Jewel of Atlantis Read Free Page A

personality. A sexy as hell female personality, at that. Her whisky-rich voice…he’d never heard anything quite so erotic.
    Down, down he sank as the sand covered his calves with its gooey wetness. The scent of stagnant water and decaying—he wrinkled his nose. He did not want to guess what was decaying.
    Insane or not, he hadn’t survived two days and nights of torture to die by stinky sand. No matter what he had to do, he’d save his life—or rather, lives—from this mess.
    God, this sucked.
    Unwilling to lose a single supply, he tossed his GPS and machete to dry ground. Careful not to jostle too much or too quickly, he removed his backpack and tossed it beside the blade, wishing to God his propel wire hadn’t been lost during a battle with the Welcoming Committee.
    He scowled for, what…the thousandth time in as many hours? The expression well represented his views of Atlantis. Meanwhile, he continued to sink, slowly, slowly, the wet sand working its way past his knees, up his thighs. The thick liquid grains were cold, and his body temperature fell a couple hundred degrees. His blood pressure was the only thing on the rise.
    Amid the popping and gurgling of wet suction, he searched his surroundings again, this time looking for a lifeline. No branches, no vines were nearby. Only a large white rock, but it was too far away to reach with his hands.
    Take off your shirt, the sensual, I-want-you-naked-and-in-my-bed voice said.
    He snorted derisively. He was sinking toward death,and his new female personality wanted him to strip. Why wasn’t he surprised?
    “Want me to remove my pants, too?” he asked dryly. At least he’d picked a hot, nympho chick to be his mind-companion and not a nasally old man.
    Idiot! she huffed, a blush dripping from her tone.
    Take off your shirt, clasp the opposite ends in your hands, and hook the material around the rock.
    His eyes widened as he studied the distance of the rock again. That might actually work. For the first time in days, he laughed with genuine amusement. He might be schizophrenic and teetering on the brink of total insanity, but he was also a freaking genius.
    The woman—it was hard to continually think of such a distinctive, seemingly real voice as merely an extension of himself—sighed. Why did the gods have to pick you?
    Her dejection caused his smile to grow. “I could ask myself the same question, babe.”
    Reaching behind him, he gripped the neck of his shirt and tugged it over his head. With one end of the camouflage material in his left hand and the other in his right, he leaned forward and tossed the looped shirt at the rock. He missed.
    He tried again and missed.
    Okay, so he seriously needed to increase the hours he spent at target practice.
    The sand now reached his waist. He continued to lean and toss until the shirt finally anchored solidly. He gave a hard jerk and stopped sinking.
    Now pull.
    “I know what to do.” He pulled, using all of his strength. His arms burned from the strain. The sand grasped at him like strong, greedy fingers, holding him in place.
    Grimacing, he continued to hoist up his two hundred pounds of muscle. His shoulders popped, the weight straining sockets and bones. The sand continued to tighten its embrace, burning the wound in his leg. The teeth marks in his neck throbbed against the exertion, perhaps even split open because he felt a trickle of something warm and wet on his skin.
    Just a little more…almost…there. The sound of ripping cotton and poly filled his ears. With a final yank, his body landed on dry, solid ground. He sucked in a relieved breath.
    Now, run. Hurry. The demon has already begun to stir.
    Ignoring her, Gray rolled to his back before easing up and into a crouch. As he glanced at his wristwatch, a soft, salty breeze drifted past him, reminding him of the beach vacation he so craved. This area would be as good as any other, he supposed. He’d run out of time.
    “Let Operation KTB commence.” He slipped