Stygian

  Her once beautiful face was contorted into a condemning sneer, yet remained intense and terrifying. Her mercury eyes seared in the dim light.

  Truly, the goddess of destruction had long ago abandoned this place and not looked back.

  Damn it!

  Not that it mattered. He couldn’t go home until nightfall. So he might as well attempt this. Not like he had anything else to lose, other than six more years of misery.

  Praying for a miracle he doubted would ever come, Stryker headed for the broken altar that stood at the foot of the broken statue where the goddess sat upon an ebony throne made of skulls and roses. With eyes of chipped silver, she stared down at him as if she could see straight through his very soul.

  Maybe she could.

  Since Stryker was born of a god and had visited them many times over the years, he’d never been nervous in the presence of divinity before. Yet something about this one made him extremely uneasy. Perhaps it was her ruthless reputation.

  Or something more. A sense of foreboding that said her reputation wasn’t one of boasting, like his father’s. That hers was actually understated.

  Either way, he swallowed hard as he lifted his arms to invoke her.

  “Apollymi Magosa Fonia Kataastreifa …” He cut open his forearm and made a blood offering on her altar to let her know that he was most serious in this matter. “If you can hear me, my goddess. I have come in answer to your summons, and I implore your divine aid. Please, akra … I need you and I offer you my life, my soul, and my sword. For all eternity.”

  Nothing happened.

  Why should it?

  He was half Greek and her enemy. For centuries, his people had warred against hers. Why should an Atlantean goddess care what happened to him and his children when his own father didn’t?

  You knew this was bullshit. You shouldn’t have bothered.

  Disgusted that he’d ever believed for a moment that someone, anyone, would help, he started for the doors, intending to try to find a way home again.

  “Why did you wait to come here, son of Apollo?”

  Stryker froze at the sound of a fierce, yet melodic voice. One that sent shivers over him.

  As he began to turn back toward the statue, the temple doors flew open. A fierce wind plastered his clothes against his body and forced him to grab the column at his side to keep from being blown outside into the deadly rays of the sun. Out of the dark shadows appeared the outline of a tall, graceful woman.

  One with glowing eyes made of swirling silver. They were filled with a fury that matched the rage in his own heart.

  Ribbons of white-blond hair twisted around her body as if they had a life of their own. She appeared wild and fierce in a ghost, wraith form, the very epitome of the ruthless goddess she was purported to be.

  “Goddess Apollymi?”

  She curled her lips. “You think another would dare step her foot inside my temple and dare my wrath?”

  Given her temperament? Only if they were profoundly stupid.

  “Now answer my question, Greek dog!”

  Stryker met her gaze levelly, knowing that this particular goddess couldn’t abide cowardice in any form. “I delayed because I thought you were asking me here to kill me. And I apologize profusely, akra, if that was an incorrect assumption. Now, I’ve come to ask your guidance and benediction. I throw myself on your mercy.”

  She laughed. It rolled through her temple like thunder and caused part of the ceiling to crash down around him, threatening his life with more daylight as it streaked ever closer to his body.

  But he was desperate enough to pay it no heed. “Please, akra. I come here to beg vengeance against my father.”

  Her laughter died instantly. “Why should I believe you?”

  “Because I’m also the son of the Atlantean queen he slaughtered.”

  “You never knew Xura. Your father took you from her womb before you were born, and you were raised in Greece among his priestesses. Why should you have loyalty to your mother or to me?”

  Stryker flinched at the truth. But there was a lot more to it than that. His childhood had never been happy. In truth, it’d been bitter and miserable. One he held against his father and hated him for. “Among women who lived in terror of my father and his capricious moods, and who had no love of me because of him. Only fear that I might prove no better a man than what sired me. I assure you, akra, I hold no loyalty to any of them. They never brought me anything other than heartbreak and misery.”

