Dragonsworn

  "I know. But first let's see to your parents."

  Max sputtered. "You intend to help the Daimons? Are you out of your mind? They're Daimons!"

  Falcyn shrugged. "My stone. My rules."

  "They're Daimons," Max repeated.

  Falcyn leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "And you're the one who personally caused all the Were-Hunter races to be damned by the Greek gods to an eternal war against each other, Dragonbane. So do not lecture me on right and wrong. Especially not where they're concerned. I do what I want, your rules be damned." And with that, he took Medea's hand and flashed her from Sanctuary to Kalosis.

  Something Medea thought was a good idea until they manifested in her father's great hall in the center of the Daimon kingdom.

  No sooner did they appear in front of Stryker's empty bone throne than a loud, thunderous roar went up. Never had she heard such a clamor. And definitely not here. This was where everyone came when they first journeyed to Kalosis. It was set up so that her father could monitor them.

  It'd been that way as far back as anyone knew.

  Apollymi always sat in the center of her stone garden, where she kept watch over the world of man by way of her black pool that mirrored the world of man.

  Today though, everything changed.

  The moment she and Falcyn materialized before her father's seat, Apollymi was there in her full goddess majesty. Her white-blond hair whipped around her thin body. Her long black gown was plastered against her as the silent winds whipped through the hall and sent every Daimon there scattering for cover. Her swirling silver eyes turned bloodred as her wrath contorted her beautiful face into the visage of ultimate rage.

  "How dare you!" she growled.

  Falcyn didn't so much as flinch. Rather, he faced the ancient goddess without fear or anger. "I've come with good intention and in peace, Braith. There is no ill for you in my heart." He held his hands up with his palms facing him to show her that they were empty.

  Still, she didn't back down. "How can I trust you?"

  "How can I trust you, dearest aunt? But if I'd wanted to hurt you, I'd have struck you in the heart ... where you're the weakest. And I wouldn't have done it here in your stronghold. But out in the world where you have no reach."

  That succeeded in calming her. "You wouldn't dare."

  "I don't fear you, Bra. Honestly, life is a burden I can do without. But I'm not my father, and I would never do to you what he did to me. I came here only to help."

  The wind finally died down.

  Her eyes returned to their familiar swirling silver as her hair settled back to her shoulders. By its own accord, her hair coiled into an impeccable and intricate braided chignon around her face. "It's hard to trust a former enemy."

  Falcyn arched a brow at that. "I was never your enemy." That had been his parents. Never him.

  She met Medea's gaze. "You brought him here?"

  "I did."

  "Then I hold you responsible for his actions. You'd best pray that he behaves."

  Falcyn scoffed at her bitter tone. "Same old Braith. I see time hasn't mellowed you any."

  "How could it? When all I have is bitterness to keep me company?"

  "Then we have much in common, don't we?" He inclined his head to Medea. "Where are your parents?"

  "In bed, I would assume."

  "Take me to them."

  Without a word, she led him down a long, dark hallway.

  Apollymi followed after them, as if she didn't trust him in her domain, at all. It'd be funny if it didn't piss him off.

  Falcyn glanced at her over his shoulder. "Afraid I'm going to abscond with something?"

  "You might. Never could trust a dragon. Last time one of you was here, he pissed my rugs and cracked the ceiling."

  "I'll try to contain myself."

  "Please do so, as I have no desire to redecorate with anything other than your entrails."

  Falcyn growled as Medea opened the door to a bedroom and he saw the large tester bed where a woman who bore a striking resemblance to her lay in sickened misery. The moment the door opened a man shot to his feet to confront them.

  Then he hit the floor where he, too, writhed from his own illness.

  "Papa!" Medea rushed to his side to check on him.

  With a fierce groan, he forced himself up so that he could face Falcyn. Though he didn't pose much of a threat in that condition. Worst thing he could do was vomit on him.

  "Relax, Stryker. I'm here to assist." Falcyn moved toward Zephyra, who was so weak she could barely open her eyes. No wonder Medea had been terrified. He doubted they'd have made it another day in this condition.

