January in Atlantis by Alyssa Day (best thriller novels of all time TXT) 📖

he’d been, had refused to ever enter it over some perceived slight from the owner. Flynn had far too many memories of dragging his unconscious father home from far too many pubs to want to revisit any of them and take a bad trip down memory lane, as the humans liked to say.

His mother, at least, had been courteous enough to get drunk at home.

From out of nowhere, a wave of remembered rage and shame slammed through him so powerfully that he could taste the rusty metal edges of it in his mouth. Suddenly, he fiercely wanted to go back to the dock and tell some of those starry-eyed tourists that Atlantis might look like a pretty tale from one of their bedtime storybooks, but he’d be happy to take them to see her seedy underbelly.

Right. Enough of that.

He turned abruptly to take the left-hand path toward the Sea Shanty, only to run right into someone coming from the opposite direction.

“Watch where you’re going,” Flynn snarled, still sunk in angry memories.

The other man, dark-haired, also dressed simply in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, had merely grunted at the encounter and kept walking, but now he stopped dead and swung slowly back around. “What did you say to me?”

Flynn groaned mentally. No wonder it had felt like he’d run into the side of a building. If he had to run into somebody, it couldn’t have been any ordinary Atlantean citizen out for a walk. Oh, no. Not with the shit luck he’d been having lately.

No, he had to run into one of the king’s elite warriors.

And then mouth off about it.

Flynn had been in Atlantis for just over thirty minutes, and he was already ass-deep in alligators. And the alligator in front of him looked like he’d be happy to teach Flynn a very painful lesson.

In the mood he was in, Flynn was almost tempted to try teaching a lesson of his own.

But no. Denal was a member of the king’s most-trusted Seven. And Flynn had better things to do than spend the night in jail, even Atlantean jail, which would seem like heaven to human prisoners but which, in the end, was still captivity.

No more captivity. He couldn’t take it. So instead of mouthing off again, he tried diplomacy. He bowed slightly, a perfectly correct Atlantean court gesture that he performed exquisitely even after so many years of not doing it (except in Japan that one long, drunken week). “I’m sorry. It was my fault.”

Denal said nothing, but his eyes narrowed and a muscle in his jaw twitched.

Time to get moving. Fast. Flynn stepped carefully off the path and around Denal at a safe distance and started to head toward the Sea Shanty, because now he needed that beer more than ever.

An arm shot out to bar his way.

“I. Asked. You. What. You. Said. To. Me,” Denal said, biting off each word. “I’m not in the mood to be ignored. And maybe you’d better think before you speak, because it’s been a very bad day.”

Flynn’s blood started to boil in his veins. He actually thought he could see smoke rising from the surface of his own skin, he was so angry. There was respect, and then there was acting like a scared jellyfish. He was not about to put up with any crap from the man, Poseidon’s Warrior or not.

He shoved Denal’s arm out of his way, becoming aware, even as he did it, that a few people had started to gather near them and were staring at them. Probably placing bets on any possible fight. He’d lay odds they were betting against him. Most did.

Most were surprised.

He took a deep breath of the sweetly scented Atlantean air so near the gardens and tried to calm down.

It didn’t work.

“I haven’t had a great day myself, friend,” he told Denal. “Why don’t we just call it even and move on?”

Unbelievably, Denal smiled. It was the kind of smile that would frighten small children and drive grown men to drink. It was a smile filled with unholy glee and the certain knowledge of someone’s—Flynn was pretty sure it was his—imminent injury.

“Did you just challenge me?” Denal rolled up his sleeves and took a step forward. “That sounded like a challenge to me. Hey, I almost want to thank you. This is going to be a pleasure.”

Fighting his own instincts as hard as he could, in spite of the ugly realization that he’d look like a fool and a coward to the gathering crowd, Flynn held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Look. I said I’m sorry. Why don’t—”

He never even had time to duck before the fist hit him right in the jaw.

When his head quit ringing, he launched himself at Denal. “You slimy pile of whale shit!” he roared. “I don’t care who you are. I’m gonna crush you!”

