And he would never take away from her what they'd had between them. "But she was never you, Phyra. Not in face, form, or passion. You were always the light in my darkness."
Zephyra moved toward him slowly. Cautiously. His shoulder still aching and bleeding, Stryker tensed, expecting her to attack him again. Reaching up, she sank her hand into his hair and pulled his lips down to hers so that she could give him a kiss so feral and hot it set fire to his blood. His body roared to life as he returned it with every part of himself that had missed her. Growling, she pulled back and glared at him before she shoved him away. "That is only to remind you what you gave up. My heart is dead except for Medea. She alone keeps that last piece of me."
"Then I will release her."
She snorted contemptuously. "Your tricks won't work on me."
"No trick. You gave me your word and I'm giving you my faith. I trust you to abide by our terms and so I release her back into your custody."
Zephyra narrowed her eyes on him, not trusting him for a moment. He was smarter than any man she'd ever known. Cunning. He knew how to manipulate people to get what he wanted. He always had. Everyone except his worthless father.
More handsome than any of the gods, her Strykerius had once made her body burn with insatiable lust. Now she only felt anger and hatred. It was so strange to see him now with those eerie swirling eyes. As a mortal, his eyes had been the clearest blue. She'd wanted to bear sons and daughters with those eyes to remind her of how much she loved him.
Medea's eyes had been green like hers, and while they'd been mortal she'd been grateful to the gods for that small mercy. Until the night Apollo had cursed every member of her race because a group of Atlantean soldiers had slaughtered his Greek mistress and bastard son.
It had been on Medea's sixth birthday, and there while they celebrated Zephyra had watched her daughter's eyes turn black. Unaware at that time of what had caused the curse, Zephyra had held her daughter as she had vomited food and started craving blood.
Once Zephyra understood what had been done to them—what they'd been cursed to—she'd hated everything to do with Stryker and his father, Apollo.
"Tell me. Do you still worship your father?"
Bitter disgust flared deep in his eyes. "I hate him with every breath I take."
"Then we do have one thing in common."
"We also have a daughter."
She curled her lip at his audacity. "No. I have a daughter. I won't let you claim Medea when you were never there for her. She is mine."
Stryker shook his head. "Children are willful. No matter how much you love them and no matter how hard you try, they will have their own way. Parents be damned."
"But that wasn't true of you, was it?"
He winced at the truth. "I was only a boy, Zephyra. My father would have killed me and you had I denied him his plan. Or at the very least he would have cursed us."
"He cursed us anyway, didn't he?"
"He did and I watched as every child and grandchild I had decayed into nothing before my eyes. I held my daughter while she screamed for a mercy that was hours in coming. I should have killed her and saved her that, but I was young and kept hoping she'd turn Daimon like her brothers. But she refused until she finally turned to dust. One by one, every member of my family perished and suffered. I have nothing now. No one."
Zephyra wanted to insult him for his womanish maudlin. But the truth was it touched a part of her that she'd reserved only for her daughter. She actually wanted to comfort him for his losses. Her worst fear had been to watch her daughter age and die.
Luckily, Medea was stronger than that. "Does Medea have any children?"
Zephyra steeled herself against the pain that innocent question evoked. The bitter memories that burned deep inside her. "She had a son." More beautiful than any baby ever born. Praxis had been precious and sweet. Always laughing. Always hugging.
"Where is he now?"
She forced all emotion out of her voice. "Dead."
Stryker's eyes darkened at her monosyllabic answer. "Her husband?"
"Ironic really. Against my wishes, she and her husband were members of the Cult of Pollux." Those were Apollites who believed in doing nothing to circumvent Apollo's curse. They lived peacefully among the humans, waiting to die horribly on their birthdays. Each member of the cult took a vow to harm no human or any other life-form.