Stygian

  “Nothing.” Urian grabbed the backpack up. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?”

  Styxx nodded as he kept eating. “Urian? What’s this called?”

  It took Urian a second to realize that Styxx was as innocent about the world as he’d been when he was first made human. Damn, that was pathetic. “Spaghetti.”

  “It’s really good. Thank you.”

  “Parakaló.”

  Urian hated leaving Styxx alone. But once again, he found himself hiding a massive secret from those around him. Weird that this seemed to be some recurrent theme in his life and he didn’t know why. He’d done so much to avoid drama, yet that bitch kept hunting him down just to put stress on him he didn’t want.

  So here he was again.

  But what else was he to do? He couldn’t let the poor guy starve. Styxx needed help and it wasn’t in him …

  Yeah, okay, so maybe it was in him to turn his back on people and not care. Urian was a bastard that way. Yet there was something about Styxx that was so familiar. A kinship he couldn’t deny. Maybe because he looked so much like Acheron and he owed Acheron so much.

  Whatever it was, he found himself back in the temple where Styxx sat at the pool with his feet dangling into the water while he stared off into space, at nothing in particular.

  “Is this what you do at night?” Urian asked him.

  Styxx got up and pulled his jeans down. “There’s nothing else to do, really. Sometimes I go outside and stare at the moon.”

  “You must get a lot of sleep.”

  “Not really.”

  Urian couldn’t imagine living like this. And he’d always thought his life was lonely. “How are you not crazy?”

  Styxx snorted. “Who says I’m not?”

  Touché. Perhaps they all were. “I couldn’t take three days of this boredom without being stark-raving mad.”

  “As far as prisons go, trust me, this isn’t so bad. No one’s sticking hot brands on me or beating me, and I’m not chained to anything or drugged. Best of all, I don’t have to bend myself in half to lie down.”

  Urian cringed at what he was describing in a monotone, yet the scars on his body said that he spoke from absolute experience. “When were you a prisoner?”

  Styxx laughed bitterly. “Honestly? In the whole of my extremely long life, I’ve only spent roughly a high grand total of fourteen years where I wasn’t imprisoned for one reason or another.”

  That number staggered his mind and left him reeling. More than that, it left him furious on Styxx’s behalf. What the hell? “Imprisoned for what?”

  “Being born Acheron’s brother … well, except for when Apollo and the Atlanteans held me here. That was entirely my fault. Turns out, gods don’t like it when humans defeat them and invade their homelands. Who knew?”

  Urian had to sit down for a second on that one, especially when he remembered Apollymi’s reaction the day she’d seen his shield. And Styxx would have been just a kid …

  Where the hell were his parents?

  “Didn’t anyone love you?” He looked up at him.

  Styxx let out a bitter laugh and ignored his question. Instead, he swung his arm around the room. “Did you know this temple belonged to Bet’anya Agriosa … the Atlantean goddess of misery and wrath? The next temple on the right belonged to Epithymia, their goddess of desire. She was a royal fucking bitch. Vicious. Cold. Lived to hurt others. It always made me wonder if Aphrodite was anything like her.” He paused as he caught the pained expression on Urian’s face as he grappled with trying to reconcile the horror of Styxx’s life in his mind. And kept failing to do so. He just couldn’t imagine what this man had been through. “Sorry. I’m not used to having anyone to talk to.”

  Honestly, Urian wasn’t sure what to make of Styxx. From what Acheron had said of his brother, he’d expected some arrogant, demanding prick who looked at the people around him like they were dirt.

  The man in front of him was definitely not what Acheron had described. There was no arrogance in him, at all. If anything, given that he’d been born a prince to one of the richest kingdoms in the ancient world, and had been a young commander of one of the most successful armies, the bastard was exceedingly humble. He had a very quiet, suspicious nature more akin to Urian’s. He reminded Urian more of the gators that called the swamps home in Louisiana.

  Styxx kept his eyes on everything around him, assessing each corner and shadow as a possible threat. Though he seemed to be at ease, there was no doubt he could launch himself at someone’s throat and roll them under for the kill before they even saw him move.

