Atlantis: The King's Return (The Atlanteans Book 1)

by D. K. Combs

  Mari jerked in his arms, snapping him back to the present. Her face was scrunched up and red, like she was about to cry. Panic shot through his chest.

  Women cried? In their sleep?

  Ambrose stared at her as her face got redder and redder, mouth twisting into a pained grimace. “Oh, gods,” he whispered, smoothing back her hair and gently rubbing her back. “Don’t cry; it’s okay. Please don’t cry, Mari.” The last one wasn’t really a plea for her, but for himself. He wouldn’t be able to handle it if she started crying in her sleep. Would he have to wake her up? Or would she only cry worse?

  He was just about to shake her awake before she murmured something.

  Ambrose frowned. It had sounded like a name.

  He bent his head closer to her mouth as her face turned less pained and more furious. Even in her sleep, Mari was a spitfire. The thought comforted him, even as he strained to hear what she was saying.

  She whispered it again.

  Rain? Pay?

  Ambrose almost yelped when her fingers dug into his chest, magically turning into claws. He grabbed her wrist and tried to pry her hand away, but she only dug into him even harder.

  “Bastard…Ray…”

  “Ray?” he repeated, stilling.

  Who is Ray?

  And why had Mari almost cried over him?

  He didn’t have time to think on it before she snarled and used her other hand to claw him. Oh, sweet Atlantis—Ambrose grabbed her wrists, extracting her claws out of his chest. He held them away from him and breathed a sigh of relief when they took to tearing up the seaweed next to them instead.

  And then, right as she was growling in her sleep again, he heard a sound.

  It was small, barely perceptible, but he heard it nonetheless.

  A chill worked its way down his back, and he thought that even Mari knew something was wrong. She became not only still, but silent.

  He thanked the gods for a fleeting second before gently grabbing her shoulder and her head, twisting them around so that her back was now resting in the bed of seaweed. The sound came again, this time pulsing through the waves as if beckoning to him.

  Ambrose quickly adjusted the longest pieces of seaweed around Mari so that she was partially covered before giving her one last look.

  Only five feet out of the grove, Ambrose knew that it hadn’t been the dolphins’ return making the sound. It was a rhythmic thumping, like someone—or something—was swimming towards them with their tail smacking at the ground. Ambrose’s heart rate kicked up as he pushed through the water quickly, his senses expanding. The creature was large, and only a couple yards away—

  And apparently invisible, because a couple yards in front of him was completely empty space with no living thing in sight besides groups of coral and schools of fishes.

  Instantly, his guard was up and his hands were moving in a slow, pulsing movement, centering around a small spot in front of him. If they were being hunted, he was not going to stand around and let the attack happen.

  Mari had to be protected. If anything happened to her, he would never forgive himself.

  As he formed the small ball of energy, he willed the akrina to come to him. In seconds, it was joining itself within the ball of energy and forming a growing ball of heat. The orb of power pulsed through his hands, heating them up to an almost painful degree.

  The knife that began to protrude from the side of the ball was metallic, burning the tip of his finger as the sharp point brushed against him. The small pain died off as the rest of the blade began to push through the ball.

  Two seconds later, he was holding the intricately designed handle of his ancient blade and hefting it for a fight—

  Right as something large, fast, and invisible slammed into him.

  The breath rushed out of his chest the second the impact hit him, knife nearly slipping from his grasp. His training came back in a rush, all of the techniques and moves flitting through his brain.

  He went with the force that pushed against him, then thrust his tail downward to quickly bring himself upright. Ambrose gasped for water, pushing his hair away from his face, scanning the horizon.

  The sound, and the force that had hit him, were completely gone. Not even particles of the water were shifting in its wake. The only thing that was in the small clear was Ambrose...with Mari several feet away.

  Oh fuck.

  Mari.

  He had left her completely unprotected and there was a threat—

  The thing slammed into him again, throwing him to the side. Too caught up in fearing for Mari, Ambrose didn’t have time to adjust himself. His shoulder crashed into the ground right as he felt the steel blade against his throat.

