by Lexi C. Foss
A barrage of information trickled through his mind as Luc unleashed a vault of historical data. Balthazar sat on his heels as he absorbed it all.
The two immortals had died in various ways throughout the centuries, always to awake fully restored within a set number of hours. Neither had tried beheading or fire, however, as they suspected through their various trials that those two methods would be permanent. How they came to that conclusion eluded Balthazar. His mind just wasn’t capable of keeping up with the scientific and intellectual complexities riddling Luc’s psyche.
Omniscient definitely seemed an appropriate term for him, as he truly seemed to know all. Even now, as he examined Nythos, a million scenarios triggered at once, each one reviewed and discarded in seconds as Luc sorted through hundreds of years of knowledge.
Balthazar pulled back, needing a break from the insanity. He scrubbed a hand over his face, belatedly realizing his palm was covered in blood.
A growl lodged in his throat. “Fucking Jeremiah.”
“I take it he’s pissed over a woman?” Luc guessed as he continued inspecting Nythos.
“I may have slept with his very dissatisfied mate.” Twice. “He didn’t approve.”
“Clearly.” Luc closed Nythos’s eyes. “Her body isn’t shutting down the way a normal mortal does, and her wounds appear to be healing.”
Hope threatened to unfurl in Balthazar’s chest. “You think she’s one of us?”
“I’m not sure.” Luc peered into her mouth. “That’s why I want to examine her.” He moved to her neck, pulling the hair aside and revealing a bite mark. “Fascinating.”
“What about it?”
He didn’t reply; just refocused on the worst of her injuries—the killing wound to her heart. Balthazar didn’t indulge in torture, but he would take pleasure in ending Jeremiah’s life.
All this over a wounded ego. Ridiculous.
Poor Nythos.
He knelt beside her again and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She was warm beneath his touch, lending credence to Luc’s theory. Could she be one of them? In all Balthazar’s years, he hadn’t met anyone with her potential or inclinations. She thrived on passion and life.
“I hope you’re right,” he whispered. Because a beautiful spirit like hers deserved longer in this world, and to have her existence ended so early on account of some idiotic vendetta against him was wrong.
“I am.” Luc hadn’t stopped observing the knife laceration to her chest. His mind raced with images and words that Balthazar couldn’t follow, not in sequence, anyway. It all resembled scientific gibberish based on centuries of experimentation. “She’s healing.”
Balthazar studied the same spot and blinked. “How can you tell?”
“The skin is stitching itself back together.” Bright green eyes flashing with ancient intelligence finally lifted. “I’ve cataloged her progress, and at this rate, she’ll be awake in ten hours, five minutes, and thirty-two seconds.”
Well, that was a useful skill. “You’re certain?”
“Yes.” No hesitation or question. “She’s healing at a slightly slower rate than my father, but age seems to factor into our ability to recover.”
Right. He would ask more about that later. “So what do we do?”
“We wait,” Luc said simply. “And you may want to rinse somewhere.”
Balthazar took in his nude and bloody state. “Right.” He’d find something to clean up Nythos as well. “Will you stay with them?”
“Yes.” His mind confirmed the statement as well. Leaving his father unattended while in a weakened position went against every grain of his being.
Good. Loyalty was a trait Balthazar respected. “Need anything?”
“Some food?” Luc suggested. “I don’t really require it, but I did burn a lot of energy last night.”
The reminder of their fun thawed some of the ice coating Balthazar’s insides, but it wasn’t enough to elicit a grin. Not with Nythos’s current state.
Jeremiah would pay dearly for this.
“I’ll see what I can do about food,” Balthazar said. “And I’ll grab you a fresh robe.” They were about the same size; he’d find him one of his own.
“Thank you.” Luc moved to check Aidan’s lacerations. “I’ll be here.”
Balthazar nodded. “I know.”
5
Jay
“A point of clarification: Jayson used to be known as Jedrick. To help better understand this translation of events, I’ve taken the liberty of updating his name. You’re welcome. Waffles make the best tips.”
—Luc
Another headache. This time because his father had stabbed him in the head. And just like every other fucking time this week, Jayson awoke a few hours later, cold, alone, and very pissed off.
“Prick,” he growled as he rubbed his temple.
Artemis just needed to give up already. If he wanted to retain control of this kingdom so bad, he should just man up and do it. Jayson had no interest in taking over the bloody empire. He much preferred to spend his nights with willing women and enjoying life.
Instead, his father kept inventing new ways to kill him.
Next time, Jayson would return the favor. He was done with this madness. The first few times, he hadn’t realized his father’s intentions until it was too late. Then his father struck right as he started to wake up the next two times. Last night, it had taken five warriors to hold him down while a knife went through his skull.
I’m going to kill them all. No question. Artemis will die last. Slowly, painfully, and thoroughly.
Jayson just needed to find the right way to do it.
Waking up after being killed seven nights in a row had fucked with his head. His senses were all out of sorts. He could feel things he probably shouldn’t, such as the metal surrounding this cell. It grew stronger each day, allowing him to do things he never could before.
Like open the door without touching it.
“That’s fun,” he said, smiling. “Let’s see just how far that goes.”
