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

by D. K. Combs

  “Not Ceto,” he grated, shoving his hands through his hair. Those animalistic eyes flickered with real fear, real frustration, before latching onto hers. “Must take you away.”

  She started. “What?”

  “Mari is the safest she could be right now,” Ambrose said, arms going around her waist. She barely took comfort in his arms. Unease slid through her body as she stared at Deimos. He was a man rarely affected—incredibly loyal and stoic as hell.

  “Do you know something we don’t?” she asked him softly, keeping the fear out of her voice. He had come from the gods, so his abilities were unknown to her. God. What he knew, and what he couldn’t say, scared her shitless—or tailless. Could fishes shit?

  Mari peeked up at Ambrose and saw the hard set of his jaw.

  She could wait until later to ask him. Deimos was much more important—

  “You never answered my question!” she raged, turning on Ambrose.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked. Ambrose frowned, and Deimos impatiently stirred his tail in the water.

  “Farts! Can mermaids fart? Why didn’t you answer that when I asked you it! Do you know how rude that is? You leave me here to wonder whether I’m going to have a huge air-bubble in my ass!”

  She grabbed his shoulders, shaking him. “Why do you do this to me?!”

  Ambrose sighed, staring at her. “Mari,” he said after another exhale.

  “What?” she asked, stamping her tail. “Answer me!”

  “Why in Atlantis do you do that?”

  She started. Frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  Ambrose trailed his fingers down her arm, then up, wrapping around her wrist. He gently disengaged them. “You know what I’m talking about. Whenever you’re scared or angry, you do something so completely opposite of the situation, so random, that I don’t know what the hell to say.”

  She flushed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He chuckled, kissing the top of her head. “You’re so tense right now. I was just waiting for you to change the topic as quickly as possible.”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mumbled.

  “Deimos and I can talk this out by ourselves. You’re obviously worried, and if you can’t take this serious enough, then—“

  She held up a finger sharply. Ambrose backed away, eyeing it. “First off, I am not worried—“

  “I beg to differ—“

  “Second off, I can take this perfectly serious—“

  “’Can mermaids fart?’”

  “Thirdly, I take offense to that. I don’t want to look bloated when I fart, so I need to know the dynamics of it.”

  Ambrose didn’t say anything for a long moment.

  When her lips began to purse with disapproval, he burst into laughter. “One of the most ridiculous women ever,” he said, taking her in his arms. She frowned against his chest.

  “If this is concerning me at all, I should be able to know what’s happening.”

  “Not safe,” Deimos growled from behind them. Mari looked over her shoulder at him, not knowing what to say. Deimos wasn’t going to let it go—but Ambrose was right. She had the weirdest, most inconvenient ideas when she didn’t like something.

  And she really didn’t like this.

  All she wanted to worry about was Ambrose taking back his throne. Which, going by how unwell H’Sai was, wasn’t going to be a problem. But now that Deimos was worried, he had her worried. And if she was worried, that meant Ambrose had to worry. She could try to tell him not to, but it was in his nature.

  “Deimos,” Ambrose said, focusing on him even while tightening his arms, silencing her. “Is Ceto out of the picture then?”

  He shook his head. Mari felt a weird sensation tingle along her spine as his red eyes shifted to pure white, then back. “Both of them. Both attack you.”

  Mari swallowed, biting her lip. “Do you know when?” She forced herself to stay strong and not tremble with fear like she wanted to. Ambrose would be able to feel it, and then he would send her away to deal with this himself. And that wasn’t what she wanted at all—they had to stay together with this.

  He was so used to being alone that even the thought of sending him to do something concerning her, while risking his life for her, was unfathomable.

  And what if this happened during the coronation. What if this was something H’Sai was setting up? The man obviously wasn’t pleased that Ambrose was back. She felt a shiver of fear for him.

  “Don’t—know. Soon. Days.”

  So they had days for this to happen. Her heart stopped in her chest and she clutched Ambrose. “If this is Ceto, or H’Sai, I swear I’m going to kick their asses,” she said, completely serious. The very thought of Ambrose or Deimos in danger caused a rush of fury to flow through her. The memory of what had happened with the Octopians flashed through her mind.

  If it came down to it, she would gladly go through all of that again just to keep them safe.

  Ambrose was all she had left. No family, no teaching, no life. If all she could have was him, then she was keeping him.

  Deimos frowned, breathing out roughly.

  “It’s okay,” she murmured, stepping out of her man’s arms. “We’ll take care of it.”

  “Protect you,” he grated as she took his hand, leading him out of the room. She didn’t worry about Ambrose following them—she could sense him behind her, and probably always would when he was near.

  “Of course,” she said lightly.

  “Where do you think you’re going with him?” Ambrose asked.

  She looked over her shoulder, raising a brow. “I think it’s time we meet the people of Atlanits, no?”

  “With him?”

  Mari narrowed her eyes. “Yes. With him. They need to meet their first in command.”

  “Deimos isn’t going to be my first in command,” he said, sighing.

  “That’s what you think.”

  “Who is she?”

  “Why does she...smell?”

  “She laughs?”

