Actaeon swore Icarus’ eyes lit up with Lexi’s explanation. Actaeon was both impressed and envious she and Icarus spoke the same language. What had transpired between them while Actaeon and Cerberus were gone?
Not breaking promises about never seeing Cassandra again.
“Hades still had access to me while he was in there,” Cerberus didn’t look as impressed. “To all of his servants. Lexi didn’t when Lorelei took her. What’s the difference?”
Icarus glanced at his hands and drummed his fingertips on his thumb. “All figured out. It won’t be a problem.”
Why was he lying?
“Mom wasn’t Hades’ creation, so the bond wasn’t strong enough to lock Hades away completely.” And why did Lexi cover for him, instead of calling him on it? “She was laden with his power, it was more painted onto her than a part of her. I’m as much my father as anything.” She cringed and trailed off on the last few words. “If none of you has another solution, using me as a key is the only way. But I still want Cassandra gone. Anywhere that’s not here. Get her the fuck away from me.”
“How else are we going to get to Hades?” Actaeon didn’t like that Lexi derailed the conversation into a decision to use her as a key, and stuck to her no when it came to the original subject.
Lexi clenched her jaw. “Cross Styx. Find a different gate. Ask Aphrodite or another god to send us. Anything that doesn’t involve Cassandra. This isn’t my home. It’s not my place to ask her to leave. But I refuse to stay here as long as she’s in the building.”
“CONSIDER HER GONE. You have my word.” Icarus had no issue with kicking Cassandra out. He’d hoped Actaeon had a better reason than she knows how to get into the underworld. A bit of insight or something.
Lexi gave him a tired smile. “Not on my account.”
“Partly on your account, because you have a good point. Just as much because she shouldn’t have been brought here to begin with.” Icarus pointed a glare at Actaeon, who clenched his jaw.
“Sleep sounds like a good idea. Thank you again, for finding me.” Lexi headed toward the stairs.
Cerberus followed.
“What are you going to do?” Actaeon asked when they were gone. “Toss her out on the street?”
Icarus grabbed his phone. “She was staying with Apollo. He can come get her.”
“She’s terrified.”
If Cassandra was a random person on the street whom Hades occupied because it was convenient, Icarus would be sympathetic. He’d go above and beyond to keep her safe. Mortals deserved better than the bullshit that came with The Enlightenment and the gods’ being in charge.
“She went into this situation eyes wide open.” Icarus was furious that Actaeon didn’t see this. Or didn’t care. Sometimes the man had the emotional aptitude of a vibrator. “There’s more at stake than her, and she willingly let Hades use her as a vessel. This isn’t even a matter of her looking the other way. She knew she’d be used to kill Persephone. She knew Hades would kill hundreds of thousands to grow more powerful. And if none of that matters to you, let me appeal to your sense of self-sacrifice. She wants to kill Lexi.”
“Which I won’t let happen.”
Un-fucking-believable. Icarus snapped off a laugh. “You’re not even denying it.”
“There’s no point in pretending that’s not the case.” Actaeon’s posture was deceptively relaxed. His arms dangled by his sides, and his joints were loose. He was prepared for a fight.
Icarus wasn’t stupid enough to go hand to hand with him, but he refused to rein in his anger. He’d held a lot of things back, five-hundred years ago when they went their separate ways. Things that hurt too much to say at the time, because he’d been losing a lover. Now? He didn’t have any reason to bite off his words. “Because you’ve never hidden from a problem before,” he said sarcastically.
Actaeon’s resistance was expected, but Icarus figured they'd trade a few logical words, and Cassandra would be on her way. With Actaeon pushing the issue, centuries of frustration bubbled to the surface of Icarus’ mind.
Actaeon chuckled bitterly. “It’s better than selling my mind to the highest bidder.”
They were going that route? Back to petty fights about things that didn’t matter? Fine.
“Is it?” Icarus should have anticipated Actaeon would pull up the same old retort. “We all deal in barter. I’d rather get currency up front, than be promised a random favor, to be fulfilled based on their whim and interpretation unless I draw up an extensive contract.”
