IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE an easy mission. An in-and-out job.
A one day-extraction.
His boss had fed him that line of bullshit, and Grayson
James had foolishly believed him. Upon first entering this
lushly green, sea-kissed land known as Atlantis, however,
Gray realized he would have had better luck trying to sell
a Fridgidaire to a goddamn Eskimo. At a goddamn jacked-up
price.
Atlantis.
Not a myth. Damn it. He'd hoped otherwise.
He scowled. In one hand, he held a beeping, miniature GPS
system programmed from coordinates found on a map. An
actual, honest-to-God map of Atlantis his boss had
discovered in a missing millionaire's stash. Right now,
the GPS signal bounced off the earth's magnetic core,
helping him navigate his way through this Atlantean
jungle. In the other hand, he gripped a machete. The sharp
silver blade hacked at the thick foliage blocking his path.
No, Atlantis was not a myth. It happened to be home to the
most loathsome creatures he'd ever encountered.
And as an employee of OBI, the Otherworld Bureau of
Investigations, he'd encountered plenty.
Made him wonder why he'd even joined the agency. He knew
the answer, though, and it wasn't because he'd (secretly)
watched Star Trek for most of his teen years and knew how
to speak Klingon. "Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam," he sighed.
Today is a good day to die.
When he'd learned (to his horrified shock) that there
actually were other colonized worlds in the vast expanse
of the galaxies, he'd left his job as a detective with the
Dallas PD and began searching for a Men in Black-type
operation. When OBI finally contacted him he'd signed on
immediately. He believed fiercely in the need to learn
about these otherworlders and protect his own planet from
them.
How could he have known that the most fearsome creatures
of all resided here, on his own planet? Simply buried
beneath the ocean, protected by some kind of crystal dome?
As he dodged a stray limb, he ground his teeth
together. "Atlantis," he muttered. "Code name, Hell."
After entering a swirling, gelatinous portal OBI had
discovered underwater in Florida, he'd found himself
inside an enormous crystal palace guarded by huge, sword-
wielding men. Luck had been on his side as he stealthily
maneuvered his way past them, unnoticed, and entered this
jungle.
That's when he kissed that fickle bitch Lady Luck goodbye.
For the past two nights, a blood-sucking vampire, a fire-
breath dragon, and a hungry, salivating winged demon aka
the Welcoming Committee had chased him, each sharpening
mental forks and knives.
The memories made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
He knew the routine now. In less than one hour, night
would fall and those...things would emerge again. They
would hunt him. They would attempt to fucking eat him. And
not in a good way.
His blood ran cold at the thought and not even the hot,
humid air could warm him. For fifty-eight hours he'd been
stuck in this seemingly never-ending maze, and for
fourteen of those hours, he'd followed the exact same
pattern: creatures track, Gray evade.
The first night, he'd tried to shoot them with his
Beretta. He managed to nail the dragon between the eyes,
but his other pursuers dodged the bullets, quickly and
effortlessly gliding out of range.
The second night, when the two remaining creatures
appeared, Gray utilized his combat skills and slit the
vampire's throat. A pleasure, he had to admit, but he
hadn't emerged unscathed. Five deep, raw scratch and bite
wounds adorned his neck and thigh, throbbing constantly.
Not festering, but never quite healing.
How he'd escaped the demon after that, he didn't know.
Injured and weak as he'd been, he would have been easy to
overpower. Hell, his bleeding body would have made a
delicious dinner buffet. Many times he'd wondered if the
demon had purposefully let him go, enjoying the thrill of
the hunt a little too much.
Well, the demon wasn't the only one who was going to enjoy
himself tonight. An anticipatory smile lifted Gray's lips.
Smarter now, he wouldn't be caught off guard. Plus, he'd
already worked up a plan affectionately dubbed Operation
Kill the Bastard. If KTB unfolded successfully, the demon
would soon join his bloodsucking friend in hell. If it
didn't, well, Gray would resort to Plan B: Operation Oh
Shit. He'd sprint like a madman and hide until light
glowed once more from the seemingly alive dome above.
His gaze flicked to said dome. There was no sky here, only
mile after mile of iridescent, pearlized crystal. Waves
constantly washed over the outer side, and multiple-sized
and colored fish swam in every direction. He like the
naked mermaids best.
A twig slapped his cheek, snagging his attention, slicing
skin and adding one more item to his growing shit list.
He'd lost all remnants of his good humor. At least the
insects had stopped swarming him. A real silver lining, he
thought bitterly. He never should have taken this job.
He veered left just as his wristwatch vibrated. He stopped
abruptly. "Just what I need," he muttered. If it wasn't
one thing, it was another, and now it was time to check in
with home base.
He dropped his backpack, dug inside, and withdrew a small
black transmitter, switching it to On. If he failed to
check in at least once a day, the cavalry would sweep in
and finish his job. He'd never failed a mission, and he
wouldn't fail this one. "Santa to Mother," he said,
cringing when he spoke his code name. His unit had thought
it was funny as hell, saying he swooped into other worlds
and left little presents (like bombs and dead bodies), so
the name had stuck. "Do you copy?"