  She'd been right. Apollo had sent one hell of an illness for them.

  As it was, Stryker was forced to sit back on the bed.

  With Medea's help.

  "How long have you been gone?" His voice was weak.

  "A day."

  Stryker swallowed. "Are you ill?"

  "No."

  "Then you shouldn't have returned. You should have stayed where the illness couldn't reach you."

  "I couldn't leave you sick like this."

  Stryker reached for his wife. "She's been so strong until about an hour ago." A tear ran down his cheek.

  Falcyn pulled the cover back to see an angry rash that covered Zephyra's pale skin. The blisters had opened to festering wounds. "I won't let her die. Don't worry."

  For the first time, he felt Apollymi approach him with something more than hatred or suspicion.

  She actually put her hand on him with a tenderness that was completely unexpected. "Can I help?"

  "Take Medea from here so that she can't be infected while I work."

  Nodding, Apollymi held her hand out toward Medea. "Come, child."

  Medea hesitated. "Falcyn--"

  "Please ... I can focus better if you're safe."

  As much as she hated to go, she inclined her head and let go of her father's hand, then followed Apollymi from the room.

  Chewing her lip, Medea hesitated at the door to look back and listen as Falcyn chanted quietly under his breath. He cupped his dragonstone in his hand and turned it over and over. A powerful glow from the stone shot between his fingers to illuminate his face with shadows.

  Apollymi pulled her from the room and closed the door.

  "He'll heal them, right?"

  "Yes, I think he will."

  Then why was her gut so tight? Why did something feel so wrong? She was home now.

  Yet ...

  Medea was so unsettled.

  Apollymi hesitated as if she heard her uncertainty. "Are you all right, child?"

  "I don't know."

  Apollymi glanced back toward the door and sighed. "I should have known Apollo would do something like this. He was ever a treacherous bastard. They all were."

  She caught the heavy note in the ancient goddess's voice. "They?"

  "The Greeks. Upstart bastards. The whole lot of them. I blame Archon for their rise. Lying piece of shit. They all should have been drowned the moment they first crawled into being."

  Archon had been the king of the Atlantean gods, and Apollymi's husband. "Why did you marry him if you hate him so?"

  "He lied to me. I thought he was my Kissare returned to life. But he wasn't. Too late, I learned it was a trick played on me to keep me under control."

  Apollymi's eyes swam from unshed tears. "Too often we let our hearts lead our heads, and ignore signs that are sent to warn us of the truth. I wanted my Kissare so badly that I saw his face when it wasn't there. And then when he was back, I'd been so badly burned that I didn't believe in him or anything else, anymore. And especially not in something as cruel as love." She drew a ragged breath. "The saddest part, Medea? Our worst hells are always made by our own bad decisions."

  And that was what terrified her the most. "How do we know when we're making a bad decision?"

  Apollymi laughed bitterly. "That's the cruelest blow of all. We don't. It's only when we look back
that we see clearly where we went wrong."

  "So is it wrong to love?"

  A crystal tear rolled from Apollymi's eye and froze to her flawless cheek. "That was the question I asked when I was told that my love was the cause of a war that should never have started. Not once. But twice."

  And with that, she headed for her garden, where she could mourn for her son whose birth had been cursed and who'd been torn from her arms by the prejudices and vindictiveness of others.

  Life was cruel. Medea knew that better than anyone. It made no sense. There was no rhyme. No reason. Misery spared no one. Injustice baptized everyone equally, without prejudice or mercy. Sooner or later, death would come calling. Pain would stalk all hearts.

  That was the nature of the beast.

  Yet, she still had hope and she didn't know why.

  It made no sense to her. Truly, it didn't. If anyone had a reason to lie down and surrender to the utter despair that was life, she would be the one.

  And still ...

  She blamed Davyn for this stupid optimism that wouldn't perish or go away.

  And speaking of, she wanted to go check on him. If for no other reason, she suddenly felt a deep compunction to kick his ever-cheerful ass.

  Yeah, that would definitely make her feel better. His neck in her hands ...

