by D. K. Combs
Rubble joined the whirling wind, and he shielded his face against the stray pieces that came at him. She loved her show, and loved giving out pain with it. When the wind died down, his fear for the mortal had grown to the point that his hands were shaking. Ceto stood in front of him with her hands seductively placed on her hips.
She walked forward with her hips moving in over-drive. He swore that if she weren’t immortal, she’d have blown out several sets of them by now.
“Oh, my dear pet. How are you this eve? Feeling well?”
He hated to admit it, but he relied on her to count his time there. She would come back with an allusion to the time of day, and that was all he had to go by. So far, from what he could tell, Ambrose had been in the cave for over two thousand years.
In the exact same spot.
With the exact same meals every day.
And the same torment every night.
Sweet Atlantis, that mortal better be long-gone…
Ceto reached behind her back, pulling out a strip of salmon meat. His stomach rolled at the site—he was hungry as hell, but the same meal every single day, for two thousand years… Ambrose pressed his lips together and met her stare straight on.
“I asked you a question,” she snarled, hand snapping out and grasping his jaw. Her nails dug into his skin, and he knew blood was beading around the perfectly polished talons. Her sweet breath fanned over his face.
Once, before he had been taken captive, he’d loved her scent. He’d loved her strength. He’d loved the fire in her eyes…until he’d realized that it wasn’t passionate fire. It had been embers born of hate and bitterness; her need for power dominating their friendship.
“I’m feeling well,” he grated, not daring to break free of her hold. She’d make his punishment worse, and any other night he wouldn’t have cared. But now he had the mortal woman watching them from the shadows, and what she would see would already be gruesome enough. No need to add onto the damage that was already planned for tonight.
Ceto waved the piece of fish in his face, swaying her hips, and kneeling above him. The v-neck dress she wore was a dark, blood red, clinging to every curve and crevice. Her cleavage swayed in front of his face, her try at tempting him.
No desire sparked. No attraction flared. Nothing.
Even the tumbling black hair that surrounded her angular face was undesirable—and Ambrose had always loved tumbling hair.
Her eyes burned with malice, and she reached out, slapping him across the face. His head snapped to the side. He cracked his jaw, absorbing the shock. Nothing new.
“Sit up, you filthy bastard,” she purred. The sudden calm washing over her gave him reason to be wary.
He did as he was told, bracing himself on his elbows and leaning forward—until the flash of blonde from behind Ceto caught his eye. He tried to keep the alarm out of his expression.
Damn it, he’d told the woman to leave! Couldn’t she follow one simple order? He was risking his life for her, though against his will, and she was just going to test the waters of how well she could play cat and mouse with them? He snarled, catching the attention of Ceto again.
“Someone is feisty tonight.” She slinked forward, letting her leg slip through the slit that ran up the center of her dress—if it could even be called that. The strip of clothing wrapped around her body, and that was all there was to it. “Are you hungry?” she asked, taking a nibble of the salmon in front of him.
What he wouldn’t give to shove that whole thing down thing down her throat and watch her choke on it…
If only he had the strength.
Ambrose had, at one point. Of course, Ceto had stripped him of it all. Thousands of years, and she still had the same hold on him that she’d had the day he’d been sentenced to exile.
“Yes,” he murmured, going along with her little game, if only for the sake of the mortal. Keep Ceto busy, and maybe the woman had a chance of being unnoticed. At the second flash of blonde, though, he wanted to growl and shout at her to stay hidden.
His heart pounded as Ceto came closer, the beating group of arteries slamming against his ribs, cutting off his breath. If anything happened to the blonde, he didn’t know what he’d do. An innocent mortal, caught in a two-thousand-year-old game between a goddess and an exiled Atlantean. Exactly what he needed to spice up his life—not.
Ceto smiled, taking his jaw in her hand again, smoothing her fingers over the marks she’d just left. “Of course you are, my poor darling.” She forced his mouth open with her fingers, tearing off a piece of salmon with her teeth and then pressed her lips to his, giving him only a bite of the salmon.