  Yeah, Urian could easily see in Styxx the legendary general he’d read about. The one who didn’t complain over anything and who had sacrificed and sold his own personal effects to buy supplies for his men. Just the physical scars on his body alone made a mockery of the person Acheron thought him to be.

  This was not some pampered prince who’d been waited on hand and foot, and who expected the entire world to bow down to him. In over eleven thousand years, Urian had never seen any man more scarred. Even Styxx’s fingers and the backs of his hands said he’d lived a hard and harsh life. For that matter, Styxx barely had the use of his right hand. Two of his fingers, the pinkie and ring fingers, stayed permanently curled against his palm. And the other two didn’t fully extend.

  More remarkably still, there were just four scars on his face. And one of them was only noticeable if you paid close attention. He had a faint scar beneath his left eye. One that ran along his hairline across his forehead that was covered by his hair most of the time. One that slashed across his right eyebrow, and the one in the center of his upper lip where it’d been forcefully busted open so many times that it’d left a permanent divot and thick vertical line.

  The awful condition of Styxx’s body verified what he’d said about captivity. As did his knowledge of the temples. As with Kalosis, there was nothing left inside any of the buildings here to say whom they’d belonged to, and not even Acheron knew.

  But Styxx did.

  And what really screwed with Urian’s head was the fact that Styxx had been imprisoned for more than eleven thousand years. The duration of Urian’s long, long life. So he could easily appreciate exactly how many mind-blowing years that was.

  Alone.

  He would call the man a liar for that, but again, the scars and his calm acceptance of Acheron dumping him here and forgetting about him testified to the fact that Styxx was more than used to isolation and neglect. More than used to scrounging for scraps to eat.

  And all Styxx had asked him for was untainted drinking water.…

  Buddy, you get the prize bonus in my book. Urian still couldn’t believe how humble a request that was.

  “I brought you more food,” Urian said, trying to break the suddenly awkward silence.

  “It wasn’t necessary.”

  “Having seen the shit you had on your plate when I brought in the spaghetti, I’m going to respectfully disagree.” Urian headed back to the other room and, as a trained warrior himself, didn’t miss the fact that Styxx kept a lot of empty space between them. He also walked at an angle so that he could see if Urian was reaching for a weapon.

  The way Styxx did it, it was hardwired into him. That, too, made a mockery of the pampered-prince bullshit.

  At least until he saw what Urian had brought in a large plastic box, and then Styxx relaxed his protocol and rushed forward.

  “Bread?” he whispered.

  “Yeah, that’s the white stuff in the plastic bag.”

  His expression said he hadn’t had bread in a long time. Urian imagined he must have looked like that the first time he saw daylight.

  He stepped back so that Styxx would look through the box and see what else it contained. The minute he was clear, Styxx rooted through the contents like Erik breaking into his presents on Christmas morning.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Urian picked up another box that he’d set on
the floor. “I have your water and more wine in this one. And I put candles and a lighter in here, too.”

  Styxx placed the lid on top of the box. “Thank you, but I won’t need those.”

  Urian glanced around the cave dubiously, and that was from a former Daimon who’d once called Kalosis home. “You sure? It’s really dark in here.”

  Styxx shrugged. “I’m used to it. Besides, if Acheron sees a light, there’s no telling how he’ll react, and I don’t want to fight with him. Most of all, I don’t want him to take away what little freedom I have.”

  Damn. For that, Urian wanted to beat Acheron’s ass. What kind of bad history did they have?

  But then, having fought off-and-on with his own brothers, and even his sister, he understood. It didn’t make his brothers or sister bad people, it just made them family. “Okay. I’ll … um … I’ll bring more food after tomorrow.”

  Styxx smiled at Urian. “Careful, you keep this up and I won’t have anything to occupy myself with.”

  Urian’s phone rang with Cassandra’s ring tone, though it could be Erik calling since he’d started using it to update him on his daily routines.

