Did they truly consider him heartless? Darius wondered. Heartless enough to execute his own kind for something so trivial as a verbal insult? He was a killer, yes, but not heartless.

A heartless man felt nothing, and he felt some emotions. Mild though they were. He simply knew how to control what he felt, knew how to bury it deep inside himself. That was the way he preferred his life. Intense emotions birthed turmoil, and turmoil birthed soul-wrenching pain. Soul-wrenching pain birthed memories… His fingers tightened around his fork, and he forced himself to relax.

He would rather feel nothing than relive the agony of his past-the same agony that could very well become his present if he allowed a simple memory to take root and sprout its poisonous branches.

"My family is Atlantis," he finally said, his voice disturbingly calm. "I will do what I must to protect her. If that means waiting before declaring war and angering every one of my men, then so be it."

Realizing Darius could not be provoked, Tagart shrugged and returned his attention to his meal.

"You are right, my friend." Grinning broadly, Brand slapped his shoulder. "War is only fun if we emerge the victor. We heed your advice to wait most readily."

"Kiss his ass any harder," Tagart muttered, "and your lips will become raw."

Brand quickly lost his grin, and the medallion hanging from his neck began to glow. "What did you say?" he demanded quietly.

"Are your ears as feeble as the rest of you?" Tagart pushed to his feet, leaving his palms planted firmly on the glossy tabletop. The two men glared at each other from across the distance, a charged stillness sparking between them. "I said, kiss his ass any harder, and your lips will become raw."