reporter’s budget only goes so far.”

He looked down at his hands and blinked, almost as if he hadn’t realized before that moment that he’d hurt himself. “Did you not hear me? What I’ve done? What I’ve caused? Order me from your presence and be done with it, if you have any mercy at all,” he rasped out, his face starkly white. “I don’t know if I can promise to let you go if I remain with you any longer.”

Heat swept through her at the reminder of the other things he’d said to her, but she tried to ignore it.
Priorities
. Fix his hands, then worry about the rest of it. She found the kit and withdrew Neosporin and a large adhesive bandage, then glanced at him as she walked to the bathroom to wet a washcloth. “I heard you. I also heard what you didn’t say, though. That you tried to do the right thing by her and she wouldn’t let you. That she was a selfish woman who committed the worst possible act against herself and her own baby.”

A thought occurred to her. “How old were you when this happened, anyway?”

He bowed his head. “I had nineteen years.”

She paused, one hand on the faucet. “Nineteen? Are you kidding me? You were a child yourself.”

“Age cannot excuse fault.”

“No, but if everybody who did something stupid when they were nineteen got cursed, the world would be in for a load of trouble,” she snapped, wishing she could get through to him. Wondering why she cared. As she ran water onto the white cloth, she thought of another lost baby, and then she tried to talk past the lump in her throat as she gave him the advice so many others had given her over the past two years. “You need to forgive yourself for something that wasn’t even your fault. It’s not going to be easy, but you can’t get past it if you don’t. You can’t heal, and you can’t move forward, and you’ll never be able to live your life.”

She paused at the threshold from the bathroom and looked first at Brennan, and then at the door to the hall, weighing the risks and rewards of what she was about to do.

He looked up at her, the lines in his face deepening as if he could hear her thoughts and expected her to run. She’d never seen so much anguish on anyone’s face.

“I will never harm you. I would die first,” he said, and again she felt the pure, musical truth of it surrounding her, wrapping her in a sensual haze that belied the stark words. The sheer power of that truth persuaded her.

“I know you believe that. For now, it’s enough. We need each other, so let’s figure out how to stop these scientists. Together.”

“Together,” he repeated, and then a smile of such dazzling male beauty spread across his face that she almost reconsidered her decision. He was far too dangerously seductive to be trusted. Or was it herself she didn’t trust? Gorgeous, humanity-protecting warriors with tortured pasts were suddenly her thing?

Apparently so. She crossed the room and handed him the washcloth. “Clean that scrape, and then we’ll bandage it. We should probably figure out a story for when someone asks—”

He took the cloth from her, and when his fingers touched her hand, an almost electrical shock sizzled through her nerve endings, causing her to gasp a little and yank her hand back. He lifted his head, his eyes narrowing, and again she had that disconcerting sense of a predator catching the scent of his prey.

“I’m not,” she said suddenly, wiping her damp hand on her jeans. “Your prey, that is.”

“So it would seem. Perhaps I am yours.” His deep voice held an undercurrent of amusement, although his expression was still bleak. He rose to his feet and she caught her breath, realizing all over again just how big he was. How much pure masculine strength was leashed in that tall, muscled body. She was taking a big risk trusting him.

“I will earn your trust,” he said, holding out his wounded hand, palm up.

She was instantly suspicious to hear her thoughts reflected back at her. “Can you read my mind?”

“No, but your face is a mirror to your thoughts at times, Tiernan Butler.” He studied her, as if trying to memorize her features. “I had not realized you were so very beautiful.”

She felt her cheeks heating again and busied herself with the antibacterial ointment and bandage, trying to touch the actual skin of his hand as little as possible. Trying not to notice how his hands were as large and masculine and elegant as the rest of him. He smelled deliciously male, with a hint of salt and sea mixed in, and she inexplicably wanted to wrap herself up in his scent and roll around like a kitten with fresh catnip.

She forced herself to focus on the task, fastened the bandage, and went to wash her hands and discard the wrappings. He followed her across the room and leaned against the doorway, arms folded over his chest, watching every move she made.