  The wind settled down as she raked a suspicious glare over his body. She swept him from head to toe as if trying to gain insight to his character. “You come to me with an offer of loyalty while telling me that you’re loyal to none?”

  She was right. He’d never given it to anyone. The closest he’d ever come was Zephyra. His first wife had been the one he’d intended to die beside. To this day, he owed his fealty solely to her.

  But his father had seen to it that he’d had no other choice than to let her go. More to the point, that Stryker had been forced to make Phyra hate him forever.

  “I freely admit that I’m worthless, akra.” Stryker drew a ragged breath at a truth he didn’t want to face. “In all honesty, I care nothing for myself or anyone else … except for my children. They’re all I have that I value.”

  He prayed that she saw the truth of his heart in his eyes. “And my father has damned them. I beg you, please spare them, and I will do anything you ask me. And I mean anything at all. Take my life. My soul. Whatever it is you ask, I will do without hesitation. Just don’t let them die. Not like this. Not for something they took no part in. Again, I beg you, akra. And I have never begged for anything. Not from anyone.”

  “And that is why I called to you, Strykerius. I knew we could come to an accord. That our hatred for Apollo would be enough to bind us.”

  With a sweeping grace, she crossed the room so that she could stand before him. There was a light that shone from her so bright that it was almost blinding to his Apollite eyes, and it forced him to lift his hand up to shield them.

  Her ghostly fingers cupped his chin. “Aye, Strykerius. I can show you how to live past Apollo’s decree and thwart his curse. But the cure is ofttimes worse than the malady. However, if you are brave enough, and can suffer the taste of it, you and your children will have life eternal. Walk by my side and serve me, and I will show you how to claim the entire world. Together, we will rebuild what they’ve destroyed. Fight with me and the world shall belong to the Atlantean gods once more, and the Greeks will choke to death on our wrath.”

  The hairs on the back of his neck prickled at her words. Bargains with the gods never worked out well for the weaker party. He knew that better than anyone.

  Yet for his children, he would barter with the darkest powers in existence.

  Apollymi.

  “I will do as you say, akra”—he made sure to use the Atlantean word for “lady and mistress” to placate her ego—“Forever.”

  A warm smile curved her lips as she manifested a beautiful golden chalice. With one long black nail, she cut open her wrist and bled into it, then offered it to him. “Drink, m’gios. If you dare. And I shall reveal my realm to you. There you and your children and people can live where the daylight will never again harm you. From this day forward, you shall be as my son. A member of my pantheon, and an Atlantean god. I will show you the key to Apollo’s destruction, and together we will make your father pay and you will regain everything he took from you.”

  Stryker wrapped his cold hand around her cup and nodded. “Here’s to the future. May it rain nothing save the blood of the gods and humanity for all eternity.”

  June 29, 9527 BC

  Apollymi froze as she heard Strykerius’s panicked voice shouting for her aid. Throughout her despised Kalosis hell realm, all was quiet instead of the loud celebration that had been taking place only moments before.

  For days now, the remnants of the Apollite race who’d agreed to join Strykerius for th
eir war on humanity had descended here to pick out homes and start new lives in this realm where Apollo’s deadly sunlight could never reach them.

  As they settled in, Strykerius had been busy with the birth of his twin sons—the first Apollites born after their grandfather’s curse.

  Now something was terribly wrong.

  She flashed herself to Strykerius’s side where he and his wife had taken up residence in the smaller temple next to hers. Hellen lay in their bed, still too weak to stand after birthing her sons.

  While his wife held one infant in her arms, Strykerius stood to the side with Urian—the baby that Apollymi had ripped from Bethany and placed in Hellen’s womb so that the Greek whore could birth him without anyone else knowing. It was a secret Apollymi intended to keep to herself forever.

  Yet by the stern frown on Strykerius’s face, Apollymi knew something had gone wrong with the child she’d hand-chosen to be her vengeance upon the world.

  “What is it?”

