From Darkness (Hearts & Arrows Book 3)

by Staci Hart

  She stiffened. “That’s all you. I’m taking a break on missing persons.”

  He searched her face. “I really want to know if you’re all right.”

  Josie finally looked at him and found she’d been justified in trying to avoid it. His eyes were so blue, they were almost black, heavy and intent on her. His dark brows were just low enough to show his concern, concern that was honest and real.

  That look hit her in the heart, reminding her of the time when she’d believed he would have done anything for her, the time before he’d abandoned her. And that feeling of longing flared into anger.

  “I said I was fine, and I meant it.” The words were short and final.

  He watched her, and when he spoke, his voice was a little softer, as if she were a wild animal. “Okay, Jo. I just wanted to talk—”

  “Christ, Jon. Take a hint. I don’t want to talk about anything you want to talk about.” She gripped her phone in her fist to stop her hand from shaking.

  Jon’s voice dropped, and a hint of irritation flickered in his tone. “Listen, I know you don’t want to talk about us—trust me, I got that message loud and clear—but that discussion will happen at some point whether you want it to or not. We have unfinished business, and you can’t ignore it forever, not if I have anything to do with it.”

  She scoffed, but he didn’t give her time to respond otherwise.

  “But that’s not what I wanted to talk about. I want to know what you think happened to Anne.”

  The sound of Anne’s name from his lips was more than she could handle.

  Breathing his air was stifling enough, but to discuss Anne with him was out of the question, beyond what she could bear. She wasn’t strong enough to hold herself together for that conversation.

  But he wouldn’t take no for an answer. She knew him well enough to know that for certain. The only way out was to run.

  She turned without responding, but before she could take a step, he hooked her arm in his big hand, the sensation warm and comforting and absolutely heartbreaking. Because he couldn’t comfort her. She would break completely.

  She set her jaw and glared at him, hating him for everything he made her feel, hating him for everything she couldn’t have.

  “Josie, you weren’t the only one who cared about Anne. I worked with her just as much as I ever worked with you. She was my friend, too, and I want to know what you think happened to her. I’ve been looking, searched every lead I could find, which is nothing and you know it. And you and I both know you have information, information that, if you decided to share, I could maybe use to help you.”

  Her cheeks burned as she jerked away from his hand, her voice trembling, her control gone. “Yeah, well, you fucking left us here. Some friend. I could have used your help, you know that? Maybe if you had been here, maybe if you had been on it with me, we could have nailed Rhodes before he got to her. But no, you were off playing house with your baby and your girlfriend. You never even looked back at what you’d left behind.”

  The wounded look on his face was almost worth her pain, but she couldn’t even find it in herself to be satisfied as she turned to walk away.

  The words Jon wanted to say climbed up his throat and stuck there.

  Don’t let her leave! his mind shouted.

  He reached for her again. She blocked his hand and knocked it away, turning to him again, accusing him with nothing but the look on her face.

  His hand stung from the contact, and he looked down at her tearful eyes with an aching chest and said with his voice like sandpaper, “Josie, I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t, Jon. Just don’t.”

  He stepped closer, begging, “Please, Josie. Let me help. Let me in.”

  “Never again. Leave me alone,” was her answer.

  And she flew out of the station, her red hair swinging behind her like a pendulum, marking every step until she was out of sight.

  Jon’s mind twisted around the exchange, shaken as he made his way toward the exit. Once again, he found himself smack in the middle of the worst possible outcome. He couldn’t reach her, couldn’t appease her, couldn’t soothe her. When he’d left, he’d thrown a grenade into the foxhole, and she was in so many pieces, he couldn’t put her back together. She wouldn’t let him get close enough to try.

  He’d foolishly thought he’d gained ground, but he’d been wrong, so wrong. And that conversation had set him back by miles.

  Jon’s eyes were on the ground, turned so far inward that he slammed shoulders with a cop walking by. When he snapped to and noticed who it was, he realized the collision had been no accident.

  Josie’s brother, Paul, glared at him, jaw muscles twitching. “What’d you say to her?”

  Jon smiled cheerfully, playing the jester as always. “Heya, Paul. I’m good. Thanks for asking. How are you?”

  Paul’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Don’t be a dick, Jon.”

  Jon took a wild shot, hoping he’d catch Paul off guard. “Who’s Rhodes?”

  Paul folded his arms across his chest, his eyes somehow narrowing even more, his irises barely visible. “Corey Rhodes? She told you about him?” He fired the questions like nails.

  Bingo.

  “A little. What have you got?”

  “Like I’d tell you, asshole.”

  “Look, I don’t want to upset her, but she won’t even talk to me.”

  Paul pointed at him. “You don’t have any right to talk to her.”

  Jon shook his head. “Everyone keeps telling me that. Thing is, that won’t stop me from trying.”

  Paul paused for a beat, watching him with suspicious dark eyes. “What’s your angle, Landreaux?”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve never fought for what you wanted, Campbell. I’m trying to give her space, but I’m not gonna give up.”

  It was the honest truth, the only way Jon figured he could ever win back everyone’s respect.

