She swallowed. Hard. Then did her best to keep her voice and tone level and even. Did it?
He scowled, then tilted his head to study her eyes. “Aye. It did … Even her eyes.”
Stumbling back, he shook his head as he stared at her in disbelief. “Sarraxyn? Can you take human form?”
Why did he have to ask her that?
Why now?
Fear wedged itself inside her heart. She wanted … nay, needed to lie to him. She knew it was the prudent thing to do.
If only she could.
Gods, help me.
Bracing herself for whatever would happen, she transformed into her human self so that he could finally see the truth of her.
And waited.
Then waited some more.
Urian stood there, completely stunned and unable to move. Rage and betrayal warred within him. They mixed with grief to such a level that he didn’t know what to think. How to react. He’d come here for comfort and now …
Who and what was she?
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her long auburn hair shimmered in the dim light. In all honesty, she was exquisite in her fey beauty. Her green eyes practically glowed. She was, indeed, the woman he’d seen earlier. The one who’d touched his hair.
“I was afraid to.”
He swept his gaze over her. Dressed in a flowing bronze-colored peplos, she was a goddess. Her lips were perfectly formed and made for kisses.
And her body …
Urian had a hard time reconciling this woman with the dragon he’d known all these years. At least until he saw her pointed ears. There was something strangely apropos about them.
She stepped toward him.
He moved away.
“Urian—”
“Don’t, Xyn.” He needed time to accept this. The fact that she’d lied to him all this time.
Well, maybe not lied. Misled or withheld.
Whatever it was, it left an ache inside him.
“Please, understand. I didn’t want to hurt you. I know there’s nothing for us. You’re Apollite and I can’t feed you.” Tears welled in her eyes and made her lips quiver. “I’ve loved you all these years.”
Urian winced as he realized how much he’d loved her, too.
And there was nothing they could do. Because she was right. This was beyond cruel.
To both of them.
How could they be together when the only way for him to eat would be to take his nourishment from another woman, knowing that the feeding would drive him to have sex with someone else? Or else he’d have to go back to his disgusting bladders of congealed blood …
That wouldn’t be fair to her or him.
She cupped his face in her hands and pressed her forehead to his. “I’ve snuck off to see you so many times.”
Pain burned his throat as he realized how many times he’d glimpsed her among the people of their town. “I know. Now that I see you … Yours is the face I’ve seen in the crowd so many times.” Fisting his hand in her soft, vibrant hair that stood out among their drab paleness, he kissed her and growled at the bitter sweetness of her mouth.
She was so much to him. His best friend. His touchstone.
His dragon.
And he could never have her.
Never.
His heart breaking, he let her go and stepped away. Tonight, he hadn’t just lost his mother. He’d also lost his dragon and best friend.
And probably his wife, too.
April 30, 9508 BC
Ophion ducked as a vase flew past his head and shattered less than an inch from his face. It was even closer to Urian, who didn’t move at all.
But then Urian was used to shit flying at him when he least expected it. Too bad it didn’t kill him.
His jaw agape, Ophion stared at Urian in utter disbelief, not only at the shattered projectile but at Urian’s complete nonreaction to it. “Shite, brother! What have you done to your wife?”
Urian rolled the dice across the table and sighed as he lost another round. Figured. His luck was holding.
Bad to worse.
“I’ve been taking my meals in other places, and she’s rather pissed because of my poor life choices.”
Ophion grimaced in sympathetic pain. “What happened?”
Sighing, Urian sat back in his chair. “Let’s just say I’d rather starve than take meals that turn my stomach.”
His brother glanced through the open doors in the direction Xanthia had gone off with her friends. “What’s she doing for food, then?”
“Haven’t asked and I don’t care.” No doubt his wife was spreading her legs for someone.
Ophion’s eyebrow shot up. “You really mean that?”
