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him home to find Alaric. To find some answers.
    Poseidon himself knew answers were in short supply. Erin had begged him to keep the name Caligula to himself until she could fill him in on something. From the look in her eyes at the time, he had a feeling that it was a seriously bad story. The head witches or whatever they were had sworn to him that the building was warded with more than a century’s worth of magic and that Erin would be safe to rest there overnight. He’d very nearly demanded a demonstration before he agreed, but he’d gotten the distinct impression that Erin was about to drop where she stood. Either that, or that scary one, Berenice or something, was going to shoot some nasty-ass magic at him from the wand she was white-knuckling in the corner.
    In the end, he’d been convinced that she was safe enough there, asked for and received a promise that she wouldn’t set foot out of the door until they could talk, and left. Now he needed to get home and report in. Maybe find out what kind of complicated plot the vamps were up to this time. Gather the boys and kick some bloodsucker ass.
    He dove farther, deeper, scowling at the inconvenience of having to enter the doorway to his homeland through a body of natural water, but nobody except Alaric could call the portal from dry land. He plummeted down into the darkness of the icy waters, wishing the waves crashing around him would help him escape the residual terror he’d felt when Erin had hit the ground. Couldn’t be emotion. He didn’t do emotion. The lovely little witch must have trapped him with some weird musical spell.
    Yeah, that had to be it.
    He dove down still farther, calling to the power with his mind and senses. Offering himself as a prince of Atlantis. Falling into the ritual of the ages, calling out to be accepted into the portal’s will. Farther, deeper, he dove. Down past the memory of light, but still the melodies of her magic rang in his head. Resonated in the fibers of his being.
    Deeper, yet. Still the portal failed to appear. Ven didn’t worry. Princes never worry, or so Conlan had told him often enough. The image of Erin falling flashed into his head. Okay, almost never worry.
    But the first tendril of concern snaked through his mind when oxygen deprivation banded its iron grip around his lungs.
    Princes may not worry, but princes can drown.
    The depth gauge hardwired into every Atlantean brain warned him that he was passing the safety zone. He’d been diving for nearly five minutes. Another minute or so and he’d pass the point where his lungs had enough oxygen to return to the surface. Superior Atlantean lung capacity.
    The irony of an Atlantean prince dying in the sea should have amused him, but it was just pissing him off. With every ounce of power he possessed, he sent out another call, dropping into the formal speak of ritual he never bothered with except in times of high ceremony or extreme stress.
    Portal! The King’s Vengeance demands entry! I serve Atlantis and my brother the high prince — to fail me is to fail us all.
    For another long moment, nothing. Stubbornness—or the memory of clear blue eyes—propelled him ever farther down, in search of the knowledge he needed so desperately. Deep, and ever deeper. Flickers of dark danced at the edge of his consciousness before—finally—the familiar iridescent silvery-blue sparkles appeared and formed an ovoid shape beneath him as he plummeted down through the frigid water. Falling into and through the shimmering magic of the portal, he had an instant to wonder why the only image that flashed through his mind was her face. And then his oxygen-starved brain gave up the fight, and the shimmers faded to black.

Chapter 4
    A cavern deep below Mount Rainier,
Cascade Range, Washington
    The weak light of torches and candles barely illuminated the room well enough to see the speaker, but his face was one better suited for the