  But Paul only laughed. “It’s too late for you, man. You might as well pack it up and go home. Josie doesn’t change her mind once she’s set it to something.”

  Jon slapped him on the arm with a wink. He knew it was true. He also knew there was an exception to every rule, and he planned to be the exception to this one.

  “Thanks for the tip, Pauly.”

  Paul only scowled as Jon turned and left the station.

  And, just like that, Jon was on top of the world, whistling as he headed down the sidewalk.

  Corey Rhodes.

  Jon had a name.

  Josie made it all the way to her car before the hot tears in her eyes spilled over. She gripped the top of the steering wheel and rested her forehead on the back of her hands, unable to stop the sobs and fighting them all the same.

  She’d known it was only a matter of time before Jon pressed her to talk about what had happened, talk about their past, talk about all the things she’d worked so hard to put behind her. But the second he’d shown up again, all her work had been undone.

  She’d also known he’d eventually push her, and she’d known she wouldn’t be able to handle it when he did.

  But Anne—that was unexpected. All he’d had to do was say her name, and the house of cards had fallen. That single question had thrown her off her axis, sending her flying into the sun.

  Why did he have to come back?

  It had been three years since he left her, three years of hatred and hurt and bitterness that had changed her so deeply, there was no going back.

  On the outside, she was fiery and irreverent, but in her heart, she was broken, hurt far worse than she could even admit to herself. She hadn’t been able to understand how he could do it, why he had left her so cruelly.

  But underneath it all was the truth, under so many layers of hurt, it could only reach her in whispers.

  Josie had believed she found love, a forever love to carry her through the end of her days, only to discover her love wasn’t returned.

  All her old memories, memories she’d thought were
dead and buried, had climbed out of their graves and were out for blood. She could fight them with every weapon she possessed, but they wouldn’t stop.

  They’d never stop.

  Seeing him again had shocked her, but learning the truth about why he’d left cut her off at the knees. She felt betrayed and angry, but worst of all, she felt like a fool. Her anger had cooled over the years, turned hard and black as stone, but his return had split her open again, and she found that the pain had never left her after all. It had been there all along, just under the surface, boiling and rolling and waiting for the time it could break out and take her over.

  Josie took a deep breath and sat up, wiping her tears away with the flats of her index fingers.

  Jon didn’t really want her. If he did, he would have handled things differently so long before. Maybe he wouldn’t have left her so easily, wouldn’t have chosen someone else. It didn’t matter that he and Tori weren’t together. The bottom line was that he’d left. He’d made a choice, and that decision had left her no choice at all. She’d had no say; she had been left to deal with the fallout on her own, all alone.

  If he had only told her from the beginning why he left. If only she’d had a choice. She imagined how different things could have been, but it only broke her heart again.

  Josie sniffled and turned on her car, pulling away to take off across the river where she would tail Rhodes, hoping maybe, just maybe, the routine would bring her peace.

  The stars were bright, the infinite pinpoints against the black of night a sight Apollo had set his eyes on hundreds of thousands of times, and they would never lose their mystery and wonder.

  He sat on Artemis’s perch, waiting for her, missing her company. He and his twin had always been close, though less since they’d moved Olympus off Earth. She’d secluded herself in the expanse of her domain, and he didn’t know if he could blame her. She was a huntress; her home was the forest and the moonlight, her companion. Never would he expect her to wear modern dress and live in an apartment building. It went against all that she was.

  Apollo had been particularly absent since Dita returned Daphne to him. For a thousand years, he had waited for her, and now that he had her, he’d not let her go, not for a second.

  But, with Artemis and Dita competing, he found he didn’t know his place. He’d always sided with his sister against their common enemy. The feud was so old, it had never been a question. But now, after everything Dita had done for him, he found himself caught somewhere between the two goddesses—his sister and the goddess who had given him back his love.

  He produced a lyre from the air and lay back, eyes still on the stars, considering how much his life had shifted. Daphne was his again, released from the curse that had kept them apart. His rivalry with Dita was dead and gone, and the price she’d paid to help him was high, as she’d lost Adonis and Ares both.

  His guilt over being the cause of her pain, the reason that she’d ultimately lost both her lovers, was almost more than he could bear. And so, he would do his best to bridge the gap between the goddesses. It was the least he could do.

  Apollo owed Aphrodite so much, and he was determined to pay that debt in full, with interest.

  He pictured Dita’s face as Ares had pinned her to the wall with his hands around her neck, her eyes closed and face dark, the shade of her skin gray and blue and wrong as she lost consciousness. Ares, bulging and red, the look on his face speaking clearly—he would tear her apart before he would lose her.

  And the whole circumstance had been Apollo’s own doing. If only he hadn’t entered into an oath with Ares so many years before. If only Adonis had lived. If only—

  He jumped when Artemis laid a hand on his forearm.

  “Brother.” Tears filled her dark eyes. “Are you all right? That song…”

  Apollo took a breath, letting it go with the past as he sat, laying his lyre beside him before turning to her with a smile, his heart still heavy in his chest. “I’m fine. Just thinking, that’s all.”

  Artemis sat next to him and leaned back to look at the moon. “Have you been waiting for me long?”

