Ambrose walked away from the dais, frustration boiling inside of him. The gods were up to something—he could feel it. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have said anything about the real cause of Atlantis sinking. Something kept telling him not to say anything about Ceto, to stay quiet and wait.
H’Sai hadn’t believed a word Kai had said, but Ambrose did admit that it seemed like the step-in-king only cared about who looked tougher—or, who felt tougher. H’Sai had once been an incredibly strong and formidable warrior; so formidable, in fact, that Ambrose had made him his first in command.
They had been friends for years, always having each other back and being the first to go into battle. He had thought their bond was inseparable, a true one, but he now knew it for what it really was. H’Sai had always had issues—Ambrose had known that from the beginning. He had hoped, though, that with time the man would change. He never did.
That had been more than apparent at the trial. He had stood there, watching Ambrose’s world crumble, and had done nothing except stand, taking the robe from around Ambrose’s shoulders, and then leaving.
The final straw had been drawn, and his life had been sentenced to one of torment. The only people to be there for him had been Maxroy and Aixya, but that hadn’t stopped the betrayal and pain over whom he had thought were his friends and family.
He left Kai and the rest of them back there, striding through the exit—
And running into something.
It squeaked, and he caught the red flash of tail as it shot down the tunnel.
Instantly, his vision turned red.
“You aren’t serious,” he growled, shooting after Mari. He swam through the trail she had left, narrowing his eyes. Sweet Atlantis, she had gotten faster—and quieter.
Forgetting about the meeting completely, Ambrose pushed himself harder...and gripped the base of her fin, yanking her back. “I thought,” he snarled, “I told you to wait with Deimos. I was going to come for you. Don’t you know how to wait?”
His shout blasted the hair back from her face, emphasizing how large and terrified her eyes were. “I was just curious...”
“Mari,” he snapped, gripping her shoulders tightly. “Some things need to stay private—if I had wanted you to know all that shit, I would have taken you with me! Gods damn it, Mari. If I’m supposed to take back the throne for you, how can I have you by my side when you can’t trust me.”
The final roar of his shout echoed through the cave hollowly. Mari flinched, turning her face away from him. “I didn’t know...”
“Because you aren’t supposed to,” he snapped, tightening his fingers around her shoulder. “Do you know what the gods would have done, had they seen you? Killed you on sight. You might look like one of them, and might have the powers of one of them, but you are not one of them. Listening in on a conversation in that room is considered treason, whether you know our laws or not.
“Even I couldn’t stop what they would do to you,” he snarled, loosening his hands on her shoulder when he saw her flinch.
“Ambrose, I’m really sorry.” And she was—he could see the sorrow in her eyes, the guilt.
“This won’t happen again,” he said tightly, shoving away from her. “If you get killed for insolence, I will never forgive you. Learn some damn common sense, Mari. This is not a dream, not a fantasy, and most definitely not a game. If you want to have a life, you play by the rules of the ocean. You got that?”
He watched her throat work before she nodded. There was no light in her eyes, no fight. The anger drained away as quickly as it had come, and shame took over, digging deep, painful roots.
“I just don’t want to see you hurt,” he murmured. Ambrose wanted to take her into his arms, to hold her against his chest. He wanted to feel the beating of her heart against his. He shouldn’t have yelled at her like that—the outburst had been born of fear and embarrassment.
He had wanted to be the one to tell her, in private, the reason why he had been exiled. There was no greater shame than not being able to tell the story yourself and hurting the one you cared about most. And that was exactly what Ambrose felt right now—shame.
The hurt in her eyes killed him.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, shoulders lowering with defeat.
“Forgive me,” he whispered, before dragging her into his arms. He expected her to fight him, but she didn’t. She went into his arms easily, as if knowing that he had to touch her. Ambrose didn’t deserve this—she was so beautiful, so loving.
Even after she had betrayed him, he could not stay angry. He knew why she had and understood. He had shared nothing about himself with her, when she had told him about her family, her teaching. She didn’t deserve to be kept in the dark.
