Acheron (Dark-Hunter #15)(43)
Author: Sherrilyn Kenyon

Simi laid her head on Apollymi’s shoulder while Apollymi sang to her. "Why is akra sad?"

"I’m not sad, Simi. I’m anxious."

"Is anxious like when the Simi eats too much and her stomach hurts?"

Apollymi smiled and kissed the top of her head. "Not exactly. It’s when you can’t wait for something to happen."

"Ooo like when the Simi is hungry and she’s waiting on her matera to feed her."

"Something like that."

Apollymi felt a movement in the air. She looked to the shadows to see the outline of Xiamara’s body. For a full minute, she couldn’t move as she waited for her best friend to join her.

But there was a hesitancy to Xiamara that made her heart stop. "What is it?"

Xiamara held her hands out for Simi who gratefully went to her mother. The demon held her daughter as tears fell down her cheeks.

Apollymi felt her own eyes mist as fear gripped her. "Xi? Tell me."

She clenched her eyes closed while she continued to rock her daughter. "I don’t know how to tell you, akra."

The more she hesitated, the more fraught with worry Apollymi was. "Is he not well? I’m still a prisoner here so I know he lives."

"He lives."

"Does he not . . . love me?"

Xiamara shook her head before she set Simi down. "Go find your sister, Simi. I need to speak with akra alone."

Sucking her thumb, Simi skipped away from them.

When Xiamara faced her, Apollymi felt the blood drain from her cheeks. "What aren’t you telling me?"

Xiamara sniffed back her tears before she placed her hand on Apollymi’s shoulder and transferred the images Apostolos had given her. Disbelief and horror racked her as Apollymi saw what had been done to her child.

Those emotions gave way to a fury so profound, all she could do was scream. The sound of it echoed through the Palace of the Dead all of the way up to Katoteros where the rest of the gods made their home.

All activity stopped as the other Atlantean gods heard the sound of utmost heartache.

One by one, they turned to face Archon whose features blanched.

"Is she free?" Epithymia, the goddess of desire, asked.

Archon shook his head. "She’d be here already if she were free. No. Something else has happened. For now, we’re safe." At least he hoped so . . .

Apollymi staggered away from Xiamara as image after image branded itself into her mind. What the humans had done to her son . . .

"I will kill them all," she growled through clenched teeth. "Everyone who laid a hand to him will die in flames, begging for my mercy and I will have none for them. None!" She looked up at Xiamara. "And Archon will know the full weight of my wrath. There is nothing inside me for him now."

Xiamara tucked her black wings around herself. "But Apostolos refuses to accept what’s his. He refuses me."

"Go to him anyway, Xi. Comfort him and help him understand what he has to do. Tell him that when he comes to me all will be made right."

"I will try, akra."

Acheron lay in the darkness of his room, trying to breathe as he shook from the pain of his overwhelmed senses. Suddenly, he heard a soft, gentle voice in his head that drowned it all out. It was truly the most beautiful sound he’d ever known.

His breathing eased along with the fading pain.

"I am with you now, Apostolos."

"Who are you?"

"That is the voice of your mother."

He squinted in the dark to see the demon kneeling beside him. He curled into a ball, away from her. "I have no mother. She cast me aside when I was born."

"Ni, akri," the demon said softly. "I was the one who took you from your mother’s arms while she wept in fear for you. Your mother, Apollymi, hid you in the human realm to protect you from the gods who wanted you dead. I swear to you on my life. Neither of us ever meant for you to be harmed. You were supposed to be raised as a prince. Pampered. Beloved. None of this should have happened to you."

He found that impossible to believe. "I don’t understand. Why do the gods want me dead?"

"It was prophesied that you would be the end of the Atlantean gods. But you have to understand how much your mother loves you. She risked her life and defied the other gods to save you and keep you hidden until you were old enough to use your powers to fight them. Even now she sits imprisoned, wanting you to come to her. Free her, Apostolos and she will make right every wrong ever done to you."