His throat muscles worked overtime on trying to hold down the bile that rose in his throat as his gag reflex triggered. It was always the same. Every time he had to be fed, he was fed by mouth. And, as if that didn’t get her off enough, she nicked his lip with a sharp fang, taking a sip of his blood.
Ambrose looked to the ceiling, praying that common sense had kicked the mortal in the head and sent her back to the shore, away from Ceto.
His breath caught. A sharp, tingling pain shot down his spine, robbing him of every sense except the agony that was building in his hips. Through the pain and transformation, he realized what was happening.
Ceto was giving him his legs, if only for a moment. How many years had it been since he’d felt the pleasure-pain that he was in now? Exhilaration coursed through him— right before her hand landed on his cock. Disgust rolled through him in waves, replacing the excitement.
Akrina buzzed at his side, whispering, “Bitch die. She drown. Then Human help escape, yes.”
He exhaled, willing it to leave his side. The Akrina dimmed with displeasure before buzzing away. The remainder of its light filled the room, the only reason he could see Ceto.
Her black hair fell around them like a shield, and he thanked Atlantis that the mortal had some sort of blockage from what was happening. His relief was cut short, however, when one of Ceto’s hands pressed against his chest and the other curled around his flaccid length, demanding he rise for the rare occasion. It was a clear sign as to what she expected from him. It rarely happened, maybe every couple hundred years, but she would give him his legs after teasing him for a long period of time, thinking that he’d be grateful.
Rarely would she lower herself to let him in her body, but the occasion came up. And what a perfect time to do it—right when the damn mortal was ogling them. He felt her eyes, felt the silvery orbs burning into them. He felt her horror, disgust, and shame at what was happening to him.
Hating himself, wishing he could either die or kill Ceto, he slid down the straps of her dress, exposing first her bare shoulders, and then the rock-hard mounds that were as fake as the hair extensions she had wore—he wouldn’t have known what they were if she hadn’t begun to brag about the human advances.
Her hand tightened painfully around him, drawing a ragged groan of pain from his chest.
“Oh, yes,” she purred, throwing the piece of salmon to the side and immersing herself in Ambrose’s hands as he forced them to move and keep down the bile at the same time. “I want not just your hands, but your mouth… Touch me, my king. Touch me and make me feel—“
A rattle shook the cave, freezing both of them. The mortal, several feet away, gasped—Ceto’s eyes flicked in that direction, right as another boom rocked around them. Ceto focused on him again and the passion-filled gaze turned to one of hate.
His body sagged with relief.
She opened her mouth to speak, but another rattle throughout the cave silenced her. Ceto’s eyes flared with fury at the disruption.
“I’ll be back,” she hissed, sliding her hand down his chest, nails slicing into his flesh, before disappearing with a whiff of mist.
And leaving him with legs.
Holy Atlantis…
The second the mist died off, the mortal shot forward, her chest pumping and eyes frantic. “You….legs. You have legs—and that—that bitch,
” she snarled, fire bursting in her eyes. She came forward, kneeling beside him.
He watched the slide of her hair as it fell passed her shoulder, around her face. Ceto had left him with legs. With a chance to escape without killing himself.
The akrina zipped beside him, jittering like it was on coral. “Bitch gone. Legs now. Leave with Human!”
“Yes,” he murmured, trailing his eyes over the mortal’s enraged features…and seeing the concern there.
Concern that no one had ever given him, concern that he’d never deserved. This mortal woman had witnessed only a slice of what Ceto did to him. What would she think if she knew the rest?
His body shuddered, reality sinking in. Ceto had left him with legs, and he could rely on the human to get to the water. “Help me up—please.” He wasn’t going to order her around, not when her eyes were beginning to redden with unshed tears.