Urian nodded. “Unlike you, adelphos, I married for convenience and sustenance, not passion. When she ceased being those things … she can seek her comfort wherever she finds it.” He shrugged at a sad, painful truth. He really didn’t care whom she screwed or when. “The children, however, are another matter. I’m still caring for them.” His father had bred responsibility into them and would be the first to beat them down if they neglected to care for those who couldn’t fend for themselves.
As he’d always said, you protected whoever stood at your back. Fought with those who stood by your side, and killed whoever was dumb enough to stand before you.
Never be their enemy.
Trates appeared out of thin air, at their side. “Urian? Your father summons you. Immediately.”
That tone was extremely disconcerting. As was his unexpected appearance. It was rare for such a summons to come and even more so to be in such a dire manner.
Exchanging a frown with Ophion, he rose.
His brother remained seated.
At Urian’s unspoken question, he laughed bitterly. “I’d come with you, but I don’t like the sound of it. In fact, I’m pretty sure my testicles just crawled back into my belly.” He smacked Urian on the arm. “Have fun, brother. I’ll make a pyre for your funeral games.”
“May the gods strike you down, asshole,” Urian grumbled as he followed after Trates to see what their father wanted with him now. Though to be honest, he could think of nothing he’d done particularly vexing.
At least not tonight.
Which was actually a record for him, given how most nights went. Normally, he’d be due a good ass-kicking by this time.
For once, and in spite of his wife’s anger toward him, he’d been on his better behavior.
He hadn’t punched anyone in the face. Started any revolts. Most miraculously of all, he hadn’t even brawled with his brothers.
Yet as he entered his father’s study and found a group of unfamiliar Daimons there, he drew up short.
This is unexpected. Especially given the fact that every member of the party, including their leader, was a woman. Dressed in a breastplate of white orichalcum, she, like the rest of them, was strikingly gorgeous. Her long blond hair was plaited, and laced with bright red ribbons that matched her cloak. A cloak that contrasted with the studded black leather of her pteruges and tall black war sandals.
Damn …
She and her warriors were the epitome of a teen Apollite fantasy made real. The kind of dream he’d spent a lot of his youth wishing would happen upon him while he was alone in the woods, lost and naked.
The moment their leader met his gaze, he felt an instant jolt of electricity go straight to his groin, which also remembered those countless hours of his misspent imaginings.
At least until she scowled angrily, then turned back toward his father. “He’s an Apollite?”
Seated on the smaller version of his bone throne that he kept in their main hall, his father shrugged nonchalantly. “Indeed. I would have warned you, but I didn’t think you’d believe me unless you saw it for yourself.”
Aghast, she closed the distance between them until she stood in front of Urian so that she could study him, nose to nose. “You’re the one who led the raid on the human village?”
<
“You?” Could there be any more disdain in that tone? “You killed them all with only a handful of men?”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he nodded. “My brothers.”
Her jaw dropped again. “Also Apollites?”
“Of course.”
There was a raw, unfettered heat in her dark eyes that sizzled in the air between them as she stared up at him with a tangible hunger. “We came to pay tribute to the Deathbringer. I assumed one of such courage and skill would have to be Daimon.”
His father chuckled. “To answer your question, Urian, they’re an Amazon tribe of Daimons from the north.”
Even more confused by that, Urian glanced past her shoulder, to his father. “Amazons?” He’d never heard of a group of Daimons with that kind of loyalty before.
It defied all logic.
The woman answered for his father. “We were Atlanteans in service to Artemis when the curse came down from the sun god. When the goddess refused to go against her brother to help us, we turned our services and bows to whatever god answered our plea for mercy. Since then, my sisters and I have been on a quest to find others of our kind to help them and to put our war skills to any who get in our way.”
Urian related to that. He knew the stories of his own father’s panic in his quest to spare them Apollo’s wrath. No god had wanted to get involved for fear of what Apollo or Zeus would do to them.
“Who answered your call?” To Urian’s knowledge, only Apollymi had shown mercy to their race and dared to defy Apollo.
