Urian was right. He was a fucking prick. And he knew nothing about his brother.
Pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, Ash fought for control as he saw the drawing Styxx had made of the boy holding a teddy bear. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear his brother had met his son.
Now that he thought about it, even their wives favored each other enough to be related.
Was it possible that he’d allowed his hatred for Estes and Ryssa’s jealousy toward Styxx to infect him so completely and color his own opinions? Surely he wouldn’t have been so easily swayed.
Would he?
All his life he’d preached to others that there were always three sides to every event—yours, theirs, and the truth that lay somewhere in the middle.
Yet when it came to his brother …
Emotions don’t have brains. Ash knew that better than anyone. He’d said it to every Dark-Hunter he’d ever trained.
And as he stood on the solitary dune, looking out at a hot, vast desert, he remembered how much Styxx had hated being alone as a child. How many times he’d sneak into Acheron’s room and be beaten for it. But Styxx hadn’t cared. He’d come to Acheron regardless.
Brothers. Forever and always.
Styxx had tried to make amends so many times. He’d reached out and Acheron had slapped him away. Repeatedly. Worse, Ash had walked away from Styxx for centuries and hadn’t even given him a single passing thought.
Not once.
It’s amazing the damage we do to ourselves and others when all we’re trying to do is protect ourselves from being hurt. How many times had he said that to a Dark-Hunter?
But then advice was always easier to give than to follow.
Needing to set this right, Ash returned to the tent. He stood outside for several minutes, debating the sanity of this.
But he wasn’t a coward.
With a deep breath for courage, Acheron opened the tent flap. “Styxx?”
The dog crouched low and growled at him.
His brother was now sitting forward, holding a blood-soaked cloth to his pinched nose while he calmed the dog beside him. “I didn’t fucking do it.”
Baffled, Ash frowned. “Do what?”
“Whatever it is you’re here to accuse me of. I am not a god. I cannot travel from here to wherever you live in the blink of an eye. It would take me a solid week to reach even a modest village.” The anger and hatred seared him.
And Ash knew he deserved it. “I came to thank you for the present you sent to Sebastos.”
“An e-mail would have sufficed.”
“Would you have gotten it?”
“Eventually.”
Ash shook his head as he saw the other two blood-soaked cloths on the ground. “You still get headaches, too?”
“Yes, and the biggest one of all just traipsed through my door.” Styxx pulled the rag back to check the bleeding, which was still pouring. He folded the cloth and returned it to his nose. “What do you want?”
Forgiveness. Yet he had no right to ask this man for it. Urian had been right. Styxx had tried to kill him, but Styxx had come at him openly. Hell, he’d even warned him he was gunning for him.
He, on the other hand, had gone at Styxx’s back. And both had struck for the same reason. They’d just wanted an end to their suffering.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yes,” Styxx snarled, “you’re an asshole and I’m a bastard. What the fuck is wrong with the men of my family that they always want to interrogate me when I’m in pain and bleeding?”
Ash dropped his gaze to the row of brand scars that ran the length of Styxx’s side. They started in his armpit where no hair could grow because of the burn-damaged flesh and vanished beneath his waistline. Even his nipple was severely disfigured. Those unique scars tweaked Ash’s memory and brought out a long-suppressed act of stupidity on Ash’s part. He cringed as he remembered when he’d seen the scars that covered his brother’s groin and thighs in Atlantis.
What did you do? Masturbate with a hot poker?
Instead of punching him as he should have, Styxx had curled into a ball and said nothing. He’d just stared at the wall.
Ash ground his teeth, wishing he could go back in time and slap himself for that cruelty. It was obvious someone had tortured the hell out of his brother.
And he would have had them as a kid.…
Before he went into battle. Only back then, Ash hadn’t cared. Lost in his own misery, he hadn’t spared three seconds to consider Styxx’s.
Just because you have it bad, Acheron, it doesn’t mean I have it good. No wonder Styxx had snarled that at him.
Repeatedly. But the scar that really racked him was the one right over his heart. The one Ash had given his own brother … out of pain.
Because he’d wanted it all to just stop hurting.
“Why are you still here?” Styxx asked. “You wanted me out of your life. I’m out. I’m sorry I sent that damn horse that I didn’t want to look at anymore. I won’t ever bother any of you again. Just go!”
“Why did you send it?”
A tic worked in Styxx’s jaw. “Because I promised you that I wouldn’t let anything happen to it, and contrary to what you think of me, I don’t break the promises I make.”
Ash closed his eyes as pain overwhelmed him. Why didn’t I talk to you when you were in Katateros like you’d asked me to?
Because he’d been angry. Hurt.
Mostly angry.
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry, Styxx.”
Styxx gave him an astonished glare. “Oh, okay.” His tone dripped with sarcasm. “Glad you got it all off your chest. Ta ta!”
You are an asshole.
So what if it was justified?
Ash sighed. “Before I go, would you like to see a picture of Sebastos with your gift?”
When those searing blue eyes met his, the raw anguish in them hit Ash like a groin kick. “You think you know pain? You don’t. Trust me. I lived your fucking life, remember? I know every single detail of it. And since Artemis had me locked in that hell and I saw why you hate me for no reason and for things I had no part in, it has taken everything I have to not hate you for it, and for what your mother did to me. For everything she stole from me. But if you show me a picture of your perfect, healthy son, I will not be responsible for what I do to you. And before you go Ryssa on me, and tell me how selfish I really am … I do not begrudge you your happiness or your family. I don’t have room in my thoughts for it as I’m too busy grieving for mine. Now go!”
Nodding, Ash backed out of the tent.
He heard Styxx’s anguished bellow of unleashed rage. It was the same sound of injustice that rang out whenever a Dark-Hunter died as a human. It was the sound that summoned Artemis down from Olympus to ask them if they would like to sell their soul to her for an act of vengeance against the person or persons who’d wronged them.
Acheron had never once thought someone would make it because of his actions against them.
And never would he have dreamed it would come from the throat of his own brother. He’d been so wrapped up in his own pain and anger that he’d never once considered Styxx’s. From the outside, Styxx’s life had looked so perfect.
Beloved prince. Hero of Didymos. Heir to a vast empire.
But a house could look new on the outside and be riddled with termites that ate away at its foundations until it crumbled from the strain of trying to hold itself up under their brutal assault.
And a single smile could hide profound pain.
“I am sorry, Styxx.” And this time, he really meant it.
Needing his own sense of peace, Acheron headed for Savitar’s island home. Since it was dusk there, he found his old mentor and friend in a black wet suit sitting in the surf beside his surfboard, watching the sunset over the ocean. Leaning back on his arms, he had his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.
Savitar groaned the minute he saw him. “Grom coming to disturb my mellow. What up, my brother?”
Ash transformed his clothes into a wet suit so that he could join Savitar in the surf. He sat down. Bending his knees and wrapping his arms around his legs, he sighed heavily. “Urian said that you had to pull Styxx out of a coma?”
Savitar nodded.