  His face ashen, Strykerius drew a ragged breath. “We’re losing my son.”

  The grief in his voice tugged at her heart, and that caused her fury to rise. Urian would not die. Apollymi had made a vow to that.

  Before she could rethink her actions, she took the baby from his hands. He was much smaller than the other infant they’d named Paris. Because of the disaster that had come from her combining Apostolos’s life force with Styxx’s, Apollymi had refused to do that with Paris and Urian—she would never again make that mistake. Instead, she’d bonded Urian to Paris’s and Strykerius’s DNA only enough to mask the baby’s origins, never knowing that Apollo would be cursing them just hours later when she did so.

  Sadly, prophecy and foresight weren’t among her powers.

  Yet now that she stared down at the infant who struggled to live, she wondered if she’d made a grave mistake in not tying his life force to that of his twin brother.

  For Strykerius was right. Unlike Paris, Urian wasn’t thriving.

  She glanced over to his brother, who was pushing away from his mother’s breast and fussing about it. An odd thought occurred to her. “How much has he eaten?”

  “Nothing.” Hellen choked on a sob. “Neither has Paris. They both refuse to suckle.”

  Apollymi wanted to curse the woman’s stupidity. But then, she was a Greek. Intelligence from her was too much to hope for. “They don’t want your milk, human,” she spat at her.

  She lifted her index finger to her lips and bit the tip until she broke the skin. Then she placed it into Urian’s mouth.

  He opened his dark eyes and quickly began to suckle her fingertip as he quieted down. Color returned to his skin.

  Apollymi let out a relieved breath. She was right.

  Apollo was a bastard.

  Grateful that she’d saved this child, Apollymi withdrew her finger before her blood mutated the babe further. As it was, it turned his dark eyes to blue.

  Relieved that his life was spared, she handed him to Strykerius. “He needs Apollite blood to drink. They both do. Because of the curse, they can’t suckle the breast milk of a human mother.”

  Strykerius sighed in gratitude. “I hadn’t thought of that. Thank you, akra.”

  She inclined her head to him. “Tell the others with newborns. Most likely they will all need blood with their mother’s milk, even if their mothers are Apollites. No doubt your father intended for the infants to die off.”

  Apollo was a heartless prick like that.

  Tears swam in Apollymi’s eyes as she remembered the way she’d found her own son …

  Gutted by Apollo’s callous hand. Dumped into the sea for the beasts to feast upon.

  She clamped her teeth together to keep from screaming as the need for vengeance rose up and demanded she rip out Apollo’s heart and devour it. Something that would damn the very world into oblivion. And she would gladly see it burn. Gladly rip down every god in existence. That would be the only thing that would placate this pain in her heart.

  Utter destruction.

  Patience, dear Braith. Patience. Akou aimassorai, ni adayakopa’ia—Though I am the one bleeding, I will not be broken.

  Anekico ler aracnia—Victory to the spider.

  The one good thing to come from Apollo’s curse was that the Apollites aged much faster than humans now. It wouldn’t take Urian eighteen to twenty years to reach maturity.

  He’d be there in only ten.

  Then he would be ready to train for war and she could send him after her enemy.

  One day, Urian would bring her the head of Apollo.

  And return her sons to her, as well.

  August 9, 9524 BC

  “Can you see it? Is it there? Can you see the sunlight, Urian?”

  His heart thumping with nervous anticipation, Urian grimaced at the brightness. Holding his breath, he peeked around the corner of the crevice where he and his twin brother were hidden by the deep, dark shadows that had protected them all their young lives. Against all rules and dictates, and dire consequences and threats, they’d snuck out from the portal hours ago and had waited for the dawn to come.

  Now it was upon them and they couldn’t wait to finally see what no Apollite their age or younger had ever seen before.

  The sun!

  “I think so, Paris.” Urian’s heart rate picked up its pace as he smiled in eager anticipation. All his life, he’d dreamed of this moment.