  Ambrose cursed, moving only his eyes in the direction of the knife—and still, there was nothing there. He reached out a hand, narrowing his eyes.

  Skin. He felt skin—

  The creature began to reveal itself, and Ambrose swore he would have rather died than be in the spot he was right now.

  Twice as huge as Ambrose himself was, the creature was half-blood Atlantean, and half-blood God. His stomach revolted at the idea, even as the proof of it stared him in the eye with emotionless red depths that could tell a man his future in one second and steal his soul the next.

  Black tattoos were laced over his shoulders and down his back, the same exact dark color as his tail. The papery fin was jagged at the edges, and a pure blood red. Going up as a stripe on both sides of his tail, ending at his hip, were ancient inscriptions written in a glaringly bright red that were, at the moment, glowing.

  As he stood over Ambrose, the creature’s blade poised at the delicate stretch of his neck, the terror over Mari began to turn into one of complete fury.

  Deimos stood before him now. One of the oldest creatures since the gods’ creation that still remained alive today, one of the most dangerous beings in the universe except for the gods themselves, was about to bury his blade inside Ambrose’s throat and leave Mari completely defenseless.

  The thought sparked something inside of him.

  He had no clue how, or what, or why, but what he did next was only because Mari would be terrified to wake up to dying because of a creature like Deimos. He was a soulless killer, had no rationality whatsoever, and only came out of the cave when he was told to by the gods.

  So the gods either wanted him, or Mari, dead. And either way, both of them would die, because Ambrose was not going to go out before Mari was protected.

  “Gods,” the creature growled, his voice nothing but a tumble of sound over rocks. The sound cast a shiver down his spine as Ambrose began positioning the hilt of his blade in a striking position.

  Ambrose gripped the hilt tightly, aiming for his side. He had to get the fucker off of him and get to Mari—

  “Help.”

  Ambrose paused.

  “Help?” he echoed. Ambrose kept his dagger hand ready for attack.

  “Gods sent…help.” Those emotionless eyes flickered with something like confusion, before instinct took over. The creature snapped around, ripped the dagger out of his hand, and with a perfect, swooping motion, sent the thing flying right at the akrina.

  His companion absorbed the thing like a piece of food.

  “Not to attack,” Deimos grated. He slowly moved back from Ambrose, letting him get to his feet.

  What the fuck was going on.

  “Ambrose?”

  He nearly growled at the sound of Mari’s voice. Turning around slowly, making sure to keep himself between her and Deimos. “Yes, Mari?” he asked cautiously, blocking her view of the completely destructive creature that was behind him.

  “Who’s that?” Her voice showed a hint of worry, matching the look in her eye. “He isn’t going to kill us, is he? I saw…”

  He closed his eyes, sighing, shaking his head. Ambrose cast a dark look at Deimos before gently grabbing her arm and guiding her a couple feet away from the creature. He began to follow them, but Ambrose glared at him a
gain.

  Deimos stayed.

  “I’m so sorry you had to see that,” he began, running a hand over his jaw. Shame coursed through him like a wave, making guilt rise. Mari shouldn’t have ever seen something like that.

  She worried her lip, reaching up. Shock froze Ambrose, holding him still as her fingers lightly brushed over the spot where Deimos’s blade had been. A shiver wracked his body.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? I was going to do something, but have you seen the size of that guy? Figured you had it under control ‘cause I saw you with the knife…I didn’t want to make it worse for you by scaring you.”

  She had been willing to put herself in danger because of him?

  His heart stopped in his chest. Ambrose was unable to stop himself from wrapping his arms around her, crushing her against him. “If you see something like that,” he growled, “don’t you ever intervene. You could get killed.” And it could have been your slip of the blade to do it.

  Mari shocked him by resting her cheek on his shoulder. Warmth spread through him at the action, and then a relief like nothing he had ever felt before made him light headed.