"Make it right how?"

"She will destroy everyone who ever harmed you." The demon stroked his hair like the mother she described. "You are the most loved of any child ever born. Every day I have sat with your mother while she wept for your loss and ached to have you with her. Come home with me, Apostolos. Meet your mother."

He wanted to. And yet . . . "How do I know I can trust you?"

"Why would I lie?"

Everyone lied, especially to him. "For any number of reasons."

Xiamara. They come. Leave him quickly!

The demon shrank back from his bed. "The gods can’t find me with you or they’ll know who and where you are. Listen to your mother’s voice and I’ll return as soon as I can. Stay hidden, precious one." She vanished instantly.

Acheron lay alone, listening to the voices that tangled inside him. He heard laughter and tears, curses and screams.

Until his mother’s voice soothed him again. He focused on that single tone and closed his eyes as it drove away all the other voices that made his head throb.

Had the demon been telling the truth? Dare he believe for one moment that he was the beloved son of anyone?

Surely it was preposterous.

He cupped the necklace in his hand and studied it. Some kind of stone, it appeared milky and iridescent. Then he glanced to where his slave’s mark had been branded into his palm.

It was gone now without a single trace. How could this be?

I’m a god who was a slave . . .

Not just any slave. The lowest of all.

Acheron covered his eyes with his hand as shame overwhelmed him. And as he lay there, images tore through him . . . he saw the past, the present and the future through the experiences of thousands of people. He could hear their hopes and fears. Hear the very essence of the universe.

For the first time, he saw those who had it worse than he did. Those who seemed to have it better. The screams of mothers who’d lost their children. Children who had no parents. Beggars and kings . . .

Now he understood what Artemis had meant when she said she paid no attention to the human world. It was overwhelming. Horrifying. All these people who needed help and as he imagined helping them, he saw numerous outcomes play out in his mind.

But the one thing he couldn’t see was his own life.

Or Ryssa’s.

Not even Artemis. Why? It made no sense. As if any of this could possibly make sense. Acheron laughed at the absurdity of it all.

Opening his eyes, he realized that he was no longer on the ground. He was hovering over it. He gasped, then fell back to the floor. Pain shot through him as his skin again marbled to blue. His fingernails turned black and grew long . . .

Something wasn’t right. His body was now alien to him. He stared at the marbled skin, trying to understand why it would be such a color.

How could he hide this from his family? Do you want to? A sadistic laugh went through him as he imagined the look on his "father’s" face as he told him who and what he was.

"I’m a god."

Not half, but full-blooded. One with a bounty on his head, with an entire pantheon out to kill him. It was ridiculous. It defied belief, yet here he was . . . blue.

Acheron tried to get up, but a wave of dizziness sent him back to his knees. He looked at his bed, wishing he could make it to it. The next thing he knew, he was under the covers.

His eyes widened as the full implication of what he was hit him. He was a god with the same powers as Artemis.

Or maybe not. How did god powers work?

"Acheron?"

He tensed at the sound of Ryssa’s voice in the room with him. Glancing down, he saw that his skin was again normal and he was grateful that the blanket covered him completely. "Yes?"

"Are you ill?"

Technically no. He wasn’t even drunk anymore. "I’m just resting."

He felt her sit beside him on the bed and tug at the blanket. "Will you look at me?"

Terrified of what might happen while she sat there, he uncovered his head.

She smiled. "I haven’t seen you all day and wanted to give you this." She held a small box out to him.

Her gift made his throat tight. "Thank you." Returning her smile, he opened it to find a small medallion on a bracelet. It was the symbol of a sun with three lightning bolts piercing it. He frowned at the emblem that seemed eerily familiar.

"I know it’s strange, but I saw it in the market and it made me think of you. The jeweler said it was a symbol of strength."

"It’s Atlantean." The sun design was that of Apollymi . . . his mother.

