“She feeds me, Mata. No one else will. I have to have blood to live.”
Swallowing hard, she squeezed his arm. “I’m so sorry, Urian. You deserve to have a fiery passion. The kind that makes you mindless and—”
“Nay, Mata,” he said, cutting her off before someone overheard her words and carried them to Xanthia. “I don’t want that. Ever. Our lives are too short. I want control of myself. We have to have that in order to survive.”
She scoffed. “My pragmatist. You’re too young to be so old. So jaded. What has killed the boy inside you?”
His gaze went to where his father sat alone on his cold, black throne made of the bones of Misos’s enemies, and old memories stirred inside him. “That boy died the night I saw my father go Daimon after his own father tried to end his life, and I realized that there is no mercy in this world for any of us. We are all damned from the cradle to the grave. Life isn’t for the meek. It’s for those too stubborn to give in.”
She sucked her breath in sharply. “What have they done to you?”
Simple. He’d been slapped on the ass the moment he’d arrived into this world, covered in someone else’s blood, and life had been steadily kicking his ass ever since. Without stopping or hesitating. Honestly, he was punch-drunk from it all.
It seemed as if every time he thought he could stand up and breathe, someone or something else came along with a stunning blow that knocked him to his knees. He could never catch a break.
But he didn’t want her to worry. “Nothing, Mata. I merely gave in to the demon inside me sooner than the others. Instead of fighting him, I embraced him as a necessary part of me. Now we snuggle up under the covers as great bedfellows. After all, we are Daimons, aren’t we?”
Her eyes saddened over his words. “You’re part human, Uri, and you’re not a Daimon yet.”
But he couldn’t afford to be human. Not now. Not ever. That would only get him killed. Just as it had done Davyn’s family.
The meek only inherited earth six feet beneath their feet.
And he was about to have his own family to look after.
Time for childhood was over. This world didn’t allow for compassion or mercy. It required vigilance and a merciless sword arm.
After tonight, he would be a husband and a father himself. He had much more than just himself to think about now. His gaze went to Nephele and Geras.
To Xanthia.
Much more.
“Urian? You’re scaring me.” No one could miss the terror in his mother’s kind voice.
“Don’t be afraid, Mata. I’m the very thing you raised me to be.”
She sank her hand into his white-blond hair and forced him to meet her gaze. “Never lose sight of what I taught you, Urian. Honor. Integrity. Loyalty. Mercy.”
Aye, but only for his own family.
No one else.
After all, he was his father’s son, too. And like Stryker, his mercy had a finite limitation. If I don’t feed on it or fuck it, I don’t give a shit. His father’s code was a simple one to grasp.
This world was brutal to its core and it cared nothing for them. Therefore, they cared nothing for it. Their only goal was to survive. Whatever it took.
Over, under, around, or through. Those who stood behind you, you protected. Those who stood at your side were worthy allies, and anyone who stood in front of you was a target to be destroyed.
It was a simple code. And it was one that kept them alive.
From this night forward, he would be Urian Kleopas, and they would all rue the night they’d facetiously given him that epithet.
June 30, 9511 BC
“Damn, what’s in that woman’s blood that it fuels you so?”
Urian laughed at Archie’s question as he kicked his brother back and almost beheaded him. “What’s the matter, adelphos? Can’t you keep up?”
“Theo!” Archie cried out for reinforcement.
Urian turned to take both of his brothers on at once. They weren’t supposed to use their powers while practicing on the field. It was something their father insisted on, just in case they were ever in some kind of trap or device where their powers were locked or stripped, and they were forced to use nothing except their battle skills.
Tonight, Archie and Theo decided to cheat. Without warning, both unleashed a god-bolt on him that knocked him flat on his ass. Groaning in pain, he rolled and came to his feet. He felt the fury rush through his veins.
Before he could stop himself, he lashed out with his own powers. His blast rolled out and sent them flying.
“Urian!”
At first, he didn’t recognize his father’s stern voice. Not until Stryker grabbed him and shook him hard.
Slowly, Urian came to and saw what his family did.
Peculiar symbols glowed all over his body, iridescent and beautiful. He’d never seen anything like it.
Blinking, he swallowed. “Solren? What happened?” He had no memory of anything from the last few minutes as he turned a slow circle, trying to get his bearings.
His father let out a deep, sinister growl. “Do you remember anything?”
Shaken by what he saw, he slowly scowled. “Nay.”
His father turned to glare at Archie and Theo. “What did you do?”
They gaped.
Then Archie sputtered, “Why’s it our fault?”
Releasing Urian, his father stalked them like a fierce predator ready to tear them apart. “Because you’re the ones who assaulted your brother.”
Theo used his sword to gesture at Urian. “That doesn’t make us responsible for the fact that he’s a freak!”
Paris draped himself against Urian’s back. “Hear that, Uri. You’re a freak.”
“Shut up.” Urian shrugged him off.
Laughing, Paris staggered away.
But Paris’s amusement and Urian’s irritation were cut short as a scream rang out.
“Dear gods, what now?” Stryker sighed heavily.
Until he realized it was Telamon’s wife, Natassa, they heard. Then he teleported to their home.
Urian stood paralyzed in their practice arena as he felt pain piercing his chest. It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. Without being told, he knew his brother was dead. He didn’t know how, but he did.
Rage blinded him as he went running through the dark streets of Kalosis. He was so blinded by it that he didn’t even think to use his powers to flash himself to his brother’s home.
Instead, he dodged the curious onlookers who were heading toward the screams to see what was happening. By the time he got to Telamon’s house, Urian was breathless and panting. Shaking and sweating.
Terrified, he pushed his way through the crowd, into the house to where his family was gathered, in hysterics and tears.
If Urian lived for eternity, he would never forget the sight of his father kneeling on the floor of Telly’s room by his brother’s side. Holding Telamon’s hand, their father wept as if his very soul had been shattered. Urian hadn’t even known that his father was capable of such gut-wrenching tears. Never mind the racking sobs that shook a warrior so fierce. So proud.
His father clutched at Telamon’s lifeless body as if it were a rag doll. All around him, his brothers were on their knees, every bit as shaken.
Those communal wails rumbled through Urian’s body like a second heartbeat and shook him to the core of his foundation. Only Apollites left a corpse to bury. Daimons disintegrated upon death. Were his father to die, there would be nothing left of his body for them to mourn. Within minutes of death, all six feet, eight inches of their father’s massively muscled warrior’s body would be nothing more than a fine golden powder that would flitter away, forever lost in the breeze.
A faint memory.
But Telamon was still an Apollite.
His body remained intact. And their father refused to release him.