  “Yes, sir,” she said lightly, tilting her head up to flash a smile. “Are you done being a worry-wart?”

  He frowned, tightening his arms around her. “I’ve never heard of a worry-wart.”

  Instead of elaborating, Mari sighed and shook her head, then looked passed his shoulder. “So…Mr. Scary Killer guy. Is he a friend, then? I mean, since he didn’t kill us and all that.”

  She looked past his shoulder with a hopeful look in her eye. Immediately, he blocked her view. She found the creature that was made for death and destruction appealing? Ambrose snarled, unable to stop it from rolling through his chest. No. She couldn’t. She was hi—

  Not his.

  Sweet Atlantis.

  “For now, Mari, he is neither friend nor foe, and I would really like it if you could keep your distance from him until we find out what—“

  She shot past him with a flick of her tail, leaving a tiny wave behind her to slap him in the face. Before he knew it, Mari was grabbing Deimos by the hand, despite his ripping snarls and violent jerks.

  She kept on holding, though, speaking at a mile an hour.

  “What do the tats mean? Why are you glowing? What’s your name? Do mermaids fart? Do you fart? Are you a mermaid? Why did you try to kill Ambrose? Thank you for not doing that. I would hate to have to go to Atlantis on my own. I hear that mermaids don’t eat anymore—do you eat? Have you ever had a steak? You look really burly for an ‘Atlantean’,” she said, her face twisting as she said the term like it was unpleasant. She gulped for water, barely giving Deimos a chance to respond.

  “Where did you come from? Can you speak English? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Mari stopped dragging him behind her, thwacking her tail against the ground and then crossing her arms over her chest.

  Ambrose watched, too stunned to think about her safety.

  “Well?” she asked impatiently.

  “Well.” His response was only a mimic of her own. Slowly, Mari’s eyes widened.

  “You can’t speak English?”

  Ambrose shoved a hand over his face. You have got to be kidding me, he thought, exasperated

  “….No,” Deimos answered, sounding like he was choking and snarling at the same time. Before Ambrose had been inducted as the king, he had had to have a special meeting with the gods. Not that it was abnormal for them to meet, but the night of his coronation, he’d met Deimos. Even then, the Atlantean god had been as silent and as dangerous as anything Ambrose had ever met.

  Deimos was the only creature, despite the gods, to scare off a whole pack of Octopians. He ate them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and anyone who tried to get in his way of a kill would just add themselves to the menu.

  He was rarely let out. Only one other time had Deimos been let out—only to be immediately called back. In seconds, small side-cities to Atlantis had been destroyed, hundreds of Atlantean males dead, and four very distraught gods.

  Ambrose, upon finding out, had been furious. He’d threatened D’Rai that he would never speak to her again should Deimos be let out. But, here he was, a gift from the gods, staring at Mari as if she were a two-headed serpent that he wouldn’t mind eating.

  Ambrose grasped Mari by the arm, pulling her back to him. Deimos cast a detached look towards them before silently following them as Ambrose continued to drag the aghast female by her arm.

  “You can’t talk to him like that,” he growled, hating himself for how worried and…protective he was over her. Protective or possessive? Either one was horrible.

  “Well, obviously. He doesn’t understand a word I’m saying!”

  “He doesn’t understand a word anyone is saying,” Ambrose said, ignoring the thrill that shot through his body when Mari pressed against him.

  “But that’s…impossible. He has to know some kind of language. He didn’t kill you, did he? No. So he has to just…comprehend something.”

  His eyes flickered at the note of concern in her voice, only to be taken back when her face began to turn red. Oh, god. The woman cried over the most mundane things!

  “Mari, don’t,” he begged, rubbing a hand down her back gently. She sniffled, looking at Deimos, who snarled. “He’s the equivalent of an animal, and you need to treat him as such.”