He stretched his limbs across the hard floor before hopping to his feet. The world spun for a moment, but slowly the bare features of an open cell registered before his eyes.
His father could at least experiment in the comfort of Jayson’s quarters. Alas, he chose to degrade his son in the prison ward.
Jayson shook the debris from his dark hair and straightened his soiled linens. He needed a visit to the wash areas. Badly. And a new robe.
He took the stone steps two at a time and smiled at the two warriors standing guard.
“Good morning.” It could have been afternoon or evening for all he cared, but the greeting seemed appropriate. Both turned with wide eyes and advanced on him.
“Where are your manners?” Jayson chastised as he took hold of their metal armor with his mind.
They squeaked as he squeezed—slowly—watching the bits and pieces of their warrior garb bite into their flesh. Their cries turned to screams, forcing Jayson to expedite the process. Torture was his father’s playtime preference, not his.
The two humans collapsed onto the ground in a heap of flesh, bone, and contorted copper. Fascinating. Jayson felt alive with power, his skin humming with the need to experiment. This was the first morning he’d awoken without his father there to kill him again. Perhaps he thought the knife did the trick? Whatever the reason, Jayson intended to use it to his advantage.
But first, he needed to clean himself up.
He kicked the bodies down the stairs and started toward the nearest watering source.
The sound of his name rolling off a scathing tongue gave him pause. He turned to meet his father’s brown eyes.
“If you think I’m going to let you try again, old man, think again.” With that, he continued on his way, only to freeze midstep as his legs ceased working. He frowned at his bare feet, struggling to move, and glowered over his shoulder. “What the hell are you up to now?”
Jayson wore no metal, so
mething he learned long ago not to do in the presence of his father. The immortal male possessed an affinity for the substance, something Jayson seemed to have inherited with his death. He couldn’t wait to surprise the old man with his newfound ability.
Just need to learn how it works first.
A shorter man with olive-toned skin stepped into the hall with his hands clasped behind his back. Piercing green eyes took in the scene, his stature superior in every sense of the word.
“Osiris,” Jayson growled, irritated. The ancient being had a knack for persuasion, hence Jayson’s feet being glued to the floor unwillingly. “Of course.”
“You were right, Artemis. This truly is fascinating,” Osiris murmured. He studied Jayson in an appraising manner, his expression impressed. “How many times have you tried to kill him?”
“Seven.” His father spat the word. “He won’t fucking die.”
Osiris nodded slowly. “What have you tried?”
His father recounted the last week of hell while Jayson fought not to cringe. Hearing the methods reiterated was almost as bad as experiencing them.
“Have you tried beheading him?” Osiris asked conversationally.
A scheming grin lit up his father’s face. “Not yet. Shall we do that now?”
Jayson narrowed his gaze as he tapped into his new cognitive ability. He was done with this cruel game. He just needed to figure out how to sharpen his control…
“Perhaps.” Osiris sauntered forward and circled Jayson, inspecting him as one would a bug. “There must be more like him in existence.”
“He’s my only progeny.”
Thank fuck for that, Jayson thought sourly.
“Yes, I meant others like us may have created more like him. We need to gather our brethren, find out if any of them have produced beings with similar traits.” Osiris’s tone held a touch of awe that churned Jayson’s stomach.
“You mean to collect them all,” his father surmised.
“Indeed. Starting with your son.”
“I thought we just agreed to try beheading him?” Such a petulant response from a man who considered himself an emperor.
And the award for “Father of the Year” goes to… Jayson suppressed an eye roll while continuing to sink his mental claws into all the bronze items in the home. His father fancied war, which meant they had a lot of weapons. Metal ones.
Osiris shrugged. “He could be useful. Even now I can sense his gifts.” Emerald eyes locked on Jayson. “You’re quite powerful.”
“Yeah?” His lips curled. “Want a demonstration?” Because I’m ready when you are, buddy.
A flicker of amusement dilated those ancient pupils. “Yes.”
He ignored the strangled sound coming from his father and harnessed all the metallic energy flowing in the air, sending it directly to the source of his hatred.
Artemis blocked the majority of the blows, his own gift igniting to protect himself, but Jayson had spent two decades watching his father’s every move. He knew his style and used it against him. Two lethal shards pierced his father from behind, one lodging deep in his heart and the other in his skull, sending the immortal to the ground in a heap of blood and gore.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” he growled. He sent a third through the man’s groin for good measure. His body would push it out as it healed, which was really a shame because Jayson would love to watch the jackass pull it out himself later.
He lifted another metal object and sent it flying toward his father’s neck—intent on decapitation—only to have it drop as his control snapped.
Osiris clapped, pleased. “Very useful indeed.”
More compulsion.
Jayson opened his mouth to reply but found it fused shut.
Shit.
He should have taken out the more powerful of the two when he had a chance. Now he was mute, feet cemented to the floor, and unable to access his gift. That didn’t stop him from glowering at Osiris, though.
“You have spirit. Another trait I deeply admire,” the ancient one murmured. “Sethios?”
“Yes?” A familiar immortal stepped out of the shadows with a dark-haired male at his side.
Sethios and Ezekiel. Great.
