by D. K. Combs
And then he heard it.
Someone was pounding at the door like they were trying to break into the room with force. Snarling, he gave Mari a dark, heated look before surging to his feet, body thrumming with enough adrenaline to take out an army.
“This isn’t over,” he said, watching as she nodded, her eyes still dark with desire. The beast that was raging in him began to recede. He still felt the all-consuming need to have her, take her, but if there was a threat to her…Ambrose would take care of that first.
He yanked open the door, about to rip someone’s head off, when he saw who was standing at the door.
“Ah—Ki—Sir,” the man with one eye, Carlayo, stuttered, trying to look past his shoulder at Mari. Ambrose couldn’t stop the low growl that came out of his chest as he moved to block the man’s vision. No one was allowed to see Mari like that. Even if she had graced Ambrose with her body, no man was worthy enough.
“Ambrose. Just call me Ambrose. What do you want?” It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t form a real sentence—no, it was all Mari’s.
Carlayo looked back at Ambrose, noticing his state of undress. Unease filtered through the man’s face, but Ambrose couldn't care less. The sooner he got back to Mari, the better.
“Ceto was here,” he said, backing away from Ambrose.
Instantly, he snapped to attention. “Ceto? You’re certain?”
Carlayo nodded. “One of my men gave you a cloaking spell the second we saw her coming. We sent on her way but she left us with a message…”
Ambrose could hear Mari moving around behind him, most likely trying to hear what they were saying. He cast her a glance before stepping out of the room, completely naked, and closing the door behind him. Not like he cared—merman were naked till the day they died, no matter the scales or lack thereof.
“What was it?” Sweet Atlantis, he could only imagine. Ceto was terrifying when she wanted to be—which was all the time. There was no wonder why the man who had almost killed him was scared beyond his wits.
Carlayo’s eyes scanned the hall way quickly, making sure no one was listening. Then he leaned in close, whispering it so softly he could barely be heard.
Ambrose paled.
In the brightly lit cave with blue and pink shells lining the wall in swirling patters, Ceto brushed her hair over her shoulder, tilting her head to the side.
Ahh, perfect. No make-up line and her eyeliner wasn’t running. No one wanted to look like trash when they were about to meet the “king” of Atlantis. Except, Ceto never wanted to look like crap. Too many opportunities to suck another helpless mortal into her grasp, and without her little mask and a dib-dab there, no little human would come to her.
She pouted at herself in the mirror, running her hands through her hair. Oh yes, she looked just fine.
The blonde wig was a little scratchy, but that didn’t bother her. Not when the reward was going to be so great. Her dear little pet was going to pay, and in the worst of ways.
She rose from her shell-lined chair languidly, still viewing herself in the mirror. Her hips were full and when she walked, they swayed like a current going back and forth. The long, flowing dress that clung to her every curve like a second skin was exactly what she needed to attract the attention she wanted.
The light blue folds fell down her back in waves, the corset cupping her chest to emphasize the size of her breasts. Ceto cupped them, testing their weight. So beautiful, she thought, a smile tilting her lips.
Yes, it was definitely time to begin the destruction.
Grabbing the shears off the dresser, Ceto took one last, loving look at the dress before cutting through the corset in a long gash over her midsection. The thin material split regretfully, part of the flap folding.
Next her legs.
She lifted her leg onto the stool, holding out the silky expanse of clothing, considering her next course of action. The shears wouldn’t do for this—she liked to switch up her routine, of course. It would look much better with…a knife.
Her lips lifted into a crimson smile and she reached for a knife off of the drawer. She liked to keep all of her essentials in one place. Cluttered next to the shears that she set down were golden coins, diamond blades she’d made with her own hands, and nails. She loved nails.
Not like the fake kind that you glued to your fingers—oh, she did love those, too—but the kind that she could drive into someone’s body and lick the blood from. She made sure she kept them in top shape—rusty nails were unpleasant on her taste buds.
Ceto gripped the handle of the knife tightly, flipping her hair over her shoulder so that it wouldn’t get in her way. The knife made a precise cut as it sliced through the silk. She heard nothing but the slow tear of the silk in the room, and it brought her peace.
She loved planning and getting into character. It’s what had given her all the riches that she had now. Her little cave was flowing with treasures, all taken from helpless mortals who didn’t have the brains to recognize a predator when they saw one.
And Ceto was a predator. She took pride in it. She loved controlling the game, loved having that control. Her eyes narrowed as the she started another tear in her gown. Ambrose had stolen her control, ripped it right out of her perfectly manicured hands.
She had only herself to blame, though. The stupid Council had called a meeting together right as she was getting into the mood and she had assumed he would be too weak to make it through the cave by himself.
Not even a half-hour had she been gone, and he managed to escape. How? she asked herself, her snarl ripping through the air as the silk followed course. The delicate material floated to the ground, almost completely shredded.
How had that bastard managed to free himself? After not having his legs, and no water, he shouldn’t have been able to make it three feet before collapsing. And that damn akrina of his only had one power in that cave. She’d blocked off any of it’s abilities the second she’d put him in there, so unless it had managed to get stronger over time, in a cave where it could do nothing but shine light?