  Aaaaaand, apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Instantly, a sob bubbled up her throat. “He must not have any family!” she cried, shoulders shaking with emotion. A little too much, he thought. He had known that the transformation turned ones hormones and feelings hay-wire, but he had never known they would escalate to this extent. He suspected that she normally was not so emotional...and instantly started to feel guilty over what he had done to her—over what he had put her through.

  Ambrose exhaled sharply, staring at Mari. He didn’t know what to do to stop the crying, but it was quickly making him feel like he’d kicked a seal pup—and it was not an appealing feeling.

  “Of course he does,” he said uneasily, rubbing her back more.

  What else could he do? Ambrose had close to zero experience with comforting a woman in non-sexual ways.

  “You lie!” she hissed, pushing away from him. Her face was still red, but the fire in her eyes let him know she was done crying. Thank lord.

  Ambrose almost smiled. He would rather have her spitting mad than sobbing senselessly—

  The thought immediately fled his mind as Mari swam back to Deimos, wrapping her tiny arms around his thick body and clutching. “It’ll be okay!” she cried against him, patting his back and shoulder. “You might have almost killed Ambrose, but we forgive you—It’ll be okay, sweet Deimos. I’ll take care of you, I’ll teach you my ways—the ways of your people!” she whispered fiercely, not even noticing the way his hand began to clench around the blade he still held, or the way his low rumbling growl rolled through the sea as forcefully as an earthquake.

  “I promise, since I’m stuck here and you’re alone, I’ll do everything I can to help you learn—and so will Ambrose.” She sniffled, looking at the said helper with huge, hopeful eyes. “Won’t you, Ambrose?”

  He shot forward, ripping Mari off of Deimos just as the big bear-paw was reaching up to grab at Mari. “You can’t just do that, Mari. He might have stopped himself from offing me once, but that doesn’t mean he’ll know not to a second time. Just stay away from him.”

  “But, Ambrose!” she exclaimed, grabbing his shoulders in a strong grip. Her voice was thick with distress. “He needs to learn compassion and love and happiness and how to smile and how to laugh—Deimos doesn’t look like someone who knows how to do anything like that? Do you see the sorrow in his bloody red eyes?” She asked the question with complete seriousness.

  Ambrose looked at Deimos—who promptly snarled at them.

  He scratched at the back of his neck, staring at Mari. “Ah…sure, if that’s what yo
u see…”

  “The poor man is a tiny lost soul in the sea, and we must guide him,” she said promptly, nodding her head with self-assertion. Mari turned around to march her way back to Deimos, but Ambrose grabbed her by the shoulders.

  “I think you should give him time to adjust to all of this…emotion. Alright, Mari?” he asked, then began dragging her back to the grove, not giving her a chance to say anything else.

  She huffed, but followed after waving at Deimos coaxingly.

  Ceto set the nail filer down on the dresser, sighing.

  “Come in!”

  The banging on the small shack stopped as the door opened, revealing a hunky piece of man that she wouldn’t mind taking a bite out of.

  She purred, standing to her feet.

  “Hello, Austux.” The smile in her voice, and on her face, was pure sex. She slid up his body like a cat would, wrapping her arms around his neck and arching her back so that she pressed into his chest.

  “Mmm,” he murmured, taking her in his arms and giving her a heated kiss. She moaned, sliding her tongue into his mouth. She grasped his neck with cool, silky hands, loving how warm and dominant he was.

  Ceto was just getting into the kiss when he pulled back, coughing roughly. “I have news. I figured you would want to hear it.”

  She pouted, but stepped back from his embrace, flaring her hand out. “Please, have a seat at the table. I’ll get us some drinks and you can tell me your ‘news’.”

  As he moved past her, he looked around the shack with appreciation. “Why the new place? Not that I’m complaining. It’s an upgrade from that cave you once dragged me to.”

  Ceto hid her frown. The cups were in the cupboard above the tiny fridge that she'd had installed. Walking over to it, and making sure to swing her hips enough to catch her friend’s eyes—which she did, she saw with a pleased smile—Ceto picked out two wine glasses and a bottle of Kinky.