All that mattered was his life and his wants.
Everyone else could go to Kalosis and rot.
Leaning back in his chair, Dikastas sipped his cafe au lait. "Well, if that's what you're after, the person you really want to talk to is Bet, as she'd have the most..." He trailed off as Apollo gave him a harsh stare and he realized the total stupidity of what he was suggesting.
"Ah," Dikastas said with a snide smile. "Guess you can't go there, can you?" Not after Apollo had screwed Bethany over in not one, but two separate lifetimes. The Atleantean goddess of wrath and warfare wouldn't take kindly to Apollo going to her for anything other than a full disembowelment.
Followed with a thorough denutting.
And the sun itself would freeze over before she'd ever help the bastard who'd killed her beloved husband and cursed her to lose her baby.
"She wouldn't have been there when Apollymi set up the Atlantean pantheon anyway. She hadn't been reborn yet, right?"
Again, courtesy of Apollo's first brutal betrayal against her and her husband....
Dikastas set his coffee cup down and reached for another beignet. "Correct."
Crossing his arms over his chest, Apollo stroked his chin as he thought about something. "So how did Archon convince the frigid bitch of all time to marry him and establish a pantheon with him as its king so that he could play ruler?"
Dikastas snorted at his assumption. "Apollymi isn't frigid. Therein is the problem. Her passions run deep and dark. She's ruthless and bloodthirsty, but that doesn't make her cold. She's as fiery as a volcano and even quicker to erupt, and far deadlier when she peaks."
"You still haven't answered my question. Why him? Why then?"
Dikastas shrugged. "Simple. Someone gave Archon the intel that Apollymi was awaiting the return of her precious Kissare and she mistook the dull god as her Sephiroth come back to be with her. The spy fed Archon enough information that he was able to dupe her into thinking that he was her betrayed lover reborn as a god. That was why she agreed to set him up as her king and allowed him to rule over her. At least for a time."
"Are you sure he wasn't?"
"Yeah. Very much so. Kissare loved Apollymi. He gave his life for her and for their son. There was nothing altruistic about Archon. He was much like you."
Apollo's eyes narrowed. But he chose to ignore the dig. "Who was he working with?"
"No one knows. Archon refused to betray his informant. He was too grateful to be the king of his own pantheon to ever give over the name of someone Apollymi would have surely gutted."
Apollo considered that for a few minutes. "Was Kissare ever reborn?"
"Again, no one knows. But I'd say he must have been."
"Why?"
"Because someone fathered Acheron. Knowing Apollymi as I do and how she is, I would lay my money and life that Kissare was the father of both her sons. You find out who Acheron's real father is and you will find out who Apollymi really loves."
"You think he's still alive?"
Dikastas cradled his coffee mug as he considered it. "That would be the question of all time, wouldn't it?"
*
Chewing her nail, Medea was beside herself as she and Davyn made the long walk back to her parents' room. In fact, this was the longest walk of her life. Neither of them spoke. Which was rare for them. She even forgot that she was aggravated at Davyn.
By the time she reached their room, she'd forgotten a lot of things.
Until she pushed the door open to find both of her parents completely restored. Relieved and grateful, she rushed in with tears in her eyes to embrace her mother, then her father.
But it was Falcyn she kissed. "Thank you!"
He smiled at her. "You're welcome."
Her father cleared his throat gruffly. "What's this? Leave room for the imagination between the two of you! Now!"
Falcyn snorted at his tone. "Don't even start with me, old man. Or I'll put you right back like I found you."
She smiled up at her irascible dragon, yet she didn't miss the fact that he was a bit pale for his efforts. "Are you all right?"
"Fine." He cut a nasty glare toward her father. "Better with a little Daimon blood to soothe my mood."
She popped him on the arm. "Then take it from Davyn."
"Hey! I think I resent that!"
Laughing, she turned toward her father, and sobered. "We have a problem."