“You’re all set. Now, what is the plan? I know you’ve got a cover story in place as some kind of rich benefactor, but Rick didn’t—”

The phone rang again, cutting her off mid-sentence at the same time that someone pounded on the door of the room. She stuffed the first-aid items in the top of her open backpack, pulled out her cell phone, saw that it was Rick again, clicked it to voice mail, and headed for the door. Before she could reach it, Brennan was suddenly standing in front of her, a deadly stillness in his posture. He was so fast she hadn’t even seen him move.

“We still must discuss who dared to hurt you,” he said, skimming her neck with one finger, scorching a trail of heat across her skin. “And then he will die. If I am very lucky, this will be him now.”

Brennan jerked the door open, and a man standing on the other side practically fell into the room. He’d clearly been eavesdropping. Tiernan managed to uncurl her lip into a polite smile before he recovered his balance, but he offered up in response only an officious sniff that matched his neatly pressed pin-striped suit. Unfortunately, his balding head flushed a hot red, giving away the mortification that his superior expression couldn’t hide. Human, then. Vamps didn’t have the blood pressure to do that.

“Ms. Baum? Tracy Baum?” He made a point of looking anywhere but up at Brennan, who had a good foot of height advantage on him. “I’m Mr. Wesley, your liaison to Dr. Litton. He wanted me to be sure and catch up to you right away with your press pass and schedule and answer any questions you might have.”

He shoved a dark blue folder at her. Tiernan took it from him and smiled her best ditzy reporter smile, ignoring Brennan’s sudden and unmistakable tension at her side. Always good to be nice to the mad scientist’s Igor, after all. Brennan was going to have to get used to her in her undercover role if he really intended to stick close.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Wesley. Please call me Tracy. I’m so looking forward to this conference and everything I can learn for my article.” She put a hand on his arm and leaned in, as if sharing a confidence. “I’m sure you’ll be very helpful.”

Behind her, Brennan made a sound low in his throat that almost sounded like . . . a
growl
? She evaluated the odds she could stamp on Brennan’s foot without Wesley noticing, then decided to just introduce him instead. “This is—”

“Brennan. Litton is expecting me,” Brennan interrupted smoothly. “When do we meet?”

Wesley instantly turned flustered, all but fluttering his hands. “Oh, Mr. Brennan. Dr. Litton is so glad—so honored—uh.” He paused, biting his lip. “Thrilled. He’s thrilled, we’re all thrilled, that you’re here to consider further funding of our research. It’s really cutting edge. You see, we’re—”

“Yes. I will see, won’t I?” Somehow, Brennan managed to edge his calm tone with a layer of menace. “I don’t just hand out ten-million-dollar grants on the basis of no evidence. So far, what I’ve seen from my first half million hasn’t impressed me.”

Tiernan wanted to applaud his technique. He’d be fantastic undercover. Of course, the man actually spent most of his life undercover, come to think about it. It wasn’t like he went around announcing he was an Atlantean warrior. She was still waiting for High Prince Conlan’s go-ahead to break
that
story.

Wesley wasn’t setting off any warning bells in her mind, though. The little he’d told them so far had been the truth. Or at least the truth as he believed it to be, but that was the one constant drawback to her abilities. Litton could have fed his assistant a bunch of crap. People were very, very good at lying to one another—and even to themselves.

“Well, yes. We don’t really want to discuss this in the hallway, do we? I just came to give Ms. Baum her materials, and—” Suddenly the man seemed to make the connection he should have wondered about in the first place, and he narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. “In fact, I am surprised to find you here with a reporter, Mr. Brennan. We certainly . . .” Wesley’s voice trailed off and his face turned a peculiar shade of greenish white.

Tiernan glanced at Brennan and had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud at the fiercely intimidating glare he was directing at Wesley. The warrior had “arrogant billionaire” down cold.

“Yes. Well.” Wesley adjusted his tie, surreptitiously loosening it as he broke into a light sweat. “Dr. Litton will be able to answer all of your questions. I’ll be sure to tell him you’re here.”

“You do that,” Brennan said, putting an arm around Tiernan and closing the door in the man’s face.

Tiernan shrugged away from Brennan’s arm, waited a few moments, then peeked through the peephole to make sure Wesley was gone. Then she turned to Brennan. “Really, did you need to terrify the poor man?”