  Seeing daylight!

  Just once. He could only dream of its warmth. The brightness. The glowing magick of it. They all tried to imagine what it was like. Their parents had tried to explain it, but it wasn’t the same as actually experiencing it for himself.

  A simple thing, really, when one thought about it. Humans saw it all the time. Even cockroaches and rodents. But for those like him and Paris, those born to the Apollite race, it was forbidden.

  Now they were on a tantalizing quest. To discover this unknown secret that humans possessed.

  Urian had to know what it was.

  Even if his father beat him black and blue for defying their laws, it would be worth every blow.

  “What’s it look like?”

  “Golden.” Like Paris’s hair.

  Even though they were twins, they weren’t identical. Urian’s hair was colorless white, while his brother held the enviable shade that others preferred and often remarked upon as perfection.

  The only thing Urian was perfect at was finding trouble.

  And he found that a lot.

  “Strange.”

  “What is, Uri?”

  “The sun,” he mumbled.

  “How so?”

  For one thing, it was much smaller than he’d thought. Screwing his face up, he tilted his head to study it with a stern frown. “It seems to be moving. Coming closer.”

  Too close, he realized with an alarmed gasp.

  “How so?”

  Ah, crap! That’s not the sun! Panicking, Urian squeaked and turned toward Paris only to discover they had nowhere to run for safety.

  “Uri?”

  He clamped his hand over Paris’s mouth and dragged him tight against the wall to hold him there.

  “Paris! Urian!”

  He winced at his father’s deep, guttural growl. Aye, he knew that tone well. As did Paris. It was so fierce and angry that it caused his brother to instantly wet himself.

  And Urian’s leg in the process.

  Disgusted, he shoved Paris away out of habit. Only to remember too late why he’d been holding him to begin with.

  Urian silently cursed both their stupidities.

  “There you are!” His father’s steps headed straight for them. “Where’s your brother?”

  Paris instantly pointed in his direction and outed him. Faithless turd! Unlike his best friend Davyn, Paris had never held any loyalty whatsoever. He’d turn in anyone to save his own skin.

  Growling low in the back of his throat, their father handed Paris off to Trates, his second-in-command, before he snatched
Urian out of his spot so that he could glare down at him with a glower that had set even their fiercest warriors fleeing in terror. And who could blame them? Almost seven feet tall, Strykerius was a massive, muscular beast of a male. The son of the god Apollo, he held even more powers than the rest of their cursed race. And while all Apollites and Daimons were born fair-haired, his father had chosen to dye his long locks jet black. Something that made him appear even more sinister and lethal than all the others combined.

  But Urian was braver than most. Lifting his chin, he faced his father in spite of his fear and blinked slowly. He kept his hands at his sides, clutched into fists, even though he knew his spanking was imminent.

  “You know I’m going to beat you for this transgression.”

  Urian nodded. “I expected no less.”

  “Three lashes for every year you’ve lived.”

  “I’ll survive nine strokes.”

  “From Trates.”

  Fierce and loyal, Trates never hesitated at anything his father asked of him. Urian knew those lashes would hurt, yet they would cut him as much as they did Urian, for Trates couldn’t stand harming a child. That weakness was something his father hated about his second, and it was one he tried constantly to strip out of his soldier.

  Urian couldn’t stand the thought of harming Trates for something that had been his bad idea. It wasn’t fair that they both should suffer. “From Xedrix.”

  His father’s jaw dropped. “The Charonte demon?”

  Urian nodded. “He won’t pull back from the punishment. It’s what you want, is it not?”

  That set his father back and caused his jaw to drop even more. “By the gods, you are a cheeky little bastard, aren’t you?”

  “Cut from the same cloth as my baba … at least it’s what Mata tells me.”

  One corner of his father’s lips curved upward in wry amusement as his anger seemed to flee. “At least I know that’s not your piss on your leg.… Paris’s?”