“I’m not going to let anything happen to Lexi. I love her.”
Icarus nearly choked on his disbelief. “Cerberus loves Lexi. His adoration is palpable. You don’t care about her any more than you did about Cassandra. You love the idea of your own martyrdom.”
“You have no idea what’s going on in my head.” Actaeon clenched his fists. The silvery aura that usually rested around him flared to dancing, icy flames.
Icarus was glad he’d struck a nerve. “You’re right. I can’t see what’s in your mind or in your heart.” He questioned if Actaeon could see what was in his own heart. “You’re a man of actions though, and your lack of them speaks volumes. You excel at falling for the people with the tragic stories and casting blame on everyone—but mostly yourself—for the world’s misery. You love a good tortured soul. Morpheus, Cassandra, and now Lexi.”
But never Icarus. His life wasn’t quite miserable enough.
“You make me sound like a spoiled child.”
“Sometimes you act like one. You keep going back to New York—”
“For Prometheus.” Actaeon’s words sliced through the air, implying the matter was closed.
But it wasn’t. Not by a long shot. “For your own fucking ego, so that you can say, But I tried to help him. When Zeus sent him back to New York, you and the entire world saw that moment of clarity before Prometheus left. That same lucidity he had before Esper was born. Did you pursue him?”
“I—”
“Had Lexi. I get it.” Icarus didn’t agree with the logic, but it was easy to see. “Give me a minute, while I walk through this. A woman gets in the back of your cab. She’s probably disoriented and obviously out of her element and—holy shit—Hades’ daughter? Hades didn’t have children. But here she is, dark as death, clear as day, and sexy as fuck. And she’s not part of the inner circle. She’s lost, confused, and needs help.”
“She wouldn’t have survived in the labyrinth alone.” Was Actaeon’s bite fading?
“She never had to go in there, and the way I hear it, the terrors that haunt your mind came closer to hurting her than anything else did. Besides, you and Cerberus were the ones who took a beating.”
“So suddenly I’m a bad guy because I’m compelled to help people?”
Smarter people had twisted Icarus’ words. “No. You’re an insincere prick, because helping people is the cross you’re trying to die on. And Lexi is your newest path there. Tartarus, she might even be your direct line to literal martyrdom.”
“I don’t have a death wish.” Resignation mingled with the low hum of rage in Actaeon’s voice.
Icarus hated having to twist this knife, but he was tired of the destruction Actaeon’s martyrdom left in its wake. “You have a crucifixion wish. Literal or otherwise. You don’t save people for them, you do it so you’ll be known as the guy who did it. You want to be the MVP. You. Don’t. Love. Lexi. You might learn to. She’s close to falling for you, and she deserves better.”
“Better, as in you? Is that what this is about? You’re a better choice than me when it comes to Lexi?”
Icarus wouldn’t mind making her list, but he had no interest in tearing her away from those she cared for and who cared about her. “I’m not that kind of selfish. But if you pursue her, you sure as fuck better make sure what you feel is real, rather than some misplaced sense of saviordom, before you make yourself a permanent part of her world.”
“Fuck you.”
Icarus shr
ugged. “It’s not my decision. If she wants you in her life, and you feel comfortable staying, that’s between the two of you. But I see through you, and you’d be better off if you learned some of the same insight.”
“Call Apollo. I don’t give a fuck. Get Cassandra out of here. Sacrifice Lexi, this woman you’re so infatuated with, to Hades. I remember now why we don’t speak, you arrogant, self-righteous prick.” Actaeon strode from the room.
Icarus didn’t want to do that. He didn’t regret the words, but the delivery could have been less impassioned.
And if he was going to force a little soul-searching on Actaeon, he might need some himself, especially when it came to the reality of Lexi, versus the fantasy.
This was about the worst time for any of that, but he’d never been known for his great timing.