He blanched. “I said please. You wanted to get out of here, correct? We can do that now—I just need some help getting to my feet. It’s been…”—almost four hundred years?—“a while since I’ve been on two legs.”
The mortal continued to stare at him, tears lining her silvery eyes, and his heart began to pound. “We don’t have time,” he said, beginning to struggle to his knees. Sweet Atlantis, they ached like nothing ever had before. His kind were used to prolonged absences of their human qualities, but this was bordering on over-doing it, especially with how weak he already was.
Which was why Ceto had probably thought it was safe to leave him with legs. He was too weak to walk on his own—even now, he could feel his legs start to shake from the effort. In a couple of hours, his system would kick in and he would be perfectly fine. But, in just that same amount of time, Ceto would be back and it would be too late to leave.
“Here, slide your arm around my shoulder.” The mortal moved into action, kneeling on his left side. He brought his arm up, hating how hard it was to even lift that. Shame made the shaking worse, but he forced it down.
Leaving was his main concern, and getting the mortal to help him was proving to be damaging enough. Was she disgusted at having to touch him?
“I’m going to stand up, and you’re going to brace yourself against the wall.”
He nodded, his jaw brushing against the softness of her hair. His eyes briefly closed at the sensation.
Human contact. Gentle contact, helping. How long had it been since someone had helped him? Choking on emotion, he allowed the mortal to aid him, doing as she said and placing his arm against the wall, leaning back from her only for a second.
It was then that he noticed what she was wearing. Before, he’d been too focused on the fact that there was a living, breathing soul in his cave after thousands of years, and the fact that she hadn’t listened to him when he’d told her to leave.
Sweet Atlantis, she was wearing less than what his kind did. At least with them the scale-covering wrapped around their waists and breasts. Whatever the mortal was wearing, it barely did that.
The thin, black scraps of material stretched over tan skin, her breasts barely fitting into them. Ambrose couldn’t help the way he noticed their size, how lush they looked, or how…filling they appeared, how supple. The string of material laced its way down her back, a small black triangle covering the juncture of her thighs. Her legs were long and toned with fine muscle; her waist was tiny, delicate, just as her arms, neck, and shoulders were. All in all, she was completely woman and wasn’t hiding that.
He swallowed hard, forcing the desire away.
He currently had no trousers or tail, and therefore no protection against her gaze. If she saw a certain thing rising to the occasion, she’d drop him like a rock and leave him. The thought instantly stilled any hard-on he might have had.
She stood, a unique scent wafting from her. It nearly cost him a trip, but he recovered. The mortal…was quiet. Strange. Her earlier enthusiasm was absent as she got him to his feet, but he didn’t dare comment on it.
He was bent to half his height when she was standing straight, and it would have been laughable if the moment had permitted it. He took a breath, nerves jacking up like someone had hooked him up to a sting-ray.
So close to being free. So close to leaving. But what of the mortal? He vaguely remembered the entrance to the cave, and it was completely submerged in water.
Ambrose gazed at her, breathing heavily, trying to make his muscles catch up with what was happening. She wouldn’t be able to make it out of the cave without an air supply, and he had no way to give her one.
An idea struck him—a dangerous one.
Her voice, when it broke into his thoughts, was soothing. He suspected it was such without her trying. The way she moved, the set of her eyes—she was the epitome of a gentle-woman, except for her weird talk of cameras and TV, whatever those were.
And, of course, her disobedience. The thought had his lips thinning, but he wouldn’t dwell on such thoughts. Not right now, at least.
“Can you walk?” she asked, her voice washing over him like a cool wave.
“…yes,” he said hesitantly.
Silver eyes snapped to his. “Are you sure? It will only take longer to leave if I have to help you to your feet again because you lied to me.”
“I don’t lie,” he grated, anger flashing through him.
She stared at him for a moment longer, before nodding shortly. “Good. Then let’s go. If you need to, we can walk along the wall so you can lean against it.”
