Dance with the Devil (Dark-Hunter #4)(31)
Author: Sherrilyn Kenyon

Unfortunately, he had no choice in the matter.

But if he could ever break free of her, he would run as fast as he could. She knew it as well as he did.

It was why she held on to him so tightly.

Apollo raked him with a grimace. "Tsoulus."

Ash stiffened at the ancient Greek insult. It wasn’t the first time he’d been called that. As a human being, he had answered to it defiantly, with a sick kind of glee.

The only thing that really hurt was the knowledge that eleven thousand years later, it was every bit as applicable to him as it had been then.

Only now he didn’t revel in the title.

Now it cut him soul deep.

Artemis grabbed her brother by the ear and pulled him toward the door. "Get out," she snarled as she shoved him outside and slammed the door.

She turned back to face Acheron.

Ash hadn’t moved. The insult still smoldered deep inside him.

"He’s an idiot."

Ash didn’t bother to contradict her. He agreed completely.

"Simi, take human form."

Simi floated out of his sleeve to manifest beside him. "Yes, akri?"

"Protect Zarek and Astrid."

"No!" Artemis snapped. "You can’t let it go, it might tell Zarek everything that happened."

"Then let her. It’s time he understood."

"Understood what? Do you want him to know the truth about you?"

Ash felt a wave go through him and he knew his eyes flashed from silver to red. Artemis stepped back, further proving they had.

"It was the truth about you that I kept from him," Ash said between clenched teeth.

"Was it, Acheron? Was it truly about me or did you erase his memories of that night because you were afraid of what he’d think about you?"

The wave deepened.

Ash held his hand up to silence Artemis before it was too late and his powers took control of him. It had been too long since he had last fed and he was too volatile to control himself.

If they continued to fight, there was no telling what he might do.

He looked to Simi who waited beside him. "Simi, don’t speak to Zarek but make sure Thanatos doesn’t kill either one of them."

"Tell it not to kill Thanatos, too."

Ash started to argue, then stopped. They didn’t have time, nor did he have a tight enough grip on himself. If Thanatos killed Zarek and Astrid, life would be a lot more complicated for everyone.

"Don’t kill Thanatos, Simi. Now, go."

"Okay, akri, I’ll protect them." Simi vanished.

Artemis narrowed her green eyes at him. "I can’t believe you sent it out on its own. It’s worse than Zarek and Thanatos combined."

"I have no choice, Artie. Have you given any thought as to what will happen if Astrid dies? How do you think her sisters will react?"

"She can’t die unless they will it."

"That’s not true and you know it. There are some things that not even the Fates have control over. And I assure you that if your mad pet destroys their beloved baby sister, they will demand your head for it."

Ash didn’t have to say anything more than that. Because if Artemis lost her head, then the world as all knew it would change into something truly frightening.

"I’ll go talk to the Oracles."

"Yeah, you do that, Artie, and while you’re at it, you better think about going after Thanatos yourself and bringing him home."

She curled her lip. "I’m a goddess, not a servant. I fetch for no one."

Ash moved to stand so close to her that barely a hand-breadth separated them. The air between them rippled with their warring powers, with the ferocity of their raw emotions. "Sooner or later, we all have to do things that are beneath us. Remember that, Artemis."

He moved away from her and turned his back.

"Just because you sold yourself so cheaply, Acheron, it doesn’t mean I have to."

He froze, his back still to her, as her words ripped through him. They were cruel and harsh. It was on the tip of his tongue to curse her for that.

He didn’t and she was damned lucky for his control.

Instead, he spoke calmly, and chose each deliberate word with care. "If I were you, Artie, I would pray that I never get what I truly deserve. But if Thanatos kills Astrid, not even I will be able to save you."

Chapter 12

Zarek tossed the phone down and stared at Astrid sleeping on his coat. He needed to rest too, but couldn’t quite manage it. He was too wound up to sleep.

After closing the trapdoor, he moved toward her pallet.

Memories surged through him.

He saw himself on a rampage. Saw faces and flames. Felt the rage of his anger sizzling through him. He had killed the very people he was supposed to protect.

Had killed…

Evil laughter echoed in his head. A flash of lightning filled the room.

And Ash…

Zarek struggled to remember. Why couldn’t he remember what had happened in New Orleans?

What had happened in his village?

It was all fragmented and nothing made sense. It was like thousands of puzzle pieces that had been tossed on the floor and he couldn’t figure out what went where.

He paced the tight quarters, doing his best to recall the past.

Hours went by slowly as he listened for any telltale sounds of Thanatos approaching. Sometime around noon exhaustion overtook him and he lay down beside Astrid.

Against his will, he found himself gathering her into his arms and inhaling the sweet, fragrant scent of her hair.

He snuggled against her, closed his eyes and prayed for a kind dream…

Zarek stumbled as he was jerked forward and secured to the whipping post in the old Roman courtyard. His tattered, threadbare peplos was ripped from him, leaving his entire body bare to the three people gathered there to punish him.

He was eleven years old.

His brothers Marius and Marcus stood in front of him with bored looks on their faces while their father uncoiled the leather whip.

Zarek was already tense, knowing all too well the stinging pain he was about to receive.

"I don’t care how many lashes you give him, Father," Marius said. "I’m not sorry for insulting Maximillius and I intend to do it again the next time I see him."

Their father stopped moving. "What if I told you this pitiful slave was your brother? Would you care then?"

The two boys burst out laughing. "This wretch? There is no Roman blood in him."

His father moved forward. He buried his hand in Zarek’s hair and pulled his head up so that his brothers could see his scarred face. "Are you sure he’s not related?"