  In fact, every step that carried her closer to his room ... and his throat, brightened her spirits. Along with the thought of beating him senseless.

  As soon as she reached his door, she knocked on it. "Hey, Dav?"

  Without thinking, she pushed it open, then drew up short as she saw that he wasn't alone.

  He was with a woman. Which was really, really, really strange.

  Because Davyn was completely gay. In every sense of the word. And not only was Davyn naked in his bed with the woman on top of him.

  The unknown woman was happily feeding from his thigh. In fact, she was so giddy, she was smacking.

  Dumbfounded and horrified, Medea started to back up and leave them in peace. But just as she did so, she caught the slight, barely audible squeak from Davyn.

  "Help me," he breathed.

  Yeah, that sounded more like a safe word or phrase.

  Medea clutched at the doorknob, unsure if she should intervene or not. "Davyn?"

  The woman looked up and hissed at her with a pair of glazed, feral eyes. Blood dripped from her chin and fangs.

  Pale and weak, Davyn didn't seem to be enjoying it. Rather, he appeared more like someone turning gallu.

  Okay, this was all kinds of wrong.

  "Get off him, she-bitch!" Medea rushed forward, intending to kill his attacker.

  As Medea grabbed the woman's arm and pulled her back, Davyn caught her hand in a surprisingly strong grip to keep her from making a lethal strike.

  Stunned, she gaped at him. "What are you doing?"

  The woman broke free of her grasp and scrambled for the door.

  His breathing ragged, he shook his head. "You can't ... kill her."

  "Why ever not?"

  "It's Urian's Phoebe. Kill her and he'll never forgive you!"

  18

  Those unexpected words floored Medea and leashed her claws as she stared at the open door through which the Daimon had just vanished.

  Urian's Phoebe?

  It couldn't be. There was no way.

  Davyn staggered away from her to reach for a blanket so that he could cover himself while that name sunk in past her sudden stupor.

  Stunned beyond belief, Medea stood there, gaping.

  No ...

  Wasn't possible.

  Lots of women were named Phoebe. Right?

  Yeah, but he'd said Urian's Phoebe.

  "You don't really mean Urian-Urian's Phoebe."

  Pale and shaking, Davyn wrapped the blanket around his lean waist. His caramel skin had a grayish tint. Obviously shaken, he sat down on the bed and raked a trembling hand through his tousled blond hair. "I don't know how, either. Like you, I thought I was dreaming at first ... but it was her. I'd know her anywhere. Saw her many times over the years. It was her, beyond all doubt."

  Her thoughts reeled. "It can't be. My father killed her." That was what everyone had been told.

  Everyone.

  "That's what I thought, too. It's what we were all told. Yet I know what I saw, Medea. I met her when she lived in the commune. Many times when I went there with Urian." He wiped at his thigh, smearing the blood over his skin. "I swear to the gods, it was Phoebe. I know it was. I even felt her scrambled thoughts while she fed from me."

  She sank down on the bed to sit beside him. "Was she brought back somehow?"

  It could happen. In their world? Weird was normal. Impossible doable.

  "I don't know. I mean how could they? We disintegrate on death, right? But that was her body. Not someone else's they used to host her soul."

  Yeah. Daimons turned into a gold dust that quickly scattered whenever they died. While their souls could be brought back from the grave, they required a new body to house them in. It was impossible to put them back into their disintegrated body, since it was gone.

  To her knowledge, not even the gods could do that.

  Scowling, she looked over at him. "Are you okay?"

  "I don't know, Chicken Little," he repeated. His features were even paler now. His expression turned sinister. "This will destroy Urian when he finds out. There's no telling how he'll cope with the news."

  She wasn't so sure about that. "Will it? All he wants is Phoebe back."

  "Yeah, but that wasn't her. I mean it is. But..." He ground his teeth. "She's not right anymore. That wasn't the same woman he knew."

  "Gallu?"

  He pulled the blanket back so that she could see the bite mark on his thigh. "I don't think so. Wouldn't I be turning into one by now if she was one of them?"

  She had no idea. That wasn't her pantheon, so she didn't know what rules governed their species. "I need to get you to Falcyn. He'll know the answers."

