“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.
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.
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.