A few seconds of static, before he heard, "Go ahead,
Santa." He recognized the voice of his boss, Jude Quinlin.
"I'm still without the package, but all is well."
"Copy that."
"Over." He ended the transmission and stuffed the receiver
in his backpack, then kicked into gear again. All was
well, his ass. To survive Operation KTB himself, he needed
to find a small clearing with ample room to sprint, dodge,
and dive for cover. So far, no luck. And he was running
out of time, his hour ticking away unmercifully.
When a wall of trees blocked his path, he pivoted right,
but the GPS erupted in a series of erratic, high-pitched
beeps, a sign he'd taken a wrong turn. Growling low in his
throat, Gray spun around and backtracked until the
miniature device calmed. Sweat trickled from his temple
and dripped onto his military fatigues.
He'd been due a vacation, damn it, a chance to see the
brothers and sister he hadn't visited in over two years.
He called them regularly, of course, but that wasn't the
same as hugging them, laughing with them. Being with them.
He wanted to play with Katie's children, wanted to make
sure her husband Jorlan was treating her like the prize
she was.
Working for OBI — which translated into constant planet-
hopping through inter-world wormholes — didn't allow for
frequent trips home. Hell, working for OBI didn't allow
for trips anywhere except alien planets. And now
underwater cities. It sure as hell didn't allow for dating
and getting laid. Unless he wanted to have a one-night
stand with a three-eyed, blue-skinned, slimy alien female.
He didn't.
1. He'd never liked one-night stands, preferring instead
multiple nights with multiple orgasms.
2. Three eyes? Slimy skin? Uh, gross.
3. Did he mention that he liked to take his time with a
woman, lingering over every nuance of her body, savoring
her scent, her taste? That he liked to hear her shout
about his unbelievable sexual talents in English?
He grinned at the thought of "unbelievable sexual talents."
A branch slapped his cheek, and he lost his grin. Your
fault, man. You shouldn't have let your mind wander into
the gutter. How true. Now was not the time to be thinking
of sex and women. Or having sex with women. He blamed the
heat for his wayward mind. That, and the fact that he
hadn't gotten laid in a long, long time. Too long.
Way too long.
Why else would he have lost focus on what was important —
his survival — in favor of picturing a naked woman. A
naked woman with long, velvet-soft legs that wrapped
around his waist and —
Another twig slapped him, in the eye this time. "Damn it!"
It's not like he suffered from ADD. You're here for a
reason, James. Think of nothing but that.
One moment of distraction could cause a mission to fail.
He knew that, and was surprised at how easily his mind
kept veering. Perhaps being hunted by a cannibal-istic
demon wasn't exciting enough for him. If that was the
case, he needed a total body probe and psych exam ASAP.
"The mission. Think only about the mission." As they had a
thousand times before, his boss's departing words drifted
through his mind. We found a book, Gray. The book,
actually, titled Ra Dracas. It tells of dragons and
vampires and other such nonsense, but the true message is
hidden between the text, written in code.
"The text about dragons and vampires is nonsense," he
mocked. Hindsight sucked major ass.
Once we broke that code, his boss had added, we learned
about the Jewel of Dunamis, a jewel so powerful it can be
used to predict the future. A jewel so powerful it can
show who's lying and who's speaking the truth. Whoever
holds it will have the ability to destroy any enemy.
Conquer any army.
Small wonder his government wanted so desperately to own
it.
Gray was to find and steal this precious jewel, then bring
it home. If his mission was compromised in any way, he was
to destroy it so that no one else got their greedy hands
on it.
It was that simple.
Simple? Yeah, about as simple as routine brain surgery.
Gray paused briefly and sipped from his dwindling canteen
of vitamin-enhanced water. The cool liquid slid down his
parched throat, offering a much-needed burst of energy
before he jolted back into motion.
For an eternity he pushed himself onward, never slowing,
ever conscious of what awaited him if he didn't find a
spot to enable Operation KTB. His gaze darted to his
wristwatch, the digital red light barely visible under the
dirt and grime covering him. Twenty minutes until
showtime, so he had to find a workable patch of land now.
He scowled and —
Watch out for the quicksand. His eyes jerked swiftly
across his surroundings as he searched for the speaker, a
woman. He didn't duck for cover, didn't stop walking,
preferring instead to be mobile. He didn't want to scare
her with any surprising movement.
He did tighten his grip on the machete. The odds were
fifty-fifty the woman had a weapon, and even higher that
she'd actually use it.
Are you listening to me? I said, watch out for the
quicksand!
The husky, heavily accented female voice slammed into his
mind once again, so richly sensual and commanding he
acquired an instant, unwanted, and surprising hard-on —
before he promptly began sinking into a large pool of
quicksand.