Acheron (Dark-Hunter #15)(47)
Author: Sherrilyn Kenyon

Ryssa had meant nothing to Apollo. No more than he meant to Artemis. His sister had loathed the god and now the bastard acted as if her death meant something to him.

It wasn’t right and by the gods who’d birthed him, he wasn’t going to let the god get away with attacking his mother’s demon. His fury set fire to the blade, causing it to glow as he raced toward them.

Acheron set his gaze on Apollo and was oblivious to the fight. All he could focus on was stabbing the god through his callous heart. But just as he reached Apollo, the god knocked Xiamara back, into Acheron. She turned into him with eyes wide as his stomach shrank in the realization that Apollo had slammed the demon into the knife . . .

Acheron felt her blood coating his hand. Looking down at the wound, she staggered back with a small cry of pain. He wanted to say something to her, but without his tongue, it was impossible.

He grabbed her against him as she struggled to breathe.

She lifted a bloodied hand to place it to his cheek. "Apollymi loves you," she whispered in Charonte-a language he somehow understood even though he’d never heard it before. "Protect your mother, Apostolos. Be strong for her and for me . . ." Then the light faded from her eyes as her final breath left her body.

Acheron threw his head back and tried to vent the fury inside him. But it came out as a strangled cry. Grabbing the knife, he spun on Apollo.

Apollo caught his hand and wrested the knife from him. The god seized him again by the throat and threw him down to the ground. Acheron kicked him back and rolled to his side.

A shadow in the corner caught his eye. He froze as he saw Artemis standing there, watching the fight with her hands over her mouth. Her eyes were filled with horror.

Needing her, he reached a hand out toward her.

She shook her head no and took a step back, out of her brother’s sight.

In that instant, something inside him died. Coldness filled every raw inch of his body.

Artemis refused to intervene. Even now when he was wounded and hurt more than any human should ever be hurt, his love wasn’t enough. He didn’t matter to her.

Tired, grief-stricken and defeated, he rolled over onto his back at the same time Apollo appeared before him. He met the god’s angry glare. Growling in rage, Apollo sank his dagger deep inside Acheron’s heart and sliced him open all the way to his navel.

Unmitigated agony burned through him as the god slowly gutted him on the floor, no more than three feet from Ryssa’s body, and right there, before Artemis.

Tears fell from his eyes as the light and pain began to fade . . .

Artemis remained in the shadows, silently weeping as she watched her brother kick Acheron’s dead body aside. It wasn’t until Apollo approached the king on the bed that the king realized Styxx was also lying dead in the doorway.

Not that Artemis cared about the prince.

Her heart aching, she slid down the wall to crouch in the corner as her teary gaze remained on Acheron and what was left of him.

She’d thought his death would bring her relief. Instead agony over his loss tore through her with a finality that left her bereft of any thought. Only raw emotion.

It hurt on a level she’d never known existed.

The king’s cry of pain matched the one in her soul as Apollo took Ryssa from his arms and he realized that his heir was dead.

For all his dignity and power, the king crawled on the floor to Styxx and screamed as he rocked his son against him.

No one mourned Acheron.

No one save her.

Unable to stand the sight, she returned to her temple where she shattered every mirror, every piece of glass and pottery. Her rage roiled through the room, laying waste to everything around her.

What had she done?

"I let him die."

No, she’d tried to kill him. Last night, she’d wanted him dead. But never had she dreamed just how much he meant to her.

His touch, his friendship . . .

Now he was gone. Forever.

"I love you, Acheron," she sobbed, tearing at her hair.

It’s over. No one will ever know about the two of you now. You’re safe.

It seemed so petty a concern compared to the fact that she’d live out eternity without ever seeing his face again . . .

Apollymi gasped as she felt the weight in her chest lift. Without being told, she knew that she now had the ability to leave Kalosis.

Leave . . .

"No!" she screamed as she realized the significance of that. There was only one way for her to gain her release.

Apostolos was dead.

Those three words chased themselves around in her head until she was sick from them.

Unwilling to believe it, she ran to her pond and summoned the universal eye. There in the water, she saw Xiamara lying dead on the palace floor and Apostolos . . .

No!

From the deepest part of her being, a scream of rage and grief swelled and when she gave vent to it, it shattered the pool and rocked the garden around her.

"I am Apollymia Thanata Deia Fonia!" she screamed until her throat was raw and bleeding.

She was ultimate destruction.

And she was going to bring her son home . . .

May the gods have mercy on each other because she was going to have none for them.

June 25, 9527 BC

Tartarus

Hades, the Greek god of death and the Underworld, stood in the center of his throne room, staring in disbelief at their newest arrival who lay in one of the darkest cells of Tartarus.

And he hadn’t put him there . . .

He looked down at the timepiece on his wrist and ground his teeth. It was still three months before his wife would be returned to the Underworld to be with him. But honestly, he had to speak with her.

It couldn’t wait.

"Persephone?" he called, hoping her mother wasn’t close enough to hear him. The old bitch would have a stroke if she caught them together. Not that it would be a bad thing . . . if only it would kill her.

An image of his wife flickered in the darkness by his side. "Butterbean!" Persephone breathed. "I was just missing you something terrible."

He really hated the nicknames she came up with for him. Thank the gods that she only used them when the two of them were alone. Otherwise, he’d be the most mocked of all gods. But he could forgive his beautiful wife anything. "Where’s your mother?"

"Off with Zeus looking over some fields, why?"

Good. The last thing he needed was for Demeter to come in and catch them talking.

But that brought him back to his current "dilemma." Anger swept through him as he gestured toward the wall that showed the cells where his prisoners were kept. "Because I’m getting really sick of cleaning up the messes of the other gods and right now I’d love to know whose ass I need to bust over this latest fiasco."

