Acheron (Dark-Hunter #15)(38)
Author: Sherrilyn Kenyon

He sucked his breath in sharply as the sheet rubbed against his ni**les. The pleasure was excruciating. But he refused to touch himself.

He didn’t want release or any kind of pleasure. He just wanted peace.

More than that he wanted to be touched by someone who gave a f**k about him. And that certainly wasn’t him.

November 12, 9528 BC

Acheron sat outside on his balcony, letting the chill winds freeze him as he realized his sister was in the window watching him. He motioned for her to come outside.

Her teeth started chattering immediately. "It’s freezing out here."

"Feels good to me." He was actually sweating.

Ryssa narrowed her eyes suspiciously as she neared him. "What have you done?"

"I’ve done nothing. Absolutely nothing." He barely had the strength to eat.

She shook her head in anger. "You’ve been taking those drugs again, haven’t you?"

Acheron looked away.

She gripped his face in her hand and forced him to look at her. "Why would you do such a thing?"

"Don’t start on me, Ryssa."

"Acheron, please," she said, her voice strained as she released him. "You’re killing yourself."

He wished. Glancing down, he turned his wrist out to look at the perfect unblemished skin. There was no trace of the cut that had severed his skin and veins. "I can’t kill myself. The gods know I’ve tried. There’s no way out for me so here I sit, biding my time until the gods end my life, while I try to stay out of everyone’s way."

She brushed the hair back from his eyes. "You look terrible. When was the last time you bathed?"

He shoved her away, angry over the question. "The last time I bathed, I was accused of rape and then castrated. No offense, I’d rather smell."

She shook her head. "When was the last time you ate?"

"I don’t know." He scratched at the beard on his cheeks. "What difference does it make? It’s not like Father’s going to let me starve to death. I’ll eat when I have to. When they make me."

The next thing he knew, Ryssa reached up and grabbed his ear in a tight pinch. "You’re going to eat right now."

"Hey!" Acheron snapped, but she refused to let go. With a determined grip, she pulled him from the railing and forced him to follow her to her room. She was so much smaller than him that he was bent almost double and had to struggle to keep up with her frenetic steps. "You do know that I’m bigger than you," he reminded her.

"Yes, but I’m meaner and madder." She snatched her hand away, making a lasting sting on his lobe.

Frowning, he rubbed his ear.

She pointed at her dressing table where a plate of fruit, bread and cheese rested. "Sit down and eat. Now!"

"Yes, Your Majesty." As Acheron reached for a bit of cheese, he caught his reflection. Sunken eyes, tinged by red stared out from an unkempt man. His beard was ragged, his cropped hair shaggy. He looked like an old man instead of a youth.

That was okay, he felt even older than he looked. Averting his gaze, he placed the cheese in his mouth while Ryssa poured him a goblet of wine.

She left him to walk over to the door that led to her maid’s quarters. "Nera? Would you have them draw me a bath in my room? And find me a razor."

Acheron didn’t speak as he ate. Honestly, he was starving. The maids hadn’t been bringing food for him and he didn’t dare go in search of it on his own given the way his father had reacted the last time he found him near the kitchen and dining room.

When Ryssa returned, she was holding Apollodorus. The baby smiled the moment he saw Acheron and reached for him.

Unable to deny him, Acheron took him into his arms. "Greetings, bit. How have you been?"

He squealed in response.

Acheron look up at Ryssa as she folded cloth for a diaper. "He’s grown since I last saw him."

"Yes, he has."

Acheron glanced at the baby’s thinning hair. "You’re getting bald too."

Ryssa laughed suddenly. "You did the same thing. All of your black hair fell out and then it came back in blond."

Apollodorus reached out and tugged at his beard.

Acheron held the baby out to Ryssa. "I’m too dirty to hold him."

"He doesn’t mind. He’s just glad to see his uncle again. He’s missed you."

He’d missed him too.

Acheron hugged the baby close even as he glared at his sister. "That’s unfair, Ryssa. You know what would befall me if Father ever found me here. And if he ever saw me near Apollodorus . . ."

She placed her hand on his shoulder. "I know, Acheron."

The door opened to admit servants who brought in a large tub and hot water. Ryssa took the baby while Acheron ate more.

Once the bath was ready, she left him alone.

With more enthusiasm than he wanted, Acheron sank into the steaming hot water and sighed. It’d been so long since he last had a bath that he’d almost forgotten how good it felt. Even so, it wasn’t worth the risk to him.

"I love you, Ryssa," he whispered. She was the only one who really cared about him. Artemis wanted to love him, but she was a goddess and hers was a selfish love-very much like Estes’s. So long as he pleased her, she was kind. Granted she was more giving than Estes had ever been, but there were still limits on what she’d do.

What hurt most with Artemis was the memory of how they’d been in the beginning. He craved that innocence on his part. That feeling that he’d meant something to her . . .

Trying not to think about it, he reached for the razor to finally scrape his cheeks smooth. Once he was finished, he dragged himself out of the tub and reached for his clean clothes.

After he was dressed, he knocked on the door to the maid’s room. "I’m finished. Thank you."

Ryssa joined him before she closed the door so the maid couldn’t hear them. "Please don’t take any more of your drugs, Acheron. I don’t like what they do to you." The concern in her pale blue eyes scalded him.

"I’ll wean myself."

"Promise?"

He nodded. "But only for you."

She smiled at him. "You look so much better. Anytime you want a bath, come here and I’ll have one drawn for you." She lifted herself up on her tiptoes to hug him.

Acheron gave her a squeeze, then withdrew. He’d stayed here too long already. They both knew the risk was too great for him to be in her chambers while the rest of the household was awake.

Entering his room again, he stared at the arc of Morpheus Root on his table.