One was a sadistic fuck with a penchant for hypnosis, while the other was a lethal assassin who couldn’t die.
They were unfortunate acquaintances he’d known for years through his father. Everyone—except Artemis—owned up to their immortality and walked among the people as gods. His father, however, had wanted to maintain his “mortal” identity and continue to lead. The only way to do that was to sacrifice Jayson.
That plan failed.
“Do you mind guarding the young one while Ezekiel and I venture out to find the others?” Even though he phrased it as a question, Osiris clearly meant it as a demand.
And fuck being called “young one.” Everyone here resembled a male in his twenties, maybe thirties. Just because they all lived longer did not make Jayson a child.
“Of course,” Sethios replied. He stepped over some of the contorted metal pieces and moved to Jayson’s side. “We’ll have fun together.”
Osiris smirked. “I’m sure you will.” He held out his hand for the more lethal of the pair. “Let’s go.”
Ezekiel’s gold-flecked gaze flicked to Sethios before he grabbed Osiris’s wrist. The two immortals disappeared into a cloud of darkness, and relief temporarily touched Jayson’s senses. He fixed his uncomfortable position and spun to face his new enemy.
Metal called to him as he gathered all his energy, ready—
“Please don’t make me hurt you, Jay. I’m tired, it’s been a long fucking day, and it would be far more pleasant if we just accepted our fate together.” He cocked a brown brow. “Yes?”
Well, that wasn’t what he expected. He paused his bronze-seeking efforts and took in the man’s casual stance. It didn’t appear to be a trick. If anything, Sethios looked bored. “What did you have in mind?” he asked slowly.
“For starters? Cleaning you up. Then perhaps we can find a few willing women to spend the evening with.”
“Willing?” Jayson repeated. “I thought you preferred yours more compliant?”
Sethios’s lips twitched. “Let’s start with changing your robes, and then we’ll see where the night goes.”
Interesting. Sethios could flatten Jayson in a second if he wanted to. The man possessed age, experience, and a superior skill, but he preferred to keep things civil. Why argue? It gave Jayson time to explore his new powers and formulate an escape plan while Sethios was properly distracted.
Game on.
“All right,” Jayson said.
Sethios smiled. “There’s a smart lad.”
Jayson fought the urge to growl at the belittling remark. All the immortals in his acquaintance considered him a boy. What they all failed to realize was he had reached manhood over a decade ago. With a father like Artemis, he never had a choice.
He sent another sheet of metal into the dead man on the floor for good measure. Wouldn’t hurt to keep him down for as long as possible, and it helped alleviate some of his frustration.
“Right.” Jayson rolled his shoulders and met Sethios’s amused gaze. “I’m ready.”
“You sure you don’t want to sever his head? Might kill him for good.”
“Oh, I want him to wake up. So I can kill him again. And again.” And again.
Sethios chuckled. “You and I will get on just fine.” He gestured toward the exit. “Let’s go have some fun, Jay.”
6
B
“Why isn’t she awake?” Balthazar asked, arms folded, legs braced.
Nythos lay in his bed with her pretty head on his pillow while the rest of them stood around her. All of her wounds had healed on their own, but her eyes remained closed.
“She’s young,” Aidan murmured. “If you and Lucian died by the same means today, my son would wake before you.”
“Yes, Aidan always heals faster than me,” Lu
c added. “But he’s several centuries older.”
Balthazar listened as both immortals recounted several of their experiments. Such complex logic existed in their minds—like a maze without an end. Mortal brains were easy to navigate, even the most intelligent among them, but the knowledge these two possessed was overwhelming.
He pulled away from their thoughts and focused on the delicate woman wrapped up in his favorite linens. Such a beautiful female. Balthazar wasn’t one to love singularly. He enjoyed all people, but this one touched him in a way very few ever had.
Aidan bent to check her neck and then her wrist. “It should be any minute now.”
Luc crouched beside Nythos and picked up her opposite arm. “Yes.” He glanced up at Balthazar. “I suggest you lie with her. It’ll help with her transition.”
“I agree. She’s going to be quite disoriented, perhaps even violent, considering her final memory. I believe you’re equipped to handle that?” Aidan phrased it as a question, but it came across as more rhetorical.
Still, Balthazar felt the need to confirm more for himself than anything else. “She’ll be fine.”
Aidan stood with a nod. “We’ll leave you to it.”
Luc joined his father and gave Balthazar a nudge on the shoulder as he walked by. “We’ll bring back food and other things.” He winked, his insinuation clear. “I think she’ll be up for it.” He followed Aidan outside, leaving Balthazar grinning after him.
Not even a day and already they understood each other.
Of course, they’d discussed the idea earlier when deciding what to do about Jeremiah. They both concluded that the best person to enact revenge on the imbecile would be a very pissed off Nythos. She was more of a lover than a fighter, but the woman could hold her own. And if she chose not to kill him, then they would let the pathetic mortal live. Whatever punishment they doled out would be of her choosing. She earned it most.
Balthazar went to the blanket beside her, wrapping his arm around her bare abdomen and resting his head on their shared pillow. He closed his eyes and listened for her thoughts.