His shoulder throbbed in protest and he shook his head. “No, take the most direct path. The sooner I get to the water, the better.” And the sooner we can take care of your oxygen problem…
“All right,” she said tentatively, beginning to walk. His legs shook with the effort that it took to keep up, and he was grateful that her shoulder offered the strength it did. He hated himself for having to rely on a female mortal—to any man of his kind, it would have been the ultimate shame.
But he had no choice, and this woman was his only way to escape—and he, her only chance at survival.
Ceto would be back soon. The Gods only called on her for fleeting missions, so all he could do was pray that they had enough time to transform, leave, and then get far away enough that they had an advantage point over her.
He almost smiled at the turn his thoughts were taking. Two thousand years in a cave hadn’t taken away his warrior skills, and for that he was grateful.
Moments later, though it felt like ages, they were nearing the water. His akrina was bumbling beside them like a mad-thing, light pulsing excitedly and brighter than it had ever been before.
“We’re almost there,” she said quietly, her voice showing the strain he was putting on her. Guilt flared in his chest, tightening his airway. What if she didn’t receive him when they got to the shore?
Ambrose was not going to leave the woman here, no matter what. If he had to force her, he would. Doing that would be better than leaving her to Ceto’s wrath. Ambrose was worried, though. She was weak from helping him, and she needed as much strength as she could get for what he was going to do.
“I can make it from here,” he said, retracting his arm. Honestly, strength was coming back to him in waves, a lot quicker than he had anticipated.
She studied him, skeptical.
“I can,” he insisted.
She grasped his hand. “Fine, but I’m not letting you go completely.”
Ambrose should have pulled away, should have felt that shiver of disgust that he normally did whenever Ceto touched him, but he didn’t.
The mortal’s hand was soft, welcoming, with no intent to hurt him. Her nails weren’t claw-like, weren’t digging into his skin, and her mouth…wasn’t sneering. Or smirking. It was set in hard lines, but he could still see the softness of it.
She wasn’t a hateful person, he thought, heart thudding in his chest. She was a mortal woman, helping a monster like him escape a cave.
“Carefully,” she warned, tugging him along gen
tly. “The ground is filled with fish skeletons.” The mortal gave him a pointed look.
His cheeks darkened. “Ceto’s doing, not mine.”
“Mhmmm…Sure.” She smiled at him, lessening the embarrassment.
He stopped, staring at her.
“What? Are you okay?”
How could he tell her that she shouldn’t be so nice to him? That he didn’t deserve her kindness? His jaw tightened.
He couldn’t, or she wouldn’t help him. And he was not going to stay with Ceto any longer.
“I’m fine. I need to get to the water, though.”
“Oh, right. C’mon. We’re really close, just turn the corner with me… There you go,” she said coaxingly. He felt his knees knock, and not because of how hard it was to walk.
Her voice was so gentle…
They rounded the corner, and for the first time in two thousand years he saw water. He saw salvation. He saw the exit to the hell-hole he’d been living in for most of his life. And he knew then, without a doubt, that he would not ever come back. The second his feet touched the water, he was free. Ceto had kept him in the far reaches of the cave just for that reason—and he would kill her with his bare hands the second she tried to force him back.
His chest filled with something that felt like…hope. Dropping the soft hand that had guided him, Ambrose stalked to the water, power rushing through him as the salty air hit his nose and washed over his body.
This was his home. This was where he belonged.
The ocean. The only welcoming body he’d ever met.
Ambrose paused. Inhaled. Turned to look at the mortal. Then took his first step into the water.
Oh, fuck—
A screamed ripped from his throat, fire shooting through his veins. He fell into the water, and he vaguely sensed the mortal crying out, rushing to his side.
“Ambrose!” she gasped.
He barely noticed. Something touched his shoulder, turned him over. The water invaded his senses, overtaking him. It surrounded him, completed him, ravaged him in ways he’d never felt before.
His muscles convulsed, and before he knew it—
Thump. Whoosh.