I’ve made him sad. Why did I pick this one? Oh no . . .

He heard Ryssa’s thoughts in his head.

"It’s beautiful. Thank you."

She reached for it. "I can-"

He covered her hand with his. "I love it, Ryssa."

He’s only saying that. I’m so sorry, Acheron. I didn’t mean to pick out something Atlantean. How could I have been so stupid?

It was so disconcerting to hear her thoughts so clearly while she held a false smile in place.

"If you’re sure . . ."

He nodded. "I’m sure. Thank you," he repeated.

I’m such a fool. Here I tried to make sure he had at least one gift and I’ve ruined it with my stupidity.

The sincere love he felt in those words brought tears to his eyes. His sister really did love him . . . more than he’d ever guessed.

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. "You mean everything to me, Ryssa. You know that, don’t you?"

"I love you, Acheron." And I wish I could make this day as special as it should be for you. It’s not fair that you’re here alone.

"Ryssa!" Her father’s shout was enough to make Acheron glare at the door.

Ryssa frowned at him. Dear gods, what’s wrong with his eyes?

Acheron averted his gaze, scared of what they might look like now. His body was still normal, but what of his eyes?

His door slammed opened to reveal her father. "What are you doing here? It’s time to toast your brother."

She stood up and lifted her chin. "I was giving my brother his gift."

"Don’t you dare be impertinent. Your presence is required. Now."

"Go, Ryssa," Acheron breathed. "Your father wants you."

You godless whore.

Acheron laughed at the king’s thoughts. If the man only knew . . .

The last word anyone could use to describe him was godless. He had gods coming for him out of the woodwork.

The king didn’t move as Ryssa stepped past him. He stood in the doorway, glaring his anger at Acheron. "So you’ve finally given up calling me your father?"

Acheron shrugged. "Believe me, I know you’re not my father. And I’m sure your son is waiting below to hear your most precious ode to him."

Chapter 20

He must be drunk. "You’re to stay here."

"Don’t worry. I have no intention of f**king up your party." Yet . . . Of course had his original plan worked out, the king would be mourning his beloved son right now.

I should have the bastard beaten, except it would cast a pall on Styxx’s party. That smug prick . . . The king withdrew and closed his door.

Acheron shook his head, trying to clear it of the king’s thoughts. He picked up Ryssa’s gift to study it. How ironic that she would give him this tonight. It was as if his mother had somehow guided her to it.

"Apostolos?"

He froze at the hesitant female voice he’d heard so many times in his life and thought himself mad. "Matera?"

"My baby. I swear I will avenge you. But we must be careful. Xiamara will return and show you how to use your powers. Leave them alone for now so that Archon can’t find you. Stay hidden and when the others have ceased their machinations, she will lead you to me and I will make sure no one ever hurts you again. I swear it on my life."

He felt the lightest whisper of air against his cheek . . . like a small caress before the air was still again.

Clenching his teeth, he felt the pain overwhelm him. His mother loved him . . . His real mother.

He wanted to see her desperately. To know, just once, what it felt like to have a parent look on him the way the king looked at Styxx or Ryssa. With pride. With love.

I’m wanted.

More than that, Artemis would no longer have to be ashamed of him. While it was unseemly for a goddess to be with a whore, there was nothing shameful about being with another god.

She could love him openly . . .

He wanted to shout in joy. Holding Ryssa’s bracelet to his chest, he smiled at the thought of telling Artemis what had happened to him. Surely she’d be thrilled.

How could she not?

Yet he still had a strange sense of foreboding that warned him he should be afraid of what tomorrow would bring.

June 24, 9527 BC

Acheron paced the floor, desperate for Artemis to appear so that he could surprise her with his newfound role. The morning had been interesting as he discovered new things about himself. He could move objects with nothing more than a thought. Like Artemis, he could teleport outside and back in. Granted his mother had told him not to use these powers, but honestly he couldn’t help it. They were much more in control of him than the other way around.