“I did not mean to get so angry,” he said into her hair, wrapping her tighter against him. He felt the soft exhale of water against his shoulder and shuddered. So innocent and sweet, so not ready for a life under the ocean. “I won’t ask for your forgiveness again, Mari. I’ll make it up to you—all week long, I will show you my world. I’ll answer every question you have about me. No lies, no secrets. I swear, I will do everything I can to make it up to you.”
She pulled away from his chest, staring up at him with guarded eyes. Then, slowly, she smiled. “I have you wrapped around my finger, don’t I?”
Ambrose sighed, nodding. “You really do. At least you aren’t crying,” he said, crushing her against him once more as relief crashed through him. Right now, she was the only person he had. If he lost her because of his own temper, Ambrose didn’t know what he would do.
“Don’t,” she said, poking him in the chest with that damn knife-like finger, “yell at me. It would set a very bad example for Deimos if he ever saw it.”
His eyes crossed. “Deimos? That’s who you’re worried about?”
She nodded, giving him a “duh” look. “Well, of course. I plan on him being your first in command, so we need to start training him.”
“He has enough ‘training’,” Ambrose said, aghast. She wanted that soulless killer to be his first command? What was she thinking?
“Not kill-everything-that-breathes training,” she said smartly. “But etiquette. And apparently, I need to teach you as well.”
He glared down at her, affronted. “Excuse me? I have perfect manners.”
Mari patted his shoulder with her dainty little hand. “Of course you do, honey. Of course you do.”
“Honey? Woman, did you just insult me?”
Mari looked at him, then narrowed her eyes. “On the surface, honey means sweet and innocent. If you want to think of that as offensive…then sure.” She shrugged, the teasing light in her eyes entrancing, reassuring him.
He guffawed, raising a brow at her. “Okay. Alright. That’s not very nice, Mari. Don’t worry, though. I’ll get you back…with an eight tentacled—“
She held up her hand. “Okay! That’s enough—“
“With oily as hell hair, soulless black eyes—“
“Seriously, Ambrose—“
“And a sunken in stomach—“
Mari laughed, tackling him and shoving a hand over his mouth.
“You’re going to give me nightmares,” she said, wrapping her arm around his neck.
Ambrose grinned, then tickled her sides. Her squeal rang in his ear, making him laugh with her.
“I’ll pee everywhere,” she warned through her laughter, fighting off his hands.
“Atlanteans can’t pee,” Ambrose said in a sing-song voice.
“Well this one will!”
“Have fun trying—“
“Ambrose, stop it! I’m not a good tickler!”
He shook his head, pushing her into the wall and wrapping his arms around her waist. His hips pressed against hers, and her laughter died off.
Gods, she was so beautiful. The light in her eyes cast a pink glow over her face, giving her the appearance of youth and innocence, something he was unaccustomed to. Atlanteans were hard, fighters. They had never had the softness that Mari herself did.
Her curves were perfect, soft, willing in his hands. He settled his hands on her waist, moving in close. Her eyes darkened from silver to onyx, giving him enough incentive to do what he did next.
He lifted his hand out, touching the wall and willing akrina to remove the glamour on the wall. Mari gasped when he picked her up by her waist, swinging her into his arms, and them moving through the wall.
Seconds later, they were in his childhood room. He didn’t take the time to look around and deal with the nostalgia. The only thing he did was draw the drapes and then set her on the teal pad that was in the center of the room. Surrounding the pad was raised marble, oily orbs dancing around the edge of the bed, catching the magical glow of the room and then casting it throughout the room.
Ambrose couldn’t wait any longer. The faint image of her mortal body shimmered beneath the scales, urging him on. Mari’s breath was hitched, excited. He fell upon her, trapping her hands above her head with one of his hands and holding them there.
“Have to have you,” he whispered, before taking her jaw in his hand and burying his lips against hers.
The needy whimper that broke from her throat doomed them both to a fiery heat.
He felt the pleasurable sting of his legs returning, and knew there was no going back.