Her father groaned. "What now? Apollymi in another foul mood? Or is Apollo back?"
"Neither. I found Phoebe Peters in Davyn's room, feeding on him."
While her father paled, he took the news a lot better than she'd have thought. In fact, he wasn't nearly as shocked as she'd been or that he should be, given how incredulous this was.
Neither was her mother.
And that sent a chill up her spine. "Father? Is there something you want to tell me about this matter?"
He glanced at her mother.
Her bad feeling tripled. She knew that look they were passing between each other--as if trying to figure out who would take the blame for whatever problem had cropped up.
"You knew?" she accused.
His features blanched even more. "It's not what you think." Yet that tone said that it was.
Oh dear gods! He really did know. Sick to her stomach, she exchanged a shocked stare with Davyn.
She turned back toward her father. "How is it not?"
Stryker drew a deep breath before he answered. "She was sick, Medea. Infected by the blood she'd been feeding on."
"Gallu?"
He shook his head. "Worse."
What could possibly be worse than the bite of a gallu that would turn them into mindless zombies?
Davyn cursed under his breath as if he understood it. "Anglekos."
In that moment, Medea cringed, too. Then she felt stupid for not realizing it on her own.
She hadn't even thought about that.
Yeah, that would do it. It was why she avoided preying on psycho humans. That tainted blood could overwhelm and taint a Daimon. Those corrupt souls were so evil that they had a nasty tendency to infect the Daimon who tried to feed on them, often turning the Daimon into a psychotic killer. There were some strong enough that they could handle taking souls like that.
Urian had been one. Davyn another. In fact, Davyn only fed on those souls, as had Urian when he'd been Daimon. In a way, they kept humanity safe by removing those members from society.
However, it wasn't an easy thing to do, and after she'd taken one once, it'd been enough for her to know to leave them well enough alone.
Stryker let out another long, tired sigh. "She was always weak. More human than Apollite. Never really a Daimon at all. It's why she couldn't kill for herself. The blood Urian had fed on mutated her. Driven her insane. We weren't the ones who attacked the Apollite commune in Minnesota. She was."
"What?" Davyn scowled at him.
Rubbing his hand over his face, Stryker winced. "It's why I had you keep Urian occupied that night. Trates and I got the call for help. I knew Phoebe was living there. Had known about her for a long time, contrary to what Urian thought--they'd told me about it not long after he set her up with an apartment. I just felt so betrayed that Urian had taken Cassandra and Wulf there, too. I didn't mind that he'd converted Phoebe. I could almost respect that. It was the Dark-Hunter I resented him for. That he'd lie and shield our enemy from me when he knew how much I wanted that last bitch dead. And Kat. That was the bitterest pill. He even married them!"
Tears glistened in his eyes. "Even so, I couldn't let him know about Phoebe and her killing spree. When I saw what she'd become, I knew Urian would blame himself for it. Hate himself for the monster she'd become. I didn't know what to do."
"So you killed her." Davyn had a sick expression on his face.
He shook his head. "I started to, but I couldn't. I'm not as cold as you think. Instead, I brought her back here and locked her in the catacombs. Originally, I was going to tell Urian and let us dea
Medea gaped at her father. "And in all this time, you didn't think to tell him the truth? To tell any of us the truth?"
"To what purpose? The deed was done. Besides, you saw her. She's not his wife anymore. She doesn't know herself. Wouldn't know him. For all intents and purposes, she might as well be gallu. And it's not like he's going to forgive me at this point, anyway."
"You did cut his throat, Father."
"I know, Medea. I was there. Believe me, I've relived that nightmare more times than I care to recount. It's never far from my thoughts. Even when my eyes are wide open. That night is one of the few things in my life I would give anything to do over and do differently."
Her mother moved to hug him and offer him comfort.
But sadly, like Urian, Medea couldn't quite forgive him for his actions. As a mother, she'd never be able to harm her child. Not for any reason.
