He bowed to her, then held the armor piece out toward her. “What is this emblem?”
She took one look at it and her eyes flashed red. “Where did this come from?”
“From Sheba’s palace. It’s part of the armor our attackers were wearing that night.”
The piece burst apart as her black dress fluttered. “It appears we have a most potent enemy. Helios went after you, along with my sister Azura.”
“Why?”
“You are the children of Apollo. My guess is, he wants to eradicate all of you and retake his godhood.”
“But we hate Apollo.”
She laughed bitterly. “That doesn’t matter, Urian. When you carry the blood of a god, you carry a death sentence. For we are petty creatures. Far more so than mankind. And our grudges and power plays take on far worse consequences than anything mankind can conceive.”
Apollymi took his hand and pulled him toward her mirror. “Look into the water.”
As he did so, she stood behind him with one hand on his shoulder and the other at his waist. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. Strange how she seemed so much larger and more fierce until now.
But really, she was a tiny thing physically compared to him. Her frame was delicately boned and almost fragile in appearance. Meanwhile, he might not be as well muscled as his father, but he still wasn’t slight of frame by any means. His physique was honed and lethal from all his battles and practice. Scarred from war, and even from play.
She danced her fingertips lightly over his collarbone and as she did so, his arm illuminated. The scroll pattern became luminescent and vibrant as if it had a life of its own. And the color shot all the way to his eyes.
“You are a creature of great beauty,” she whispered in his ear. “Like me, a weapon of absolute death and yet you can give life.”
“I couldn’t save my brother or sister.” He choked on his tears.
“That is our tragedy and heart fires that forge us into who and what we are. We hate them for it, but they mold us against our wills. And we have a choice; we either allow those tragedies to bend us into the weapon we’re meant to be so that we can continue to fight the battles we must, or we shatter under the weight of them to become useless things. I will never be a useless thing to lie on the floor and bemoan what has happened to me. Rather I will strike back and strike down all those who’ve tried to break me. For that is what a weapon forged by fire does.”
She moved her arms so that she held him in a mother’s embrace. “I know you don’t feel like a weapon tonight. You’re shaken by the blows you’ve taken, and you feel as if one more will break you. But I know you, Urian. You are the phoenix on your shield. You will rise from these ashes, a stronger, greater warrior, and you will tear down your enemies.”
He leaned back against her and nodded. “Thank you, akra.”
She nodded grimly. “While you were gone, I found out about your Dark-Hunters.”
He turned to face her. “Why did she create them?”
“For control. No other reason. It’s a power play against her brother.”
“With no care for our lives?”
“If she cared for you lives, Urian, she’d have helped all of you when you were cursed.”
She was right and he knew it. Though Artemis was his aunt, he’d never met her or seen her. She was a goddess and she could have saved them, yet she’d done nothing to intervene on their behalf.
“But I do know their weaknesses.”
His heart skipped a beat with that. “What are they?”
“Mostly the same as yours. They cannot go out in the daylight. Though they are immortal and don’t have to feed on blood, they can be killed. Beheading. Daylight. Total dismemberment. And they have human helpers—shield-bearers who watch over them while they sleep. They do have to eat, so they are out and about, and they live in the human world, which makes them vulnerable. They can’t harm any Apollite or human. They can only slay Daimons.”
“If they break that code?”
“They will be killed.”
“So we can use humans against them?”
She inclined her head to him.
“Good … then it’s war.”
Apollymi smiled in approval. “And I designate you as my primary general.”
September 3, 7382 BC
Urian felt the power of an ancient being roll through the room like a tidal wave three seconds before the door to the inn opened. No one else seemed to notice, but it made every nerve ending on his body stand up.
And how could it not?
This creature, for lack of a better term, stood every bit as tall as his father, at six feet eight inches. With long jet-black hair that flowed past his shoulders, he was dressed as a barbarian in furs and black flowing robes and trousers. But what caught Urian’s attention even more than his godlike essence was the staff he carried.
The twisted wood was topped with Apollymi’s sun symbol, which was pierced by three lightning bolts.
Even Paris, who stood beside him, scowled as soon as he saw the emblem. “Is that…”
“It is.” Urian felt his arm heating up to an unbearable level. Especially when the man-creature turned a pair of swirling silver eyes toward him.
Paris sucked his breath in sharply.
“You should go.”
His brother hesitated. “What about you?”
“I won’t be far behind.”
Still Paris didn’t move.
Irritated, Urian pushed him toward Davyn. He projected his thoughts to both of them. Take your husband and get out of here. Now! Through the back door.
“Acheron?”
The creature turned toward a Greek soldier while Urian shielded his brother’s exit. He wanted to make sure nothing happened to either Paris or Davyn. Not tonight.
Yet he felt a peculiar pull toward Acheron. There was some kind of familiarity. As if he should know him. He couldn’t explain it. Like something inside him knew this man, or that he should who he was.
He’d never felt anything like it.
Still his arm throbbed. Thank the gods he had it completely covered with a leather pauldron, bracer, and glove, and his chalmys.
Suddenly, the voices in his head grew louder.
Not just the human souls he’d taken. There were more now.
Disoriented, Urian moved to leave only to find Acheron in his way. Up close, he appeared physically younger than Urian. Not by much, maybe a couple of years. And they were about the same build. Yet it annoyed him that the bastard had a couple of inches on his height.
Acheron narrowed his gaze on him. “Do I know you?”
Urian shook his head and without a word, he quickly brushed past him and left.
Acheron gasped as he felt the light touch like a physical blow to his body. More like a sledgehammer to his chest. Indeed, he could barely breathe. It was so severe that it activated his Charonte protector on his arm.
“Shh, Simi,” he breathed, stroking her with his hand to calm her so that she didn’t peel herself off his skin in front of the humans gathered in the tavern and frighten them with her sudden demonic appearance.
He wasn’t harmed. At least not physically. But he was concerned.
Heading back toward the table, he sat down across from the hardened warlord he’d come here to meet. With dark blond hair and frigid green eyes that gave the illusion they glowed, he had a scar across his collarbone where it appeared someone had once tried to cut his throat. Given the violence Thorn was capable of, Acheron was certain that person hadn’t survived their stupidity. Indeed, in this din of warriors, Thorn stood out as one not to be trifled with. He had an air of death and cruelty.
But Acheron knew better. He wasn’t cruel to anyone who didn’t have it coming. Thorn was a champion for humanity. Centuries ago, he’d taken it upon himself to police the demons who preyed upon them and send them back to their dimensions so that they couldn’t harm innocents. It was a thankless task, yet Thorn never complained.
Well … “never” was a bit of a stretch.