  “No, just a little while.”

  “I have not seen you as of late. Is all well?”

  “Quite,” Apollo answered. “I just wanted to check on you. How goes the competition?”

  “Well enough. Josie wants nothing to do with Jon, and each time they see one another, her agitation grows and festers. He set himself back today by pressing her. I do not believe that Aphrodite will have enough time to convince Josie to overcome her feelings.”

  Her certainty irritated him, and a flicker of defensiveness for Dita flared. “You’d be surprised.”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

  “What’s your plan for Josie?” he asked, not wanting to argue but sensing the inevitability.

  Some plan. Bridge the gap, ha.

  “My plan is to watch. To do my best to keep her away from Jon. I can get her out of New York if he should happen to gain any ground with her. But I care little for the humans or their relationship. My only motivation is to beat Aphrodite.”

  “You never have liked her.”

  “No, and until recently, I was not the only one.” Artemis didn’t look at him but shot the words at him still. “I cannot understand how you can forgive her. She kept Daphne from you for eons.”

  “Because I killed Adonis.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “I did by proxy,” he volleyed.

  “He was a thorn in my side.”

  “Ares would say the same. Still, he didn’t deserve to die. Aphrodite gave Daphne to me and paid a great cost to do it. She did right by me, knowing she would lose so much.” He wanted her to look him in the eye, to see the truth. To convince her, though he knew better.

  Artemis said nothing, only scowled up at the stars.

  “What else do you blame her for?” Apollo asked, knowing the answer.

  Her lips pressed together, and he wished she could be honest with herself. With him.

  “Orion?”

  “Please.” She finally glanced over at him, though her words were full of contempt. “It has been thousands of years.”

  “That wasn’t really an answer.”

  “Love is a ridiculous sentiment, fueled by hormones. It compromises you, creates a weakness that wasn’t there before. No,” she scoffed, “I have no need for love.”

  “Some would say that love is instinctive, which is something you value quite highly.”

  Her lips bent in a frown. “I do not wish to discuss this, Apollo.”

  “I know you don’t, Artemis. But I think you should.”

  She sat and hooked her arms around her knees, turning her eyes back to the stars. For a long time, she said nothing, but when she did, she was far away, long ago, the admission quiet and still and honest. “He was taken from me with no warning, taken from me too soon. And, when I lost him, I lost a part of myself—the part that loved him. Had I never loved him, I would not still feel the sting.” Her eyes were empty when they met his again. “So, forgive me for not feeling as you do about Aphrodite. Her games do not interest me, but I will beat her and be justified.”

  He shook his head, trying to understand. “What good does it do to blame Aphrodite?”

  “It gives me comfort.” She stood and looked down at him with an outward calm that he knew to be a facade. “I can see where your loyalties lie, and they are not with me.”

  “Artemis, you are my sister. Nothing will come between us.”

  “That is not a promise you can make.”

  She turned and climbed down the rock, and he watched as she nocked an arrow and disappeared into the woods.

  Apollo stood and tilted his face to the moon. He knew each ring and shadow that marked its surface by heart, just as he knew his sister, the bullheaded creature who lived in a self-imposed prison under the illusion of happiness in solitude. But he remembered another Artemis, the goddess before Orion who had b
een joyful and compassionate, full of youth and life, and he wondered how he hadn’t noticed until far too late that she was gone.

  Artemis pushed through the brush, not caring how much noise she made.

  She had been betrayed by her brother.

  As glad as she was that Apollo had Daphne again, she mourned the loss of her partner against Aphrodite. Artemis couldn’t fathom how thousands of years of anger could be wiped away with a single act, no matter how noble. It should have been set to rights long before, though that infraction was forgotten by all but Artemis, it seemed.

  And Aphrodite. They were as separate as the sea and the sky, the two goddesses. Neither valued what the other held dear. Aphrodite put her stock in love, nebulous and vague and unpredictable. Artemis believed in logic, what she could see, smell, touch. But logic rarely applied to love.

  At least she still had the competition. Aphrodite had been absent, and Artemis could only hope that the goddess of love was spending her time obsessing over the mirror and not on the game. She had somehow managed to nudge Jon into the station, but that had ultimately worked to Artemis’s advantage, sparking a fight, pushing Josie over the edge. Jon had no chance, and neither did Aphrodite.

  But, if the tide did change, Artemis would be ready, armed, and waiting. There was comfort in that, if nowhere else.

  Dita shifted on the couch, re-situating her stiff, creaking body. For the last twenty-four hours, she had barely moved, the mirror in her lap and her heart split and cracked and aching. She had run the gamut of emotions from joy to tears to tear-inducing joy as she watched Adonis live his ghost life, moving from one task to the next, all the things he loved.

  All the things he loved, except for her.

  She touched the glass of the mirror.

  Adonis lay in the sun, his skin wet from the dip he’d taken in the river. His eyes were closed, a content smile playing on his lips, his hands tucked behind his head. The broad muscles of his arms and chest were perfect, and she could see every ripple and line.

  It was the perfect distraction really. It scratched two itches—her loneliness and her denial.