  Excusing himself, he pulled it out and turned it on to answer. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the cuter of the two on the other end. “Hey, Cass, is everything all right?”

  “It’s fine. Wulf and I had our babysitter crap out on us and Chris’s wife is sick. You know what that means. Big guy doesn’t want the kids near her for fear they might come down with something fatal. And I really would like to have one last night out before the little ones outnumber us.”

  Urian laughed. Neither their son Erik nor their daughter Phoebe had ever had a cold in their lives. And baby three, soon to be named Tyr, was due any second now, which was why he’d panicked when he answered. His first thought was that she’d gone into labor early. “Sure. I don’t mind babysitting. You know that. I love your rugrats.”

  “They love their Uncle Uri.” She’d no more said that than he heard Erik in the background begin chanting, “Uncle Uri’s coming!” Then his nephew started a happy war cry that warmed Urian’s heart and simultaneously saddened it to a level Cassandra would never understand, as it reminded him of all the other nieces and nephews he’d never see again.

  “I’ve got to go run that one down, Uri. He’s off the chain. Love you! See you soon.”

  “Yeah, see you soon. Love you, too.” He hung up and slid the phone back in his pocket.

  “Your wife?” Styxx asked.

  “My wife’s sister.”

  “Ah. So does your wife live in the main temple with you?”

  Well, that question sucked every last bit of joy and humor out of his year. His stomach tight, Urian reached to touch Phoebe’s necklace. “No. She died.”

  “I am extremely sorry. I know how hard that is.”

  While Urian had no doubt Styxx had seen his share of pain and then some, the guilt he felt over that night was its own special form of eternal hell that he could never reconcile. No matter how hard he tried. No matter what he did. It all came down to one harsh, bitter truth … “I appreciate it, but I had a very special bond with my Phoebe, and she was killed when I should have been there to protect her.”

  Styxx drew a ragged breath. “I do know your pain, Urian. My wife was murdered by Acheron’s mother while she was pregnant with our first child. And I have absolutely nothing left of them, except my memories.”

  Wincing at the nightmare Styxx carried, Urian dropped his gaze to his arm, where Styxx had carved two names into his own flesh. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who they were or why Styxx had done it. And how much pain that man held in his heart to have inflicted that much harm on himself because of it. “Bethany and Galen?”

  He nodded. “I had no other way to honor them. I never even got to see their bodies.” He cleared his throat. “You need to go to your family. Don’t keep them waiting.”

  Yeah, if anyone ever understood his pain where Phoebe was concerned, Urian had found him. In that, they were joined in a very sad and pathetic brotherhood of misery. “What about you?”

  Styxx laughed. “I assure you, I’ll be here when you get back.”

  Yeah, he guessed he would at that.

  Urian gave him an ancient salute that Styxx quickly returned, and then Urian left to head up the hill. But with every step he took, he had a strange feeling. Like he knew Styxx from somewhere. The man was so familiar to him.

  He’s Acheron’s twin, dumbass.…

  There was that.

  And it wasn’t like you didn’t obsess over him as a kid or anything. He laughed as he remembered his father banning him from even saying Styxx’s name in his presence.

  “If I hear you speak of that Didymosian bastard one more time, Urian, I will beat you until you can’t sit down. And stop dressing like him! He was an enemy to Atlantis and Apollymi.”

  For that matter, Urian had Styxx’s phoenix emblem tattooed on his biceps. Best not to ever let Styxx see that, though. It might freak him out. But then Urian was used to keeping it covered. It’d been another thing that had enraged his father.

  Much like his shield.

  I just excel at pissing off everybody.

  Urian paused to look back at the dark temple. Had he not been out for a walk earlier and heard the faint splashing, he’d have never known Styxx was in there. And he’d almost ignored it and kept going. Only his centuries of honed senses and incessant need to check and lock down his perimeter had caused him to investigate the foreign noise.

  Wow. As he resumed the path to the main temple, he couldn’t understand Acheron’s reasoning where Styxx was concerned. Having lost all his brothers, he’d give anything to see one of them again. Even Archimedes, who’d bullied and shoved him to the point where Urian had wanted to rip his heart out, more times than not. The two of them could barely be in a room and not walk out bruised from the unfortunate event.