No. It was impossible.
The very fact that Ambrose had escaped her clutches had also seemed impossible. His eyes flashed in her mind, and a shiver ran down her back. They were so dangerous, filled with so much power.
Power that belonged to her. It was hers. And now that he was gone? Where would she get it from? His pain and his abuse was her sole source of energy to keep going. He’d escaped and she had nothing…except revenge.
She had plenty of that planned for him.
Ceto stood to her full height, twirling into a circle and then bending over at her waist, eyeing her make-up. Light brown eyeliner was stroked perfectly along her lower lid, with thick mascara making her eyes look wide and almost frantic. Her eyebrows were arched with a shade that was close to her natural hair color, and she looked permanently worried, innocent, and beautiful. The blonde wig that framed her face also added to her disguise.
The King was so stupid it was almost amazing. For years, his prosperity had come to him by luck, slowly dwindling marginally each century. It was expected, though.
The man in the big chair was too new, too stupid to know this, but Ceto did. Without the rightful heir to the throne, Atlantis was doomed. His power, his energy, was what kept the large, underwater city from dying out completely. Less and less, babies were being born. More and more, there were “accidents” and citizens died.
Ceto didn’t claim responsibility to this, although she liked to think she had a part in it because she had kept Ambrose away for so long. He was still close enough to trickle what was left of his power when she took from him, but what he supplied them was so much less than what they needed that it harmed them rather than helped them.
She sighed, then frowned and peered closer into the full length mirror.
Something was missing.
Ceto didn’t look anything like an Atlantean who had just been ravaged, raped, and beaten. She could form a glamour for the
bruises, but with Ambrose gone, she possessed barely any of her former powers. She felt the heat build in her hands, so much smaller than it used to be.
Pressing her hands to her jaw, neck, leg, and cleavage, she examined herself in the mirror once again.
Still not good enough.
Her eyes ran over the dresser top, looking for anything that might help. Something just wasn’t…there—
The diamond blade. The only thing strong enough to slice through her skin and cause actual blood to form.
A greedy, salacious smile lifted her lips as she picked it up, twirling the sparkling blade in her hands. Oh yes, this was perfect.
She held up her arm, staring at herself in the mirror. Ceto had never gone so far to exact revenge, but it was needed.
Dragging the blade over the inside of her wrist, her teeth grit at the pain. It shot up her arm, attacking her right at the core. Dear sweet fu—
Ceto almost passed out from the first round of pain. But she, like many others, knew that it was the first hit that was the worst. She kept her knees from buckling by locking them, watching in the mirror as the blood welled. When it was flowing freely, she dragged the open wound over the dress, smearing it around.
It still wasn’t enough.
Taking the dagger in both hands, she tried to stop the shaking that was starting up in her arms. If this was what it took to get her story across, then this she was going to do it—Ambrose was going to pay, no matter what.
That thought was the only reason she even thought about what she was going to do next.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Ceto let her head fall back, the blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders and down her back. Holy shit she couldn’t believe she was actually going to—
Ceto screamed in pain as she forced her shaking hands to slice at the exposed skin of her midsection. Immediately, blood flowed down the front of her dress, washing over her feet like she’d stepped into a bloodbath. When she couldn’t scream anymore, her jaw clenched so hard her teeth began to crack.
Fuck.
Just fuck.
Tears burned her eyes as the pain began to ebb. If this didn’t take care of Ambrose completely, then she was going to strangle him with her bare hands. Maybe killing her himself would be better than watching him die over the pain of his family.
It sounded much more appealing, she admitted, heaving a sigh. Another rush of blood sluiced from her stomach, splattering the dress completely from her waist down.
Even though she was gasping, trying not to cry, and in pain, Ceto couldn’t help but smile. Ambrose was going to regret ever leaving her. And once Ambrose walked into the kings courtyard, she would be in the side-lines, watching, relishing every single roar that came from his throat as he watched the last of his family disappear right before his eyes.
He would have no clue, of course. Her dear, sweet Ambrose wouldn’t know what was happening. He wanted to think he was going to have a warm and welcoming family reunion after being exiled? Well, she thought as her lips curled. That was all on him.
The pain was so great that it was dull, which was fine with her.
Ceto set the blade down, wiping her hands on her neck and jaw, then rubbing her arms. Now that she was coated with blood, it was time to get the show on—
Crack. The loud burst of lightening right next to her had her jumping with a short scream. Then she realized what it meant.
“Oh you have got to be kidding me!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up. Of course. It just figures that right when she was about to take care of business the damn gods would—
Crack.
“Oh, for crab’s sake, I’m coming!” Ceto shouted, looking down at herself. If they asked, how was she going to explain? She kicked the thing nearest to her out of frustration, wishing she could take the chair and shove it up each of their asses at one time.
Crack.
“Fuck you,” she muttered, before releasing the glamour on the bruises and following the call.
