by D. K. Combs
While they were, by creed and by nature, emotionless, that did not stop them from striving to experience things at a humane level.
“Maybe it is time for change,” D’Marci murmured.
“Why would we change when our ways have carried on an entire society for thousands of years? It would be dangerous, and our brothers would never approve.” They could never change the ways of society; it would be the ultimate destruction, worse than what Ceto had done.
“The woman. You picked her out of all of the humans on that ship to be the one to survive. Can you lie to me by saying you did not expect Ambrose to react to her? We know what he is thinking, what he is planning. Taking over Atlantis for her and instilling new law for her is not change? A new government that he is basing off of her own people is not the change that you felt we needed, when you chose her?”
The black marble swirled into a deep gray beneath their hands. The temple followed it’s route, the large pillars surrounding them filled with the gray that reflected their turmoil. The sisters’ temple was great and spacious. Four pillars were placed at each corner of the room, holding up the ceiling. In the center of the ceiling were four stripes of silk that crossed the room. Two were black, symbolizing their status, and the other two were red, for their power. They were the fates of Atlantis while their brothers, who were pale in coloring, the same as them, were the structure of Atlantis.
D’Rai ignored here sister’s question, letting her eyes close. She thought to herself, blocking out her sister’s invasion of her mind, and whispered, “He could be prosecuted for turning the mortal into an Atlantean breed.”
“If that were to happen, we would intervene. Do not deny it.”
She didn’t. What her sister said was true. Ambrose was the heir of the ocean. He had gone through a torture that many men had not been, and the gods had let it happen. Up until recently, they had never realized it had been Ceto.
The minor goddess stayed hidden in the shadows and drew no attention to herself. She had the ability to go off the grid, and on rare occasions, even the gods could not find her. Her hidden lair, a small cave hidden deep in the pacific, had been found by chance—and thank the sea for that.
Ambrose had disappeared after the trial. The gods hadn’t been able to trace him, and they hadn’t cared. To them, he had wronged their people and that was all there was to it. Rationality, to the gods, was simplicity. It was what they ruled by. The simple thing to do was get rid of the threat, and rationality said to let him go.
The rules they lived by were twisted, but it had worked. No one in Atlantis wanted to face the gods wrath, so they followed the rules and did their duty, which was to keep the race surviving.
“What did you mean by the mortal coming upon Ambrose,” D’Marci asked. In truth, the whole scheme with the mortal had been up to D’Rai. C’Xarion had been the one to sink the ship, but D’Rai had chosen the female. He left such matters to the sisters, as always.
Except, this time, D’Rai had not involved her sister. And for the first time in a millennia, a rift had been caused between them. D’Marci had only found out moments ago what they had done, happening upon her sister as she had stood over the portal that gave the gods view into the mortal, and Atlanean, plane.
“I feel as if...” She stopped. Stared back at the portal. “After what we have done to Ambrose, he may have a chance to be happy and regain the throne. Without him, Atlantis will perish. It has been much too long for our city to be without its main power, but we cannot have a tainted being representing us.
“If Ambrose were to go back now, alone, he would be bitter and malicious. He might be a changed man, but he still has the heart of a warrior. And a warrior will always keep his enemies close with acrimony and disdain. It is impossible to tell if he will want to decimate the people who wronged him. But with the mortal, this Mari, I heard his laugh.”
D’Marci showed no reaction, even though the dead yet pulsing organ in her chest filled.
“Ambrose is like the child I never had,” D’Rai whispered, becoming completely still. “When his mother died, he looked to us, to me. He looked for affection and guidance. And we, sister… We gave it to him. We listened to his prayers, his tormented cries. For the first time since my beginning, I felt something. For Ambrose. It was the closest I could ever get to feeling like a real mother."
D'Marci stood silently as the softness of D'Rai's words rang around the black temple. The one time Ambrose had come to their temple, she had seen it for herself, but after that—never again.
The small spark of joy, the tenderness, the soft laughter that she had heard from her sister. It had been as real as Ambrose's desolation was, and as painful for D'Marci to watch as witnessing his destruction.
The gods were unfeeling...to anything but the cry of their people. It was their hidden curse, the only thing that kept them going. They did not sleep, they did not eat, and they did not feel happiness.
They wandered the temples like a ghost, knowing that their time with the Atlanteans was short. The new generation was losing interest, technology advancing at an alarming rate. It gave the new Atlanteans reason to replace the gods that had created them.
"What do we do?" she breathed, feeling the weight of Atlantis on her shoulders. D'Marci knew her sister could read the route her thoughts had taken.
"We wait. The fight has yet to come...But maybe we can send him some help."
D'Marci looked at her sister levelly. "We cannot send him. He is not ready to be out in the world yet-"
"Sister. He has been kept hidden for too long. Revealing him now, and to the future king no less, would be dangerous. Deimos is not ready for this yet-"
"No matter that. Where is he now?"
D'Marci's eyes flared. She would not win this battle. When D'Rai wanted something, she got it.
"He is safe," she said. Her sister could not really mean to unleash one of the most dangerous beings in the sea, could she? Deimos had no bearings of friend or enemy. He was a mindless animal with only one thing on his mind—destruction.