Even betrayal against her. Having lost her child, there was no way she'd be responsible for the loss of her baby's life.
And it made her wonder if Urian wasn't right. If one day her father would do the same to her.
How could she trust anyone? Ever?
Yet when she met Falcyn's gaze, she saw in him a promise of faith. A blood oath.
Like her, he'd known bitter betrayal. Pain.
Loneliness.
Lies.
And he wouldn't do that to another. Because he knew the bitter taste of it.
She was nothing more than the product of broken dreams and broken trust. Of heartache and sorrow.
But in his eyes, she finally saw a future. And for the first time, it wasn't bleak.
Against her better sense, she reached out for him.
Falcyn saw the torment deep in Medea's eyes and he recognized it for what it was.
Fear. Misery. Crushed dreams that hurt so deep down inside that she'd had no choice except to deny that they'd ever been there.
He felt them, too. Had buried them beneath an apathy that had left him unable to feel anything for so long he'd begun to believe the lie of it all.
That there was nothing inside him. No emotion. No sentimentality of any kind.
And there was the irony. He'd actually convinced himself he was numb and unfeeling. Uncaring when the truth was he cared so much that he'd been forced into denial so that he could remain sane when faced with the madness of a brutal world that constantly assaulted him with its insanity and pain.
Now ...
He could no longer pretend. Damn it to hell. Against all his carefully constructed shields and safeguards this little Apollite had slid in past his defenses and carved her name into his dead heart. And he would never be the same.
Because now that he knew her name and her face ...
Her touch ... she was as integral to him as breathing.
Shit.
Falcyn didn't need his dragonstone to live.
He needed Medea.
Grinding his teeth, he searched his mind for something to say to her, but words failed him. There was nothing he could say to adequately convey what he felt for her.
Nothing.
So he took her hand into his and pressed her open palm to his lips, then to his heart so that she could feel the fact that it beat solely for her and no one else.
Medea swallowed as she saw the tenderness on Falcyn's face and felt the strong beating of his heart beneath her fingertips. "Is that it, dragonfly? Really?"
"You know me, princess. If I speak, chances are, I'll say the wrong thing and piss you off. Ninety percent of intelligence is knowing when to shut the fuck up."
Laughing, she stepped forward to kiss him. "Then that makes you a genius."
Suddenly, a loud rumble shook the walls around them. Medea pulled back with a frown.
Falcyn cocked his head at the sound as a weird fissle went down his spine. One he hadn't felt in a long time. Surely that couldn't be what he thought. It would be impossible for Apollo to infiltrate Apollymi's domain.
Wouldn't it?
The sound returned. Even louder.
Harder.
"What is that?" Zephyra asked with the same note of panic in her voice.
Falcyn narrowed his gaze on the doorway. "It sounds like..."
"Strykyn," Stryker finished for him in a breathless tone as the cacophony of rushing wings grew louder and louder.
Closer and closer.
Like a tornado across a vast field. It rumbled all around, shaking the ground and walls.
An instant later, the door burst open to admit the giant black war owls of Ares.
19
Medea was frozen by the unexpected sight of the massive ancient Greek warriors who came through the door, first as gargantuan black owls. Then as armored soldiers. Armed with spiked shields, oversized pauldrons, and swords, they meant business and were here for blood.
Their blood.
The woman in her could appreciate their handsome, ripped bodies, but the demon warrior who'd survived countless battles didn't welcome them in her domain. She saw them for the threat they were, and wanted them dead or gone.
Their choice. Either option was fine by her. The bloodier, the better, because with what they would be bleeding, she'd get a free meal out of it.
She licked her fangs in expectation of a most satisfying dinner.
Stepping back, she manifested her own sword and made ready to send as many of them as she could to whatever god they worshiped if they chose to fight.
This was bullshit and she wasn't about to sit back and let them have her family. Not without it costing them life and limb.
Falcyn moved in to protect her. "What are you doing here?" he demanded of them.