She solidified before him. "What’s happened?"

Taking her hand, he led her to the cell where they could see inside, but the occupant inside was completely unable to see them.

At least that was the normal case. In this one, who knew what the occupant could and couldn’t see?

He pointed to the blue-fleshed god who lay cuddled into a ball on the floor. "Any idea who killed that and sent it here?"

Eyes wide, Persephone shook her head. "What is it?"

"Well, I’m not completely sure. I think he’s a god . . . Atlantean . . . maybe. But I’ve never seen anything like him before. He came in a short time ago and hasn’t moved. I’d try to destroy his soul and send him into complete oblivion, but I don’t think I have the powers to do it. In fact, I’m pretty sure that just by trying, all I’d do is piss him off."

Persephone nodded. "Well, sweetie, my advice to you is if you can’t defeat it, befriend it."

"Befriend it how?"

Persephone smiled at her husband who was far from a sociable entity. Tall and muscular with black hair and eyes, he was gorgeous, even when befuddled and angry. "Wait here." She opened the door to the cell and made her way slowly to the unknown god.

The closer she moved toward him, the more she understood Hades’s concern. There was so much power emanating from the god that the air was rife with it. She’d been around the gods her whole life, but this one was different. His marbled blue skin was strangely attractive as it covered a body of perfect proportions. Long black hair fanned out. He had two black horns on top of his head and black lips and claws.

And more than that, he wasn’t a god of creation. He was one of ultimate destruction.

Seph, get out of there.

She held her hand up to signal her husband that she was fine. Her legs trembling in trepidation, she reached out to touch the god.

He opened his eyes that were a yellow orange encircled by red. They flashed from that to a swirling silver color. And they were filled with raw anguish.

"Am I dead?" he asked, his voice demonic.

"You want to be dead?" She actually dreaded his answer because if he didn’t want to be dead, there could be serious consequences.

"Please tell me I’ve finally made it."

Those desperate words tugged at her heart. Reaching up to comfort him, she brushed the black hair back from his blue cheek. "You’re dead, but as a god you live."

"I don’t understand. I don’t want to be any different than anyone else. I just want to be left alone."

Persephone smiled at him. "You can stay here as long as you want." She summoned a pillow for him and tucked it under his head. Then she covered him with a blanket.

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Because you seem to need it." She patted him on the arm before she got up. "If you need anything, I’m Persephone. My husband, Hades, is the one in charge here. You call for us and we’ll come."

He gave a subtle nod before he closed his eyes and returned to lying quietly in the darkness.

Mystified by him, she returned to her husband. "He’s harmless."

"Harmless, my ass. Seph? Are you insane? Can you not feel the powers he holds?"

"Oh I feel them. Go near him and you’ll have nightmares. But he doesn’t want anything. He’s hurt, Hades. Badly. All he wants is to be left alone."

"Yeah, right. Left alone here in my Underworld? Another god whose powers rival mine? Fuck that. They trump mine. How stupid would I have to be? You know there’s a reason pantheons don’t mix."

"You can ally him," she said, trying to calm him down. "Having a friend is never a bad thing."

"Until the friend turns on you."

She shook her head. "Hades . . ."

"I’m a lot older than you, Seph. I’ve seen what can happen when one god turns on another."

"And I think he poses no harm to either of us." She lifted herself up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "I have to go before my mother finds me missing. You know how she gets when I see you during her time with me."

"Yeah and a pox on the-"

She pinched his lips together before he could let fly the insult. "I love you both. Now behave and take care of your guest."

Only his wife could get away with treating him like this and being so cavalier with his body. But then she held his heart and he’d give her anything.

He kissed her finger. "I miss you."

"I miss you too. I’ll be home soon."

Soon, yeah . . . right.

But there was nothing to be done about that.

He nodded glumly, then cursed as she faded away from him. Damn the bitch, Demeter, for cursing them to live apart half the year. But right now he had bigger problems than his wife’s mother.

And at about six foot eight, that god-killer was definitely one big problem.

June 25, 9527 BC

Didymos

With the icy wind twisting her ghostly pale hair around her and plastering her black gown to her limbs, Apollymi staggered on the rocks of the sea where Apostolos’s body rested in a broken heap. Her precious son had been dumped here as if he were nothing.

Nothing . . .

Unshed tears racked her. She was so cold inside. So defeated. So . . . There were no words to describe the anguish of her seeing her son’s body lying face down in the water, abandoned and forgotten.

Thrown away.

After all they’d done to him, they couldn’t even provide a decent funeral.

Weak from her grief, she sank to her knees in a pool of water and pulled him from the rocks to the beach. Unable to stand it, she screamed out, sending birds into flight.

"Apostolos!"

But he couldn’t hear her. His body was as cold as her heart. His silver eyes were open and glazed, and even now, they swirled like a stormy sky. Yet for all the horror of his death, his features were serene.

And they were beautiful. More so than any mother could have hoped for. She saw in his face, herself. Saw her hopes for him made real. He was so perfectly formed. So tall and strong . . .

And they had butchered him. Tortured him. Defiled and humiliated her son. Her precious baby.

Choking on a sob, she ran her hand over the long gash in his chest to seal it closed. Only then, when he was perfect again did her tears break as she laid her lips to his cheek to kiss him and cry.

This was the first time she’d held him since the moment she’d cut him from her womb. Gathering him close, she rocked him on the beach and let all the horror inside her free. "I tried to protect you, Apostolos," she breathed against his ear. "I tried so hard."

She’d failed miserably and in her attempt, had made his life an unbearable one.