  "Falcyn?"

  "He's the one I brought here to help us. Get dressed. He's with my father right now, healing them. I'll take you to him and we can ask. If anyone knows about gallu, he will."

  After all, his brother, Dagon, was part of their pantheon and Falcyn was older than dirt's second cousin. Surely he'd been around when the gallu were originally active and fighting against the Charonte and gods.

  Her thoughts skipping and dancing over this new turn of events, she went outside the room while Davyn pulled his clothes on. Yet while she waited, only one thought kept playing in her head on an endless loop.

  Phoebe is alive.

  It boggled her mind. This changed absolutely everything. She had no idea how Urian would react to this. He'd hated her father for so long now because they'd all been told Stryker had killed Urian's wife in a fit of anger.

  But what if he hadn't....

  What if something else had happened to her. Something Stryker couldn't stop?

  Damn.

  What would Urian do then? Who would he hate more?

  *

  Sitting at a small round table at the Cafe Du Monde in New Orleans, Dikastas looked up from his coffee and beignets as a shadow fell over him and blocked his view of the pedestrian mall where he liked to watch the tourists while they shopped and strolled along the busy street.

  It was even worse than what he'd initially imagined for the interruption--some poor panhandler begging for spare change or an annoying ass wanting directions.

  A pouting Girl Scout peddling some overly sweet cookies.

  Oh no, those nightmares would be far preferable to this pestilent beast who brought with him a sickening sensation that caused Dikastas's jaw to fall slack. Indeed, he wouldn't have been more shocked or stunned to find Apollymi herself standing there, glaring hatred at him.

  He choked down his bite of the sugary confection and took a drink of coffee to clear his throat. "Apollo ... to what do I owe this..." He searched for an appropriate word.


  Honor definitely didn't fit.

  Horror, not really.

  Inconvenience would be the most apropos, but since Dikastas was the Atlantean god of justice, moderation, and order, he had a bit more tact than to say that out loud, as it would cause conflict and strife. So he left it open to the Greek god's interpretation while he wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, then gestured at the small metal chair across from him.

  Apollo accepted the invitation without hesitation. "What a peculiar place to find you. I actually thought Clotho was lying when she told me where you were living these days."

  Little wonder that, given the fact that the vast majority of his pantheon was currently frozen as statues beneath Acheron's palace in Katateros--the Atlantean heaven realm. Because Dikastas had had the good sense to not cross Apollymi's wrath or Styxx's sword arm, he was one of the extreme few who'd been left free to roam the earth after Styxx, Acheron, Bethany, and Apollymi had broken buck wild on them all a few years back. "And how are my dear half-Greek nieces?"

  "Worthless as always."

  Dikastas didn't comment on that. Mostly because he agreed about the three Fates. What with their great stupidity and rash actions, they had accidentally damned the entire Atlantean race and pantheon in the blink of an eye. Jealous words spoken in a moment of fear against Acheron that had played out with devastating consequences for all the rest of them, especially the triplet goddesses.

  He cleared his throat and pinned Apollo with a cool stare. "You still haven't told me why you're here."

  After all, they weren't friends, or even friendly. In fact, they hated each other with a fiery zeal. Their pantheons had been mortal enemies, back in the day. And the only thing the two of them had in common was their blond hair.

  Literally.

  And even it wasn't the same shade. Apollo's was far more golden and his tended toward brown.

  "I want information."

  Dikastas cocked his brow. "The Fates couldn't give you what you wanted?"

  Apollo snorted. "As I said, they're basically worthless. What I need to know predates their births by a number of centuries and has to do with Apollymi and Kissare."

  Interesting ...

  A waitress came up to ask Apollo for an order.

  He sneered at her. "Do I look like I eat or drink shit? Begone from me, mortal scum!"

  Dikastas sighed at his angry words. So much for Apollo being a god of temperance. "That was unnecessary."

  "So is wasting my time!"

  Yet Apollo had no problem intruding on his zen and wasting his. Typical. But then Apollo had always been a selfish prick that way.