First, he needed to ask Cassandra to leave. Regret welled up inside at the idea of having to look her in the eye and tell her she couldn’t stay. He’d never had a problem with her, but she was a risk now.
He hated the tough choices. Offer an old friend refuge and risk the death of the entire neighborhood in the process, or send her away to let a pissed-off god devour her mind? Use a new friend as a key to bind the same god away and make her a walking target in the process, or let Hades roam free?
Logically, the answers were obvious. That didn’t mean the decisions were any easier to make.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Every inch of Lexi’s body was heavy. Each step or breath or gesture took tremendous effort. Sitting on the edge of the bed in Icarus’ guest room was a welcome relief, but untapped energy thrummed through her, making ants dance under her skin and along her nerves. “Is this how it starts?” she asked Cerberus. She meant it to be a joke, but the words came out strangled.
“How what starts?” He was a blurry visage to her, now that her earcuff was gone. The three-headed dog overlapped the man, like a bad double exposure.
It made her head ache if she studied him for too long in an attempt to distinguish one or the other, but as long as she accepted the sight as it was, she was fine with it. She loved him regardless.
Lexi was both grateful and regretful for the link that flowed between them. She didn’t think she could put this feeling into words, but she didn’t want him to experience it. “The not-sleeping thing you and Actaeon do.”
If she added a couple more points of stress, would they smear together in big blur in her head, until she wasn’t able to focus on any individual one? That would be easier than deciding which to give priority to.
“Not quite. Sit here. I’ll be right back.” He walked into the other room before she could find the strength to ask where he was going.
Cerberus returned with a washcloth. He took the spot next to her on the bed and pressed the warm, damp cloth to the side of her face. He was gentle as he wiped away the dried blood from where she’d ripped out her earring. He brushed the wound, and pain jolted through her.
She sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth.
He backed away from the injury. When he was finished, he tossed the rag into the adjoining bathroom. The sound of it hitting tile and falling into the bathtub echoed back to her. “You’ll need to wash your hair to get the rest out, but at least you don’t look like a B horror movie extra anymore.”
“Something to be grateful for.” Lexi managed a laugh. She’d take what she could get.
“Are you able to talk about anything on your mind?” Cerberus took her hand. The contact soothed parts of her, but the rest still hummed at high frequency. “Out loud or not, I’m listening.”
“Verbally, please. I don’t like it in my head right now,” she said.
“Tell me. Anything you want.”
He was so good to her. Had done and sacrificed so much on her behalf. She should say any of those things. Or offer sympathy for the mental torture he went through when Persephone escaped the underworld. Or change the subject to something non-threatening, like how much they both enjoyed the fifth Star Wars trilogy.
“Has Lorelei ever called in her favor?” she asked.
His shock raced through their connection. “No.” The answer came without hesitation or deception. “Why? How do you know about that?”
“Actaeon told me the price for a siren-gate key.” She nodded at the gem that hung on a leather cord around Cerberus’ neck. “Was he wrong?”
“He wasn’t. I owe Lorelei a favor, but she’s never asked.” He was telling the truth.
Why did she doubt him?
“Lexi? Tell me why you’re asking.”
“I...” She didn’t want to relive the scene, and her vivid, lingering doubt wasn’t something she could put into words. She took his other hand, gripping both to anchor herself. “I can show you.”
Lexi’d watched the scene play out countless times, and it flowed easily through her head once she let it. Lorelei greeting Cerberus in her hut. Her demanding he kill Icarus. The contract that kept him from saying anything to Lexi.
She broke the connection between them with a sob, before the rest of her time in Lorelei’s box could break free of the restraints she had on it. Silence settled in the room, while she struggled to bring her jagged breathing and racing pulse under control.
Cerberus’ gentle touch on her forehead as he brushed away a strand of hair helped to ground her. “That never happened,” he said. “I promise. And yes, she could make it part of the favor to not tell you, but I couldn’t lie to you. Not ever. I could refuse to answer, but you’d see the truth. It’s who you are.”