They stopped laughing.

Zarek held himself completely still, unable to breathe. He’d always known of his parentage. He was reminded of it every day when the other slaves spat in his food and threw things at him or hit him because they dared not take their anger and hatred out on the rest of his family.

"What are you saying, Father?" Marius asked.

His father shoved Zarek’s head against the post, then let go of him. "I sired him on your uncle’s favorite whore. Why do you think he was sent to me as an infant?"

Marius curled his lip. "He is no brother of mine. Better I should claim Valerius than this scab."

Marius approached Zarek. He bent down, trying to make Zarek meet his gaze.

With no other recourse, Zarek closed his eyes. He’d learned a long time ago that to look his brothers in the face would mean an even harsher beating.

"What say you, slave? Have you any Roman blood in you?"

Zarek shook his head no.

"Are you my brother?"

Again he shook his head.

"Are you calling my noble father a liar then?"

Zarek froze as he realized he’d been tricked by them again. Panicking, he tried to pull away from the post. He wanted to run away from what would come over this.

"Are you?" Marius demanded.

He shook his head.

But it was too late. The whip cut through the air with a frightening hiss and bit into his back, slicing through his bared flesh.

Zarek came awake shaking. He struggled to breathe as he scrambled to sit up and look about wildly, half-expecting one of his brothers to be here.

"Zarek?"

He felt the warmth of a tender hand on his back.

"Are you all right?"

He couldn’t speak as old memories flared inside him. From the moment Marius and Marcus had learned the truth until the day Zarek’s father had bribed a slaver to take him, his brothers had gone out of their way to make Zarek pay for the fact they were related.

He had never known a single day of peace.

Beggar, peasant, or noble, they were all better than him.

And he was nothing but a pathetic whipping boy for them all.

Astrid sat up and wrapped her arms around his waist. "You’re shaking. Are you cold?"

Still he didn’t answer. He knew he should shove her away from him, but right then he wanted her comfort. He wanted someone to tell him he wasn’t worthless.

Someone to tell him that they weren’t ashamed of him.

Closing his eyes, he drew her to him and laid his head on her shoulder.

Astrid was stunned by his uncharacteristic actions. She stroked his hair and rocked him slowly in her arms. Just holding him.

"Will you tell me what’s wrong?" she asked quietly.

"Why? It won’t change anything."

"Because I care, Zarek. I want to make it better. If you’ll let me."

His tone was so low that she had to struggle to hear what he said. "There is some pain that nothing heals."

She laid her hand against his stubbled cheek. "Such as?"

He hesitated for several heartbeats before he spoke again. "Do you know how I died?"

"No."

"On my hands and knees, like an animal on the ground, begging for mercy."

She flinched at his words. She hurt so much for him that she could barely breathe from the tightness in her chest.

"Why?"

He stiffened and swallowed. At first she thought he would pull away, but he didn’t move. He remained there, letting her hold him.

"You saw how my father got rid of me? How he paid for the slaver to take me?"

"Yes."

"I lived with that slaver for five years."

His arms tightened around her as if he could barely stand to admit that to her. "You can’t imagine how they treated me. What I was forced to clean up.

"Every day when I woke up, I cursed to find myself still alive. Every night I prayed to die while I slept. I never had a single dream of escaping that life. The idea of running away doesn’t occur to you when you’re born a slave. The thought that I didn’t deserve what they did to me never entered my mind. It was what I was. All I knew. And I had no hope of anyone ever buying me to get me away from there. Every time a customer came in and saw me, I heard their sharp intakes of breath. Saw the blurry shadows of their horrified sneers."

Astrid’s eyes teared up at his words. He was such a handsome man any woman would kill to have him, and yet his looks had been brutally ruined. For no reason other than cruelty.

No one should be maimed and degraded the way he had been.

No one.

She pressed her lips to his forehead, brushing his hair back from his face as he continued to confide in her what she was sure he had never confided to another living soul.

There was no emotion in his voice. Her only clue to the pain he felt was the tenseness of his body.

The fact that he had yet to let her go.

"One day a beautiful lady came in," he whispered. "She had a Roman soldier as her escort. She stood in the doorway wearing a dark blue peplos. Her hair was as black as the midnight sky, her skin smooth and unblemished. I couldn’t see her very clearly, but I heard the other slaves whispering about her and they only did that when a woman was truly exceptional."

A stab of jealousy went through Astrid.

Had Zarek loved her?

"Who was she?" she asked.

"Just another noblewoman, wanting a slave."

Zarek’s breath fell against her neck as he toyed with a strand of her hair between his callused fingers. The tenderness of that gesture wasn’t lost on her.

"She neared the cell where I was cleaning out the chamber pots," he said. "I dared not look at her and then I heard her say, ‘I want that one.’ I assumed she meant one of the other men. But when they came for me, I was dumbstruck."

Astrid smiled sadly. "She recognized a good thing when she saw it."

"No," he said sharply. "She wanted a servant to warn her and her lover whenever her husband came home unexpectedly. She wanted a slave who would be loyal to her. One who would owe her everything. I was the most wretched creature there and she never failed to remind me of that. One word and she would have sent me right back to my hell."

He pulled away from her then.

She reached out to find him sitting just beside her. "Did she?"

"No. She kept me even though her husband was livid at my presence. He couldn’t stand the sight of me. I was so repugnant. Crippled. Half-blind. I was scarred so badly that children used to cry whenever they saw me. Women would gasp and avert their eyes, then shuffle out of my way as if afraid my condition might rub off on them."

Astrid winced at what he described. "How long did you serve her?"

"Six years. I was completely loyal to her. I would have done anything she asked of me."