  “She stands so close to the Exiled One!”

  “Her tail...she is of the gods?”

  “Never have I seen someone like her before...”

  Ambrose heard all of the questions, and was more than positive that she heard them as well. He expected angry glares or angry comments, or something. Instead, all she did was stare.

  A lot. And laugh. A lot.

  She laughed at the fishes, laughed at the people, and laughed at the buildings. He had a feeling that it was almost a little too much for her, but at least she wasn’t crying. Or yelling. Or poking.

  Thank the gods she wasn’t poking him.

  They had only been out for a couple minutes, but already the whole entire city was flooding the streets to see her. Her tail was different than it had been before, but word must have spread quickly about her.

  She had the tail of a minor goddess, yet the people had heard she was an actual god. He could only imagine their confusion—which he felt as well. Ambrose had no clue what was going on with her tail, and honestly, the thought of what really was happening?

  Scared the shit out of him.

  The gods were playing with something, and he didn’t know what. He was pretty sure that even they didn’t know.

  Why Mari?

  Why did they chose her? There was no doubt in his mind that they had chosen Mari, specifically. There was also no doubt that they had caused her ship to sink on purpose. She’d told him all about the cruise, how quickly it had sunk, and how she suspected that no one was left alive.

  It had to be the gods’ doing. There was no other way or reason. They wanted her for something—but for what? Before this, from what Ambrose had gathered, Mari had been nothing but a teacher with a dumbass boyfriend. She had had a normal life, normal family, and normal...everything.

  As she grabbed his arm and excitedly pointed at another fish, one of the rare species that they kept locked in Atla
ntis for their protection, he couldn’t understand what had made the gods pick her.

  She was too innocent. Too sweet. Too kind. Too perfect. Too temperamental. He hadn’t had a chance to ask them why before H’Sai had started raging and demanding all of the attention on him, and he had been too furious to stick around once the gods had decided on something.

  The throne.

  Him. On it. Again. After two thousand years. That was no time for his kind, but after so long just by yourself, in a cave, being tormented like he had been? It seemed like the world was spinning in the opposite direction.

  Especially because not only did he have himself to worry about, he had Mari—and because of Mari, he had Deimos. Who, at this moment, was staring at Mari like she had an invisible chain on him and was dragging him around as she went from site to site.

  “Gods, what in the hell is that thing doing here?”

  His head snapped in the direction of a voice, a wheezy sound that came from an old, haggard Atlantean. His chest was bare, showing how stooped his back was and the cave that was his stomach. Ambrose knew who he was talking about.

  The old man had reached the end of his line. Rarely did an Atlantean reach the point that the man was at now, but it happened. Too many battles, too many addictions. He saw the spotting around the old man’s throat and knew instantly what had caused the aging.

  Tiny, black spots. Only users knew about the addiction, besides Ambrose. As king, he was forced to know every single bit of information there was. Including the fact that Octopian blood was highly addictive.

  It was normally only the older men, the ones that had been in battle, that became addicted. Disappointment made him shake his head at the man, carrying on. Mari was only a couple feet in front of him, groups of children beginning to clump around her. He smiled at the sight. Mari was—

  “Ugly slut, too. What is the king thinking, bringing back that trash into the city?”

  Ambrose tensed, forgetting all about Mari.

  Slowly, he turned around and met the indignant eyes of the old addict. Rage flashed through him as the man opened his mouth again, showing what little yellow teeth he had left. “Think you can get protection just because you are around a whore god? We all hate you, you son of a bitch.”

  Everyone within a couple of feet froze—Mari was too far away to hear what had been said, and thank god.

  Ambrose felt his chest shift, hands clenching. He had to gain their respect, not their hate for killing an old male. He inhaled, closing his eyes. Don’t respond. Just don’t respond to them and get back to Mari and make sure the people like her at least.

  “I would soon as kill that bitch god than be loyal to you!” he shouted, spitting.

  Fury slid down his back like a cool finger brushing over his muscles. Don’t kill him—

  He saw a flash of black hair before the man was shoved away from him, to the back of the crowd.

  “This is your future king. As much as you don’t like it, it’s true. And I’d just as soon see you dead before you speak out against my brother.”

  Erikos. His brother.

  Standing up for him?

  Rage still flowed through him, and he wanted nothing more than to take care of the sorry old bastard by himself, but Mari’s innocent laugh in the distance helped calm him. He glanced at her to make sure she was okay and saw hundreds of little merbabies swimming all around her, pointing out fish to her.

  That was the only reason he didn’t attack the old man—and his brother. That bastard dare stand up for Ambrose after handing him over to Ceto?

  Mari, his mind whispered. She would be devastated.

  The echo of her cries from earlier, as he beat the holy hell out of his brother, rang in his ears. He couldn’t do that to her again, not when she was having so much fun. Besides all of the speculation, the children were entranced by her—which meant that the parents were equally accepting.

  Atlantean children had a knack for knowing the difference from enemy and friend. It was the instinct that had kept their people alive for so many years. The older they got, the more diluted their instincts became. They were so used to the cushioned life that their ancestors genes were buried deep in their minds, locked away.