He had so much faith in Lexi, and she didn’t deserve it. She was still fumbling through life, barely a baby, compared to anyone in this world of gods and humans and servants. She’d doubted Cerberus, and on top of that, she was keeping secrets of her own. Guilt slid in to join the blobby mess that was her mind.
“Why does her favor override our link?” Lexi asked. “Why do you have to do what she asks, if I don’t want you to?”
Cerberus sighed. “A favor isn’t worth much if it can be overridden by another promise further down the road. Even if that promise is a servant’s bond. No one would deal in favors if they could be tossed aside.”
“Who makes these rules?”
He shrugged. “They’ve been there as long as I can remember. Maybe the Titans did. Perhaps it happened even earlier than that.”
“Oh.” She didn’t like that, but it wasn’t high on her pursue it and find an answer now list.
“There’s more, isn’t there?” His question didn’t hold any expectation.
If she got this confession out of the way now, it wouldn’t hang over her anymore. It wasn’t even the big deal she’d turned it into. A random thing—insignificant, next to Hades’ trying to destroy her and the gods. Why did it sit in her gut with such a heavy pit, then?
“You need to keep your head in the game for what we’re about to do. If you talk about it now, it will help,” Cerberus said.
And there was that. She couldn’t focus, with so much looming over her. “Though Aphrodite didn’t have much to offer about Hades, she did have some very specific thoughts around Icarus,” she said.
“Like what?”
“She’s got some strong beliefs when it comes to fated love.”
“Who’s he...” Cerberus looked at Lexi with shock. “You?”
Lexi nodded. “She implied he was the third and final one.” That was supposed to make the situation better, but it came out as a weak excuse.
“There’s obviously chemistry between the two of you.” The emotion didn’t flow as freely from Cerberus as it had moments ago. He didn’t shut her out completely, but there was a wall between them.
Disappointment gnawed the lining of her stomach. “There’s more to it than what Aphrodite said. I guess she and I are the only ones who see it. There’s a red string that runs from me to both you and Actaeon. It’s faint”—fuck, it was barely visible right now, and that devoured her—“but now that I know what it is, I always see
it.”
“And it’s there with Icarus, too.”
“Yes.”
“But it’s faint?” Cerberus asked.
Icarus is your mind, and you value that above all else. Aphrodite’s words taunted Lexi.
“I didn’t see it with him the first time we met. I don’t know why not. But I did in the bar. It’s distinct and vibrant. It might as well be a real red string. Aphrodite said... It doesn’t matter. I’m not letting her or fate make up my mind for me. She acts like if I choose to ignore it, I’ll be miserable forever. I barely know the guy.” Lexi bit off the rambling thought when she realized Cerberus had gone mostly blank—both his expression and his emotions.
A sliver of hurt poked through his defenses, though. “You knew about it before you talked to Aphrodite.”
“I suspected.” Lexi could gloss over the revelation, but she didn’t want to pretend anymore. “The night after I met him, we shared a dream. It was... intense. Nothing happened. We just talked. But he was in my head. Similar to what he did when he found me in Lorelei’s prison.”
Cerberus was silent. She waited for any other indicator of what he was thinking.
She didn’t like this idea of anyone besides her and the people she was with having a say in who she loved. Defensiveness rose inside. She didn’t have a right to cast this on Cerberus, but she couldn’t smother the feeling. “I didn’t tie an ethereal string between myself and anyone else, and I never said I intended to do anything about it.”
“I wish you’d told me.” Cerberus’ voice was flat.
Lexi deflated. “I was trying to figure out how.”
“You were trying to figure out if you could ignore it until it went away.”
“Is that such a bad thing?”
Cerberus stood. The loss of contact with him was another layer of pain in this conversation. “It is if you’re in denial. Things are happening between the two of you anyway.”
Lexi wanted to say the same things she had to Aphrodite. That this was a phase. A crush. A passing fancy. She didn’t know if any of that was true. She hadn’t spent enough time with Icarus to say the opposite either—that this was budding love. So she kept her mouth shut.
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