"Tell me, sister, where our pet lies." Her voice, and the set of her mind, broke no argument. Desperate times called for desperate measures, D'Rai thought, before letting out a soft breath, searching for Deimos.
His presence was barely perceptible, but he couldn't be far from them. He roamed the temples aimlessly, his only loyalty to the gods. Sweet Atlantis, the creature could barely speak.
D'Marci had been the one to find him, nearly twelve thousand years ago. And as a creature of intense loyalty, he had bonded with the young goddess. Only she could sense him, could tame him. The thought of sending Deimos out into the open world where he could—and would—easily wreak destruction, caused a rift to form in her chest.
"He is with C'Xarion," she said upon sensing him. Her eyes opened to see D'Rai's eyes red eyes turn a glowing, neon red. D'Marci stepped back, knowing this was a terrible idea.
"Send him to Ambrose."
"Are we not going to warn him?"
D'Rai's lips curled at the corners in the form of a smile. "What kind of gods would we be if we didn't enjoy watching the show?"
“Are you tired?”
“No,” Mari said mid-yawn.
They had been traveling for hours. Mari talked herself quiet by the time they were only a couple miles away from F-Inn, despite Ambrose urging her into conversation. She had gone back into that silent state where all she did was think with her face screwed up.
He found that he didn’t like it when she did that. Mari was too much of a bright, happy person to be so silent.
What is she thinking of? he asked himself, smoothing his hand over the dolphins side and almost smiling when it squealed at him. How much she regrets doing this? How boring he is? How much she wants to go to the surface?
Or was she silent because she was deep in thought over what had happened the night before. When he had held her, kissed her, tasted her. His body hardened at the memory of what had happened between them.
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Sweet Atlantis, what he wouldn’t give to have that chance again. To have her in his arms, her soft cries echoing into his ears, her legs wrapped around his waist—or his neck as he plunged his tongue inside of her. The thought was like an elixir, drugging him just as she did.
Ambrose glanced at her, taking in the mulling expression, the scrunched eye brows, and the bitten lip. He would love to be changing that, turning her face into one of complete rapture, just as he had seen it before. Making her scream his name, cry out for more, her sole concentration focused on him.
Mari met his eyes and then looked away quickly. His shoulders fell. She obviously did not feel the same as him. He could only imagine what was going through her mind right now, but decided not to think too hard on it.
The dolphins both came to a gradual stop, squealing with disappointment. “Sorry, friends. It’s time for the lady to rest.”
As Ambrose took the reins out of Mari’s hands, the dolphins chattered to him understandingly. The one Mari had been riding turned and brushed it’s nose against her arm before pushing away from them with her friend, most likely going off to find some food.
“I said I wasn’t tired,” she mumbled, even as her eye lids started to droop.
“I’m sure you aren’t,” he said gently, taking her arm.
He’d picked the perfect spot to rest at without even thinking—and wanted to punch himself. Even if he had found the best place, he still should have checked beforehand and made sure it was adequate for her.
The small grove was just an indent in the ground, with cushioning seaweed as the perfect bed for Mari. It was only small enough for one person, but there was a ledge where he could sit to keep watch over her.
“Ambrose, this looks really small…”
He nodded, pushing her into the grove. Mari grabbed his hand, though, and held on. Her eyes were wide with worry, probably the only emotion he’d seen from her in hours besides frustration or whatever it was on her face while she was thinking.
“I know; do not worry. Just lie down and sleep,” he commanded, taking her hand off of his arm. Her lips turned into a pout, making his heart do weird things. Sweet Atlantis, could her eyes get any bigger?
“But where will you sleep?” she asked, worrying her lip. He tried not to notice how plump and full it was, or how white her teeth were against the soft pink flesh. Ambrose was going to punish himself when he had the time—who was he to think about Mari that way when he repulsed her?
“Up there,” he said indifferently, trying to make himself not be affected.
“What if it gets cold?” she asked, her voice small. Those damn silvery eyes widened even more, the thick lashes sweeping back and making him pause.
“Ah—it won’t,” he said, snapping his eyes away from her. “Your skin is at a constant high now, so it’s not a concern. If you get too cold, your nervous system will tell your…Mari, what are you doing?”
She had grabbed his hand in an unbreakable grip and was now trying to drag him to the spot with her. “You lay there,” she ordered, forcing him in front of her. Her tail lapped at his gently, and he jerked.
“No, it’s for you to sleep there—Mari, do not do that with your tail!” he gasped, appalled when she only continued. “Stop doing that—just lay down and stop—“
“No, Ambrose. Lay down!” She trailed her fin town the length of his own, making him have to stifle a groan. Why was she doing this to him? She obviously knew how it made him feel, and he knew it affected her. So why was she torturing them like this?
“I can’t,” he said tightly, holding in another moan. “Really, Mari. Stop it—“
She stopped pushing at his back for a second, and he thought he had gotten off easy. He was about to turn around when something slammed into his back, driving him into the tiny field of seaweed. First came the shock, and then the grunt.