"We're here for your stone, dragon."
Falcyn tsked. "Ah, see, you don't want to be going there, guys. You come for my stone and I'll be handing you yours instead. Now before the massive geldings commence, I suggest you take yourselves back to whatever moron sent you out on this suicide quest and bitch-slap them with my deepest regards."
Medea rolled her eyes at his sense of irony while Davyn made an indefinable noise that landed somewhere between humor and horror. Her father actually laughed.
Her mother applauded. "I like the way your dragon thinks, Medea."
"I knew you would, Mum. Knew you would."
The strykyn moved in to attack, but before they could get near them, a murder of Charonte overran their group like a school of starving piranha.
Medea ducked as one of the Charonte almost took her head off in his enthusiasm to chow down on the nearest strykyn.
They howled as the Charonte tore into them with glee.
Falcyn screwed his face up. "Guess they're not on Acheron's Charonte no-eat list."
Obviously. Just as Apollymi must still be looking out for her Daimon army, as well. Nice to know the goddess of destruction hadn't abandoned them in their hour of need.
Made her feel almost warm and fuzzy inside.
Or maybe that was the sudden weird nausea caused by the hungry demons.
Medea cringed as one of the female demons moved to rip a strykyn apart. "Wonder if they taste like chicken?"
"Ew, Chicken Little! I know we're cannibals, technically, but still...." Davyn nudged at her. "You've been hanging out with the dragons too long."
"Actually, Simi." Worse? This was making her crave barbecue. Yeah, she was sick and she admitted it.
But then, that was what made her the villain. And what made her appreciate the darker side of Falcyn.
Which terrified her. She'd spent centuries alone, never thinking about being with someone else. Never considering the possibility of ever being part of a couple again. She'd become relegated to the concept. Complacent.
Now ...
Dare she trust Brogan's prophecy?
Her own feelings?
For so long life had given her more kicks than it'd withheld. And that made it all the harder to trust. All the harder to believe. How could she have faith when all she knew was betrayal and pain?
Then again, two negatives did make a positive. And no one and nothing was more negative than Falcyn and her.
Together ...
He scowled at her as he caught the look in her eyes. "What's that mean?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
Falcyn snorted. "You must be thinking something good about me then."
"I was."
"Yeah, you're right. I don't believe it."
She popped him playfully on his arm. "Told you."
Shaking his head, he whistled at the Charonte. "As much as I'd love to see a bloody banquet ensue, and that it pains me to put the brakes on your feast. But..."
The Charonte actually whimpered.
"Yeah, we might need the war birds, so could you stow the condiments and hang on to the poultry for a few?" He walked over to the strykyn leader and literally plucked him from the hands of the Charonte who'd been one bite away from his jugular. "Who exactly sent you?"
With an audible gulp, the strykyn rubbed at his bite wound. "Morgen and Apollo."
He draped his arm around the warrior's shoulders and pulled him away from the demon. "And how loyal are you feeling to them at the moment?"
The strykyn glanced around the room to the faces of his men and the Charonte who were begging him to be loyal to the Greek god and fey queen so that Falcyn would allow them to finish their meal in peace. "Um ... Not very."
"Good answer. Which means I'm going to not feed you to the Charonte."
There were more protests from the disappointed demons as they begged harder for him to reconsider.
"-Quite yet." Falcyn held his hand up to quell them. "There's always later. However, I'm feeling uncharacteristically charitable at the moment. So I would urge the lot of your friends here to not try my patience, or that of Apollymi's. And definitely not tempt the Charonte, who have no restraint whatsoever, and an insatiable hunger. Pack your wings, strykyn, and fly home, empty taloned. What do you think?"
The strykyn didn't hesitate with his answer. "I think your stone looks good on you, my lord."
Falcyn patted him on the cheek. "Thought you might feel that way, punkin. Now take your little owlkateers and vamoose."
Medea waited until they were gone. "You think you can trust them?"
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