Atlantis: The King's Return

Atlantis: The King's Return | 5

If you would like to purchase this on Amazon, click the external link! Paperback is also available.

Ambrose could only pray to Atlantis that the woman was trying to escape while she had time, or at the very least trying to hide. It was a useless hope, but he couldn't help it. He knew all too well how much pain would come from trying to hide from Ceto. There was no where in the cave that she hadn't searched, memorized, and blocked off.

Her pet was not allowed to hide, let alone try to escape. Even if he wanted to, it was impossible. He couldn't make it through the cave without tearing what was left of his tail off. The ground was too rough for him to crawl across, and she'd made it impossible for him to use his legs unless she gave him the permission.

How, he had no clue. All he knew was that the mortal woman had better get out of there soon, or she'd be sentenced to the same fate as him...or worse. Ceto was incredibly jealous, always had been.

Learning that there was a mortal woman—a gorgeous mortal woman—in his cave, trying to help him escape? There was no "best case scenario" for that. He kicked out his tail gingerly, hissing in pain as it scraped against the ground before settling into the same position as it had been when she'd left.

The mist rose in the air, swirling around, slow at first. The speed kicked up, and he watched with dread as it turned into a full blown mini-tornado right before his eyes.

Rubble joined the whirling wind, and he shielded his face against the stray pieces that came at him. She loved her show, and loved giving out pain with it. When the wind died down, his fear for the mortal had grown to the point that his hands were shaking, and Ceto stood in front of him with her hands sultrily placed on her hips.

She walked forward with her hips moving on over-drive. He swore that if she weren't immortal, she'd have blown out several of them by now.

"Oh, my dear pet. How are you this eve? Feeling well?" He hated to admit it, but he relied on her to count his time there. She would come back with an allusion to the time of day, and that was all he had to go by. So far, from what he could tell, Ambrose had been in the cave for over two thousand years.

In the exact same spot.

With the exact same meals every day.

And with the same torment every night.

Sweet Atlantis, that mortal better be long-gone...

Ceto reached behind her back, pulling out a strip of salmon meat. His stomach rolled at the site—he was hungry as hell, but the same meal every single day, for two thousand years... Ambrose pressed his lips together and met her stare straight on.

"I asked you a question," she snarled, hand snapping out and grasping his jaw. Her nails dug into his jaw, and he knew blood was beading around the perfectly polished talons. Her sweet breath fanned over his face.

Once, he'd loved her scent. He'd loved her strength. He'd loved the fire in her eyes...until he'd realized that it wasn't passionate fire. It had been embers born of hate and bitterness, her need for power dominating their relationship.

"I'm feeling well," he grated, not daring to break free of her hold. She'd make his punishment worse, and any other night he wouldn't have cared. But now he had the mortal woman watching them from the shadows, and what she would see would already be gruesome enough. No need to add onto the damage that was already planned for tonight.

She waved the piece of fish in his face, swaying her hips and kneeling above him. The v-neck dress she wore was a dark, blood red, clinging to every curve and crevice. Her cleavage swayed in front of his face, her try at tempting him.