Mari had wrapped her arms around his neck, and he was now on face-first in seaweed. Her breasts were pressed against his back, hip-to-hip—and Ambrose was all too aware of it. Even from behind him, she was all softness and warmness and perfectness, which was way too much for Ambrose to handle.
“Why did you do that,” he growled, closing his eyes against a wave of desire so intense it had his body tensing.
“Well,” she said smartly, taking her arms from around his neck and grabbing his shoulders, flipping him over onto his back as best she could. He helped her by following what she wanted him to do, and he found himself laying on his back, with Mari laying comfortably on top of him.
Great. Just…how swimmingly perfect.
If he could keep his legs dormant until she fell asleep, he would be so grateful. So completely, utterly grateful.
She peered at him with wide, innocent eyes. “I need a snuggle buddy to keep me warm.”
Ambrose frowned. “I already told you—“
“And,” she said, looking at him sternly, “I need you to make sure no worms invade my body.”
“Oh, wow.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, sighing, beginning to push her up. “I also already told you that that’s just how we heal.”
Her head shook, and then she flopped against his chest. With a sense of finality—again, this was just great. “You would be a lot more comfortable if you let me go up there—“ She cut him off, covering his mouth with her hand.
“Ambrose, save me the excuses. I want to be here, you want to be here, we both want to be here.” She wagged her brows at him. “So why fight it?” Mari let her head fall against his pectoral and her long, silken hair wafted around him.
It was too beautiful to bother him.
Damn it, Ambrose, he scolded himself. Get a hold of yourself and stop thinking of Mari like that. She’s too good for you.
But how could he stop when her body was pressed right against his, when he could smell how delicious she was, when he could simply put his hand at the back of her neck and kiss her?
He groaned mentally.
That’s right.
He couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Or wanting to have her.
“Hey, Ambrose?”
Mari’s drowsy, confused, baby-pitched voice snapped him out of his thoughts. And, as glanced down at her, he had to admit that that was probably the most adorable thing to ever come out of her mouth simply because she was tired—
“Do mermaids fart?”
“What?” he asked, completely aghast.
“Mermaids. Farts. Do they?” Her eyes closed completely, head lolling more loosely against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her waist, then closed his eyes on a sigh.
“Just go to sleep, Mari,” he murmured, smoothing her hair down. She nuzzled his chest before letting out a final sigh, falling into an even, deep sleep.
Do mermaids fart?
What kind of question was that?
His Mari was just too much for him sometimes—
His. Mari wasn’t his. She would never be his. What was he thinking? Ambrose slammed his head back into the cushioning seaweed, railing at himself. Really, what was wrong with him that he was calling Mari his?
Everything. That’s what.
She would never want to be with someone like him—and when the time came that she found an Atlantean male of her own, he would let her go. They were too different, he was too damaged, and he was way too exiled. To be with someone like him would mark her as an outcast more than she already was.
But as the soft exhale of water fanned over his chest, his arms tightened possessively. Some other male? With her? Hearing her cries, her laughter, her moans?
No! something inside of him roared. No one could have Mari—she was too good for any of the males under the sea, including him.
Ambrose stared down at her, tracing her features.
He would never be good enough for anyone. He hadn’t been a good enough male for Aixya, hadn’t been a good enough friend to Ceto. What made him think he could put any kind of claim, on any woman?
All thought of Mari
fled.
Aixya.
The first woman to ever catch his interest, and his best friend's wife. The woman had been complete perfection. Innocently bred, pure-blood, minor goddess… So kind hearted and genteel, he thought, thinking back to so many years ago.
She’d been…amazing. Her hair was as long as Mari’s, except red as fire. Her eyes had been one of the softest colors of blue he’d ever seen, and the bow of her lips…
He frowned. She didn’t completely match up to Mari. Aixya was taller than Mari, for sure. She was also too gentle, too understanding. She refused to see the bad in anyone, and always had. There was no such thing as a “bad Atlantean” in her eyes.
But with Mari…
Ambrose knew that if he had been in the same fight at F-Inn with Aixya, instead of Mari, she would have broken down completely. He had, at one point, thought of her as the perfect material as the queen to his king. But as the king, he had had duties…like training. Wars. Long nights away from home where he wouldn’t always be at her beck and call—and he knew from Maxroy that he had to be there with her. But it wasn’t like his best friend minded…like Ambrose would have.
Mari could take care of herself. She’d proven that to him when, not only had she helped him to the water despite being nearly hysterical and delusional, but when she had survived the transformation—spitting mad.
Mari was perfect material for being queen. She knew government, she was a teacher, she had an understanding heart, she could handle one of the most ridiculous things to her people—being turned into a “mermaid”. The fact that she still had a brain at all?
Amazing.
Turning people into Atlaneans had, at one point, been banned. Too many mortals lost their minds and became so insane they ended up killing themselves, and those around them. It was either land or water—and those who were born there, stayed there.
The irony of it all? Ambrose had been the one to make the law, and was probably the only one to have broken it since. After The Destruction, Atlanteans lost most of, if not all, contact with the mortals. The few weeks that he had had before the trial had given him enough insight to predict what would happen—and going by the reports that Ceto had braggingly given him over the years, he had been correct.