Before he could lay a finger on the warrior though, Denal’s flying kick smashed into the side of his head and knocked the words out of Flynn’s mouth.

He considered it a personal triumph that he didn’t hit the ground, but it was a close call. He lashed out blindly but missed by an Earth mile.

Denal circled him, fists up, with that horrible smile still on his face. “Bring it already. What happened? Did you turn into a frightened little boy when you were playing with dragons, Flynn?”

Flynn.

Denal knew his name. Knew who he was. Knew where he’d been. The realization sharpened Flynn’s addled thinking.

“Just keep thinking that,” he advised and followed up with a roundhouse punch that caught Denal on the chin and knocked him back a pace.

Denal wanted trash talk? Okay. Flynn would be happy to oblige.

“Sure you don’t want run to the palace and hide behind the queen’s skirts?” he taunted. “I’d be surprised if you even remember how to fight by yourself without Conlan and Alaric and the rest of the Seven to wipe your nose when you cry.”

Denal bellowed something unintelligible and faked a punch, followed by a lightning-fast kick. Flynn saw the kick coming in his peripheral vision though, so he managed to block it, and then he countered with a spinning kick of his own to Denal’s head.

This one connected.

Denal’s head snapped back, but then, bizarrely, he laughed. “Nice one,” he sneered. “Try that again, I’m begging you. I’m gonna break your leg. I’m gonna break both of your legs.”

Flynn wasn’t sure if he or Denal would be lying dead on the ground within the next five minutes, but he found he didn’t care. Beating the shit out of one of Poseidon’s finest seemed like a fine way to burn off some of the frustration that he’d been feeling ever since Kyla died. “Let’s go.”

Before either of them took a single step forward, a woman walked right up to them and said hello.

The lilting feminine voice was like ice water poured on the rage that had been flooding Flynn’s body only seconds before. He and Denal both stopped, inches from each other, fists still raised, and turned to look at the woman who’d spoken.

“Hello,” she repeated to the stunned men when neither answered her. “Excuse me. Have either of you seen my book?”

Flynn had never seen her before, but he knew at once that she wasn’t Atlantean. She was human, and very pretty in a beachy kind of way. She had long white-blond hair, cornflower-blue eyes, and a friendly smile. She actually had flowers—Atlantean daylilies—braided into her hair, and she wore a white dress with a belt of multicolored ribbons.

When you put it all together, she looked like she’d stepped out of a painting by some obscure French artist.

And she was still standing there, smiling at them. He abruptly felt ridiculous, fighting like a child over a toy, and he lowered his hands and backed away from Denal. He also suddenly realized that he wanted, desperately, to make sure that she found anything she needed, and that he would help her in any way possible, because she made him… Happy.

What in the nine hells was going on?

He couldn’t help it though. He had to smile at her. “I haven’t seen a book, but I’d be glad to help you look,” he said stupidly, grinning like a fool. What was happening to him?

“Oh, that would be wonderful if you could. I’m Sunny,” she said in that silvery voice that he wanted to wrap around himself and roll around in.

Really, this was getting ridiculous. Was it a spell?

Somehow, even though he knew that something was wrong, she still made him feel dazed and incredibly happy. She had an indefinable quality of joy that made him feel a blissful sort of contentment just from looking at her. No, that wasn’t it. Just from being in her presence.

She had a… peaceful effect on him, and that it worked on this day of all days meant that she was probably playing with some serious magic or else she was a succubus. Maybe? A Fae princess?

No. Definitely human.

He shook his head to try to shake off whatever altered mental state she’d sent him into and started looking around for the book. Probably better not to look directly at her anyway. Belatedly, he realized two things: first, a crowd of children had followed her, smiling and giggling and chattering; and second, whatever effect she clearly had on everyone else there wasn’t working on Denal at all.

The warrior was scowling at Sunny even more fiercely than he’d glared at Flynn, and that was saying something. Apparently whatever peaceful happiness Sunny spread to everyone around her hadn’t affected stone-faced Denal in the slightest.

Suddenly Sunny gave a little cry of delight and clapped her