  Still he’d welcome that asshole back if he could.

  Dang, Ash. Who in their right mind throws out a perfectly good brother?

  October 24, 2008

  With his arms crossed over his chest, Urian frowned at Ash while Ash sat on his throne in Katateros and played his shiny black Warlock guitar.

  A few feet away from them, Simi lay on her stomach, watching QVC as she devoured a tub of barbecue-flavored popcorn. Dressed in black tights and a short plaid skirt with a pink-and-black peasant top and corset, she had her feathered wings draped around her and her tail kept drifting over to poke at her sister during the commercial breaks.

  Because apparently annoying your sibling wasn’t just something humans did.

  Ignoring the demons, Urian moved to where Alexion stood off to the side, with the same exact expression on his face that Urian had. The one that said Ash was the supervillain who’d been dropped in a vat of acid and they were waiting for his anti-hero powers to manifest and destroy the world.

  ’Cause face it, for thousands of years, Alexion had been the only person Ash had allowed in his home besides Simi. Of course, that had been out of profound guilt since Alexion had been one of the first Dark-Hunters Artemis created. And when Ash had tried to make Alexion human again to return him to his family, Ash had royally fucked it up.

  To spare Alexion an eternity of extreme pain and torture, the best Acheron could do for him was an eternity spent in a quasi-ghost existence by using his own blood to bind Alexion here.

  Too bad Savitar hadn’t explained those powers to Ash sooner. It would have saved both of them a lot of grief.

  But at least Alexion wasn’t in constant pain and misery. And now he had Danger here for company.

  Yet that wasn’t what Urian found disturbing.

  Oh no … Not by a long shot.

  In all the centuries he had lived, the most terrifying thing ever was the fact that the leader of the Dark-Hunters—the head badass, son of the Destroyer, was sitting there playing …

  “ ‘Push’?” By Matchbox Twenty? Seriously?
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  Urian stared aghast at Alexion. “What’s the deal with the bossman?”

  Alexion shrugged. “I don’t know. He came in last night with a book, went to his room to read, I suppose, and then he came out here this morning and has been playing … those songs ever since.”

  Urian was stunned. Those songs were ballads, which Acheron never played.

  Godsmack, Sex Pistols, T.S.O.L., Judas Priest, but not …

  “Is that …” Urian physically cringed before he spat out the name, “Julio Iglesias?”

  “Enrique.”

  Urian grimaced in horror. Both at the fact that Acheron was playing it and that Alexion knew it. “I didn’t even know he knew any mellow shit. Dear gods … is he ill?” Was the world coming to an end?

  ’Cause if it was, he had some stuff he needed to pack and e-mails and Internet history to delete.

  “I don’t know. In nine thousand years, I’ve never seen him like this before.”

  Urian shuddered. “I’m beginning to get scared. This has to be a sign of the apocalypse. If he breaks out into Air Supply, I say we sneak up on him, drag him outside, and beat the holy shit out of him.”

  Alexion snorted. “I’ll let you and the demons do that. I personally like my semiliving state too much to jeopardize it.”

  Ash looked up and pierced them both with a malevolent glare. “Don’t you two girls have something better to do, like pick toe lint?”

  Urian gave him a taunting grin. “Not really.”

  Ash growled a low warning, and just as he appeared ready to tear into them, his phone rang. Leaning his head back, he sighed in frustration.

  Urian smirked at Alexion. “Five dollars it’s Artemis.”

  Alexei checked his watch. “This time of day, it’s a Hunter. You’re on.”

  Urian frowned as they watched him closely. “Well, he’s not getting pissed, so it’s definitely not Aunt Artie.”

  “Yeah, and the tic hasn’t started in his jaw, so I don’t think it’s a Hunter … what the hell?”

  Acheron ignored them. “What time?”

  They both exchanged an exaggerated gape at his unorthodox question.