  He had known Mari would be accepted—just like the gods would have.

  “You sure are one to talk!” the man broke out, shoving back at Erikos. The black spots on his neck widened because of the strain, turning a deep purple on the edges, before going back to normal. “What kind of brother abandons his own blood?”

  His dull brown tail whipped out, barely missing Erikos. He saw a flash of unrecognizable emotions flicker over his brothers face before the dark locks blocked Ambrose’s vision. He expected Erikos to lash out, to retaliate.

  Shock held him still when he didn’t.

  Erikos only cast the man a disgusted look, pointedly eyeing the splotches on his neck. “Would watch what you say, old man. Not too sure those spots can handle any more activity.”

  A clear threat to the man that only the three of them would understand. Something like pride settled in his chest as the man before the two brothers began to pale, hand coming up to cover the dots. Atlanteans, other than the users and the ruling power, thought that they came with age. There were only a select few Atlanteans old enough to have reached the stage of withering away with visible signs of Octopian use, but those who had, had all been warriors at one point. Fighting with his father, arm and arm, and this is what had become of the warrior.

  The man seemed to know a threat when he saw one, casting a glance at the younger Atlanteans around him. His face was devoid of color and the splotches were stretching again as he struggled to think of something to say.

  After a moment of tense silence, he forced his way through the quiet, astonished crowd, and left the brothers to deal with the crowd.

  Not like there was much to deal with though. As quick as a startled school of fish, they cleared away from him.

  Ambrose didn’t realize he had been holding in a breath until they were all gone, water expelling from his chest forcefully.

  “What the fuck was that?” he growled, rounding on his brother.

  Erikos, the younger version of him, met his furious gaze head-on. “If I didn’t do something, you would have.”

  “Why would you even bother? Last time I checked,” he said, anger beginning to course through his blood, “you left me high and dry in front of the council. What right do you have to come to my defense now?”

  Ambrose watched a dark look pass over his brother’s face before he masked it. “You need to take the throne. If the people hate you, that won’t happen, no matter how badly you defeat H’Sai.”

  He couldn’t stop the growl that rose in his chest. Erikos was acting like he cared, and Ambrose didn’t believe anything he had to say.

  “You’re a disgrace,” he snapped, shoving Erikos’s shoulder, forgetting about Mari. Memories of all their adventures flashed in his mind, furthering his anger.

  Erikos didn’t hit back like Ambrose had planned. He simply went with the force that hit him and stared at Ambrose. “I’m sorry,” he said, so softly that Ambrose almost missed it.

  “Sorry? That’s all you can say to me? I was tortured for two thousand years because you couldn’t get your head out of your ass. I still remember how you took the spear and left. No words, no looks, no nothing.”

  He heard Mari’s happy voice in the distance, something telling him he needed to stop.

  But he couldn’t. Not when he was facing his blood brother—his betraying brother.

  “I took care of you for so long,” he growled, hands fisting, pain flashing through him. “I got you out of trouble, I took care of you, I gave you everything you needed when I was on the throne. But when my loyalty to Atlantis, after all I did to protect it, comes into question? What do you do? You leave me,” he roared, surging forward.

  Erikos didn’t move.

  He forgot about the people that were beginning to watch th
em, he forgot about Mari. He forgot about the consequences and the tugging. All Ambrose could think about was how much he wanted to kill the only brother he had ever had.

  Ambrose brought up his fist.

  “What’s going on?”

  He froze.

  Mari’s confused, lovely voice floated into his ears and all motion stopped.

  Erikos looked behind Ambrose’s shoulder, and he watched the transformation that came over his brother’s face.

  The smile, the charm, was all too familiar to Ambrose. Erikos lost the stoic look in his eyes and grinned at Mari, slinging an arm around Ambrose’s shoulder.

  He tensed, really wishing he could rip Erikos a new one.

  “Is everything okay?” Mari asked slowly, giving his brother a dubious look before settling her gaze on Ambrose.

  She knew.

  Ambrose could have punched himself.

  As her eyes took on the coolest, most stony look he had ever seen, he knew he had messed up.

  “Everything’s fine,” Erikos said casually, trying to take control of the situation. The merbabies that had been swimming around Mari were several feet away, watching their new role model with wide eyes.

  “You sure about that?” she asked. Her hand landed on her hip as her eyes narrowed.

  Ambrose didn’t bother lying—he just stayed quiet. Mari knew that he had been about to beat his brother to the holy hell and she wasn’t pleased.

  “Yes, ma’am. My brother and I were just talking.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  Strike one, Ambrose thought.

  “Really?”

  “Strategy and all of that,” he continued, looking at Ambrose as if they shared a secret.

  Strike two.

  “Brother stuff,” he finished, flashing her another smile.

  That one she didn’t respond to at all.

  Strike three.

  Her head tilted to the side. “Oh. Wow. For a second there, I thought Ambrose was about to tear you apart. I must have been really wrong—that, or you just lied to my face.”

  Erikos shifted uncomfortably.

  “Just so you know,” she hissed, leaning forward. Both Ambrose and Erikos leaned backwards, not daring to take go an actual step back, but wary of what she was going to do.