It took two seconds to travel there. The air blew around her like she was standing in front of a fan, her eyes seeing only black. Shivers wracked her body at the cool air that wrapped around before she was thrown into an all black room.
Black marble. Black curtains. Black candles and black fire. Everything was black except the people standing in the room and the giant, blood-red symbol that was etched into the center of the circular room and the matching pedestals that were just on the outer edge of the ancient markings.
“What are you doing now, Ceto?” one of the ancient gods asked. She looked up at C’Xarion, shrugging.
“None of yours. Now, what do you want? I have a date that I need to make.”
“Dressed like that? Please tell me you aren’t going after one of the cast members of The Walking Dead again. We know how this worked out last time,” C’Xarion’s brother, X’Zaree said.
Ceto shrugged again. The brother’s voices were emotionless, and they always would be. If it had been from any other person in the room, she would have taken it personally. But, seeing as they were unable to feel anything other than rationality, it didn’t matter what they said to her as long as they weren’t zapping her ass into outer space.
“You look…What is that new term the mortals have come up with? Hatchet? Artificial?” D’Marci, one of two females, looked at her sister in question. Their immaculate faces were clear of confusion and emotion, just as their voices.
“I believe the correct term is ‘ratchet’.” Ceto’s heart stopped.
It had been years since she had heard, or even seen the face to match the voice. Her eyes closed as she worked to school her features. Slowly turning around, she met the eyes of Maxroy.
There were few people that could affect her. There were very few people that could make her regret things. And right now, standing in front of her, was probably the only person that could make her actually feel.
His dark, intoxicating eyes were tender as they met hers. “You look like you’re going to a party I wouldn’t mind seeing; not ratchet.” He cast an admonishing glance at the two female gods who sat there with their perfectly arched brows.
Maxroy must have come in right behind her, because she hadn’t noticed his arrival. She was about to open her mouth when another figure stepped up from behind him.
His wife.
Her throat closed up.
“Thank you,” she said, barely able to choke the words out. The small, petite woman standing beside him gave her a gentle smile as she slipped her arm through her husband’s.
“It’s lovely to see you again, Ceto. Although,” she said in that soft, lilting voice she was known for, lips pursing, “I think you should have splattered some blood on your forehead. It would have finished the effect off perfectly.”
Ceto wanted to hate the woman. She really wanted to tear her to pieces and throw her into the darkest pit of the sea and watch her slowly die.
But even she knew she was lying to herself. Aixya was one of the nicest, most kind hearted females that Ceto had ever met in her entire existence. To hate her would be like hating a puppy. And while Ceto hated many things, she didn’t hate puppies.
Aixya’s hair curled around her face in soft, red locks, emphasizing her large bright eyes and the kindness that constantly shone in them. Compared to the tall, dark man that was her husband, their looks were complete opposites while their personalities were completely similar.
Just staring at them made her want to puke.
Just staring at Maxroy made her want to cry.
She swallowed thickly, nodding at them both. “It’s lovely to see you again, Aixya. And thank you for the tip, I will keep it in mind.”
“Oh, no problem at all. This must be some important meeting, right? I mean, it’s not every day that we’re all called together like this,” the innocent woman murmured, looking around the room.
Slowly, more and more people were popping up, all over the room. They went to their respective groups, conversing in quiet
voices, waiting till everyone who was invited arrived.
“It must be,” Ceto said evenly, forcing herself to look away from the couple. Maxroy had put his arm around his wife’s shoulders with such ease that it made her heart pound. They were perfect together. They always had been, even when Ceto had first met Maxroy. So happy and just…perfect.
“I haven’t seen you in forever,” Maxroy commented, his voice washing over her. Ceto had to close her eyes to not feel the pain that she felt creeping up on her.
All she could manage was a nod.
“So,” he said, “what are you dressed up like that for?”
Ceto froze. He just had to ask that question, didn’t he? “Nothing. It’s a thing I’m trying to start.” She wished her voice wasn’t so clipped, so ragged. His wife cast her a curious glance before shrugging, leaning into his thick arm.
God, why were they so perfect together?
One last person popped into the room, and a silence fell over the room. Ceto turned away from the couple completely, grateful. The thundering of her heart was enough to make an elephant stomp proud.
“Some news has come to our attention,” X’Zaree said, his voice as emotionless as the water they were standing in.
“What could be so important as to call every minor god and goddess to this meeting?” someone from the back called out. Ceto didn’t bother looking behind her; picking out the exact voice out of the hundreds that were all crowded in the room would have been pointless.
“Quiet,” D’Rai, D’Marci’s sister, intoned. Even though she was unfeeling, and had remained so since the beginning of time, the gods still tried to learn facial expressions and impressions of people’s emotions. Right now, her brows were dropped over her eyes and her shoulders were stick-straight. Her sister’s were the same.
C’Xarion dipped his head at his sister before facing the room, completely silent. His dead eyes scanned the room, and Ceto shivered with unease. She had an idea what this was about, and she didn’t like it. The gods had called every minor god to the meeting, which had only been done once.