“The goddess Marzanna.”
He glanced to his father. “I’ve never heard of her.”
“She’s a northern goddess.” His father’s lips twisted with wry humor. “An interesting one, I’m told. Sort of a combination of Persephone and Hades, all in one. With the psychosis you would expect from such a mash-up. She’s the wife of Koshchei the Deathless.”
His father’s tone held a strange note that Urian couldn’t quite make out. “Have you met them, Solren?”
“Just once. As a boy. They were a peculiar couple who left quite an impression on my young mind.”
Urian’s scowl deepened. He’d never known his father to be so diplomatic before.
The woman smiled. “We’ve traveled a long way to meet the Daimon who dared strike back at the human vermin. Your courage impressed us before, but now that we know you’re not even a Daimon …”
Urian flashed her a taunting grin. “You’re overwhelmed? Impressed? Would you like to sample the fruit of Apollo?”
She laughed. “You are a cheeky one, aren’t you?”
His father let out an exasperated sigh. “Ever my bane. Never could curb or control that one. I blame his mother, completely.”
She smirked. “Yet I hear the pride in your voice as you say those words, Strykerius. You’d have it no other way.” With her hand on her sword hilt, she turned back toward his throne. “So do you accept our bargain?”
His father arched a brow. “To sell you my son?” He met Urian’s shocked gaze. “Let me think. Um, no. Never. Cheeky though they all are, I am attached to my sons. Especially that one.”
Good, because he didn’t like the place this conversation was headed.
At all.
“I will give you any price you name.”
His father shook his head and chided her. “Bethsheba, you could offer me the throne of Olympus and I would refuse it. I will not put a price on my children. As you said, you came here for a Daimon and my sons are still Apollites. Even if Urian were a Daimon, the answer would still be no.”
“But you have a dozen sons, do you not?”
“Ten.”
“Surely—”
“One son does not replace another. You obviously haven’t any or you’d know that.”
Um, yeah. Urian was exceedingly grateful for his father’s loyalty at the moment.
As she started back toward him, his father threw out his hand and encased Urian’s entire body with a bright blue glow.
“My lady, I said no and that’s my final answer. I won’t be swayed.” Slowly, his father rose from his seat and descended the steps to approach them. “Make no mistake about my sincerity. You fight for your people, as do I. But I would see my people and the entire world burn to the lowest pit of Tartarus to spare my children the loss of one single tear. Therefore, the thought of putting them into slavery to fight for you … unacceptable.”
She tsked. “Why don’t we let your son decide? What if I were to win his heart? Would you approve our marriage then?”
Urian gaped at her words. Was she serious?
“My sons are all married.”
A scheming light came into her eyes as she swept an appreciative look over his body. He’d feel a little more flattered if she weren’t treating him like a side of lamb on a feast day.
She smiled at him. “You’re Apollites. You can always take another wife, can you not?”
Technically, she was right. Polygamy wasn’t illegal or unknown among their people, especially after Apollo’s curse. They merely looked upon it as greedy. But so long as all the participants were agreeable to the arrangement and no one was slighted by it, financially or emotionally, it was legally, if not always socially, acceptable.
His father raked a look over him. “I suppose if he’s that stupid …”
Thanks, Solren.
“But,” his father warned, “he’s too young to be made Daimon yet. You are not to convert him.”
She smiled. “I don’t want to convert him, Strykerius. My tribe isn’t the same as your people. As you noted earlier. Nay … I want to breed with your son.”
Well, this wasn’t awkward at all. Discussing sex in front of his father …
What he lived for.
More than a little dismayed by their bargaining, Urian met his father’s gaze. “Have you nothing to say to that?”
His father stared at him blankly. “What? You want me to interfere with your sex life?”
Kind of. Urian was beginning to feel like a piece of livestock being offered up to stud. Especially as every one of them stared at him, and in particular, his crotch, as if they wanted a turn on him like he was their new favorite toy.