Throw it out.

No, he couldn’t. He’d be sick again if he stopped cold. His existence was miserable enough without that. He’d do what he promised Ryssa. He’d wean himself back off it.

"Acheron?"

He tensed at Artemis’s voice. How did she know the precise moment to come see him?

Then again, she was a goddess.

"Greetings, Artie."

She flashed in behind him and wrapped her arm around his waist. "Mmm, you smell good."

It was the bath mixed with the drugs. "I just bathed."

Pulling back, she scowled at him. "You look strange. Are you ill?"

"No."

"Then come. I’m in the mood to dance."

As if he had a choice? But he wasn’t in the mood to be defiant. He was actually learning to avoid beatings and enjoying it.

Artemis took him to her temple. Acheron drew up short as he saw what she’d done to it. There were candles everywhere while the music played very low. A small feast had been laid out.

He frowned at her. "What is this?"

She offered him a tender smile. "It’s been a while since we’ve been together. I wanted it to be special tonight. Do you like it?"

He was too surprised to even think. "You did this for me?"

"Well, I certainly didn’t set romantic lighting for my brother or one of my koris." She went to the table and picked up a small box. "And I had Hephaestus make this for you."

Acheron was completely stunned as he stared at the box and what it signified. This was so out of character for her that for a moment he wondered if someone had knocked her in the head. "You have a gift for me?"

"Well, I wanted something to replace the ring. You can’t take this back with you, but you can leave it here to use when you visit me."

Curious, he opened the box to find a set of gold vambraces.

Artemis squeezed his forearm. "It’s for your wrists whenever we hunt. You never say anything, but I know the bowstring stings your wrist when you shoot. These will protect your skin and they’ll make sure the arrow always flies true to its mark."

It was so incredibly thoughtful and reminded him of how easy it’d been to give his heart to her. Why couldn’t she always be like this?

"Thank you, Artie."

"Does it make you happy?"

She was almost childlike in her effort to please him. Acheron brushed the hair back from her face so that he could kiss her cheek. "It makes me more than happy."

"Good. You’ve been so sad lately and I don’t like it when you’re sad."

Then why did she do the things she did that upset him? He didn’t understand it, but she was trying now. He wasn’t about to throw the past in her face.

He held his hand out to her. "Shall we dance?"

Smiling, she took his hand and allowed him to twirl her around. Her laughter filled his ears.

Acheron wanted desperately to feel her joy too. But there was nothing in him except a fleeting sense of relief that she wasn’t throwing him down and jumping on top of him. Of course he was still buzzed from the remnants of the Morpheus Root he’d taken a couple of hours ago. It was the part where his body was calm and he could function without being horny or sick.

Artemis leaned her head against his chest and sighed while they swayed to the low music.

Gods how he wanted to love her again. But he was so afraid of it. Every time he let his guard down, she hurt him. If she would just acknowledge them as friends to the world. Or allow him to know that he really did mean something to her.

Wanting her friendship back, he swallowed. "Artie?"

"Yes?"

"Would you spend tomorrow with me?"

She smiled happily. "I can come get you in the morning."

"Not here. In Didymos."

She pulled away from him. "I don’t know, Acheron. Someone could see us."

It always came down to that. "You can take other forms. You don’t have to look like you."

She let out a frustrated sigh. "Why is this important to you? Why not stay here with me?"

Don’t say it . . .

But he couldn’t help it. The drugs wouldn’t let him hold his tongue. "I don’t feel human here."

She scowled. "What?"

Acheron stepped away from her in indecision. Part of him didn’t want to tell her the truth, but the other was sick of hiding it from her. "Being here makes me feel like a pet dog. It’s like living in my uncle’s home in Atlantis. I’m not allowed to leave your bedroom unless you’re with me. I can’t go outside without your permission. It’s demeaning."

"Demeaning?" She narrowed her eyes on him. "You are in the temple of a goddess on Olympus. How in the name of Zeus could you be demeaned by that?"

You. Whore. Given her tone, the words were interchangeable. They struck him like a knife through his heart. "Forgive me, akra. It’s not my place to make requests of you."

She curled her lip. "Oh, stop with that sniveling tone. I hate it when you do that. Just get out."

He was immediately thrown back into his room. He looked around the plain furnishings and the dark shadows.

"I’m so sick of this."

Desperate for something to change, he grabbed his cloak and headed out of the palace, into the city. He didn’t pause until he reached Merus and Eleni’s home. The firelight flickered behind the closed shutters and he imagined the two of them inside, laughing and teasing.

Family.

He knew the word, but he didn’t really understand it. What it would be like to be welcomed home. To know that out there was one person who would die for him.

You will never find that here.

Acheron looked around the vacant street and remembered the day his father had thrown him out of Estes’s home. He’d wandered for months trying to find someplace to rest. Trying to find work. Everyone refused to hire him. At least for anything other than whoring.

You’re such a pretty thing . . . Let’s put that body to good use . . .

He cringed at the bitter memories that always haunted him. I want out.

And he’d tried to find that out. He’d gone to city after city, town after town and they’d all been the same. There was nowhere to go and no one who wanted him for a moment longer than it took for them to screw him. The only reason he’d returned here had been the memory of his sister and the one summer when he’d felt like a person and not an object.

Sick to his stomach, he looked up the hill to where the palace twinkled like a magical star.

And still those Atlantean voices whispered to him.

Come to us, Apostolos. Come home . . .

Acheron laughed bitterly. "Why? So you can f**k me like everyone else?"

There was nowhere for him to go. No escape from this torment. The only reason he had to live was for the two people in this world who didn’t judge him.

Ryssa and Apollodorus. May the gods have mercy on him if he were to lose them. He would never be able to go on should they leave this world without him.