Artemis watched Acheron's face while he used her hand to stroke him. It was odd to touch a man like this and she wondered what thoughts were in his head. Normally she could hear mortal thoughts when she wanted to, but for once she couldn't.
How very strange . . .
He stiffened ever so slightly before his hot seed shot through her fingers. Instead of crying out as she'd done, he merely sighed raggedly, then released her.
She ran her hand through his warm moisture, studying it. "So this is what makes women pregnant."
"In most cases."
"In most?"
He shrugged. "Mine is harmless enough."
"How so?"
"I was sterilized at puberty, Goddess. My kind always are. No one wants to be made pregnant by a whore."
Artemis arched her brows at his disclosure. "Humans can do such a thing?"
"No, but the Atlanteans can. They taught the procedure to the Apollites."
She studied his fluid again. " 'Tis a shame they did that to you," Artemis said quietly. "You are far too beautiful to be made sterile. Shall I fix you?"
"No. There's no reason to. I told you, no one would ever welcome a child conceived from me."
It was the pain in his silvery eyes as he spoke that brought an unfamiliar ache to her chest.
Her poor human.
He looked spectacular lying back against the white linens that only emphasized the wide expanse of tawny masculine skin. Every muscle of his body was a study in perfection. He was so inviting. Warm. And he was completely unabashed about his nude sexuality. About what they'd done. He wasn't cocky or arrogant that he had touched her.
He treated her like she was . . .
Human.
Most of her family couldn't stand her. Humans feared her. Even her handmaidens laughed among themselves, but kept their guard up whenever she drew near.
But this man . . .
He was different. He held no fear of anything or anyone. Like a powerful, untamed beast, he was defiant and bold. Unyielding in her presence. He was docile now, but the power of him was undeniable. It was frightening even to her.
"Have you any friends?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"Why not?"
"I suppose I'm not worthy of any."
Artemis frowned at his reasoning. "It can't be that. I haven't any either and I am more than worthy. Perhaps there is a flaw to us." She paused as she thought about that. "No, that can't be right either. I have no flaws and yet I'm as alone as you are."
Never before had Artemis realized just how alone she really was. Her twin brother had friends. He had lovers. Apollo was the closest thing to a friend she'd ever known, but even he was reserved around her. Apollo never invited her to do things with him unless it involved destruction or punishment. He didn't laugh with her or ask her to go out carousing or gaming.
For the first time in her life, she realized just how lonely she was.
"Will you be my friend?"
Acheron was utterly stunned by her unexpected question. "You would befriend me?"
She cocked her head as she watched him with a small puckering of her divine brow. She was shimmery and ethereal—far beyond the reach of something like him. "Well, yes. I mean, we can't let others know it, but I like what you have shown me. I wish to learn more about this world and about you." She smiled warmly at him as if she were truly sincere with her offer. It reminded him how rare such a thing as sincerity was. And friendship . . .
It was an elusive dream he dare not allow himself. People like him didn't have friendship. Any more than they had love or kindness. Yet he found a foreign part of himself aching for want of it.
Aching for want of her.
"So, are we friends? I promise you, you'll never regret it."
This had to be the strangest moment of his life and given the oddity of his existence, that said a lot. How could a whore be the friend of a goddess?
Acheron pulled the blanket from the bed and wiped himself clean. "I think you would regret being my friend."
She shrugged. "I doubt that. You're human. You'll only be alive . . . what? Another twenty or so years? That is so little time that it hardly matters and I doubt I shall be your friend once you grow old and unattractive. Besides regret isn't something an Olympian feels."
She smiled as she traced his lips. "Kiss me. Kiss me and let me know that we are friends."
It was a ludicrous thought and yet he found himself doing just as she asked.
Friends.
The two of them. He wanted to laugh at the thought. Instead, he closed his eyes and breathed her in. Her hands were sublime in his hair. And as they kissed, he wanted her friendship with a desperation that made him ache. His only hope was that he'd be worthy of it.
December 13, 9529 BC
"What are you doing?"
Acheron opened his eyes to find Artemis standing on his balcony a few feet away from him. Even though it was freezing cold, he was sitting on the railing, leaning back against a column while he listened to the turbulent sea below. "I was getting some fresh air. What are you doing?"
She pushed her lower lip out into a becoming pout. "I was bored."