Suddenly his youthful fantasy was beginning to take on the sinister appearance of a nightmare—and these Amazons were turning from goddesses into the forms of bacchanalian lamiai.
“Well?” his father prompted at his delay in answering.
“Guess not. You know, being a breeder and all.” Of course, it would be a little difficult to accommodate her on that particular request to impregnate her, given that he was sterile, but this didn’t seem like a convenient time to bring that up.
And she really didn’t appear to be in the mood to hear it.
Neither did his father.
So being the sole pork chop in the kennel, he decided to keep his mouth shut.
The pork chop image wasn’t helped a few minutes later when Bethsheba came up and grabbed the knot of his girdle to pull him out of the room.
Urian started to pass a look of “help me” toward his father, but given the fact his father had thrown him to the she-wolves, he figured it would be useless. His father seemed to think he should be enjoying the attention.
“Are you planning to diggle me in the street, or do you have a destination in mind?”
She smiled seductively. “Don’t you have a home?”
“I do, and it’s filled with a wife and two children who would be most upset to have you bang me in front of them.”
“You’re rather hostile about this. I’m beginning to think you don’t want to have sex.”
He gave her a droll stare. “You think?”
“You don’t?”
Was she serious?
“Not like this.”
That seemed to stun her into silence. At least she finally let go of the knot over his crotch.
Urian straightened his clothes. “Contrary to what you think you know about men, Bethsheba, we don’t like being treated like whores any more than a woman does.”
“Is it that, or do you feel threatened by a powerful woman?”
He laughed at her challenge. “Have you met Apollymi, or my wife for that matter? Trust me, you’re quite paltry in comparison. Powerful women don’t frighten me. I prefer them to weak ones.”
“Then why are you so standoffish with me?”
“Because of the way you’ve treated me. I’m not a bitch to bark at your command.”
And speaking of strong women …
“What is this?” Xanthia materialized so fast by his side that she almost bonded their DNA together. One more heartbeat or step and she would have caused a tragic biological mistake.
“What is what?” he asked drolly.
“A new wife?” she shrieked. “Did I hear that correctly? You’re planning to marry someone else?”
Praise Apollymi for their small community. Bad news traveled so much faster than the good.
Sighing, Urian decided it was probably time he introduced the two women. “Xanthia, meet Bethsheba.”
“The hades to Kalosis I will!” She shoved Bethsheba back. “You lay one fang to my husband and you will find yourself toothless and bald, bitch!”
Urian quirked a brow at Bethsheba. “What was that you were saying about weak women?”
Xanthia turned toward him with the wrath of the Furies in her eyes. “You don’t speak. Maybe never again!”
Strangely pissed and amused by that comment, he held his hands up and decided to stay out of this particular fight since it wasn’t one he wanted to be in to begin with. “Aye, my love.”
Out of nowhere, Paris appeared at his back and draped himself against Urian’s spine. He wrapped his arm around his neck and rested his chin on Urian’s bare shoulder. “This looks quite interesting and entertaining. What have you gotten yourself into now, brother?”
“Not sure.”
Bethsheba shoved Xanthia back. “Don’t you ever dare touch me again without invitation.”
“And don’t you even think of touching my husband’s loins.”
Bethsheba sneered at her. “You hardly seem fit for a champion’s wife. What hole did he dredge you from to elevate you to such a grand status?”
Shrieking, Xanthia lunged forward, but Urian extracted himself from his brother and caught her before she could attack the warrior queen who would tear her to shreds. While he admired his wife’s fire, he wasn’t a fool. He’d given Xanthia basic training and nothing more. She’d never really cared for fighting and wasn’t any kind of challenge to a warrior of Bethsheba’s skills. And though he was presently furious at his wife and wanted to beat her himself for her unwarranted condemnation of him, she was still his wife and he wouldn’t have her harmed for anything. He’d sworn his loyalty and troth to her and no matter how much of a monster she might think him, he was at least an honorable monster.
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