Leaning back in his chair, Dikastas sipped his café au lait. “Well, if that’s what you’re after, the person you really want to talk to is Bet, as she’d have the most…” He trailed off as Apollo gave him a harsh stare and he realized the total stupidity of what he was suggesting.
“Ah,” Dikastas said with a snide smile. “Guess you can’t go there, can you?” Not after Apollo had screwed Bethany over in not one, but two separate lifetimes. The Atleantean goddess of wrath and warfare wouldn’t take kindly to Apollo going to her for anything other than a full disembowelment.
Followed with a thorough denutting.
And the sun itself would freeze over before she’d ever help the bastard who’d killed her beloved husband and cursed her to lose her baby.
“She wouldn’t have been there when Apollymi set up the Atlantean pantheon anyway. She hadn’t been reborn yet, right?”
Again, courtesy of Apollo’s first brutal betrayal against her and her husband.…
Dikastas set his coffee cup down and reached for another beignet. “Correct.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Apollo stroked his chin as he thought about something. “So how did Archon convince the frigid bitch of all time to marry him and establish a pantheon with him as its king so that he could play ruler?”
Dikastas snorted at his assumption. “Apollymi isn’t frigid. Therein is the problem. Her passions run deep and dark. She’s ruthless and bloodthirsty, but that doesn’t make her cold. She’s as fiery as a volcano and even quicker to erupt, and far deadlier when she peaks.”
“You still haven’t answered my question. Why him? Why then?”
Dikastas shrugged. “Simple. Someone gave Archon the intel that Apollymi was awaiting the return of her precious Kissare and she mistook the dull god as her Sephiroth come back to be with her. The spy fed Archon enough information that he was able to dupe her into thinking that he was her betrayed lover reborn as a god. That was why she agreed to set him up as her king and allowed him to rule over her. At least for a time.”
“Are you sure he wasn’t?”
“Yeah. Very much so. Kissare loved Apollymi. He gave his life for her and for their son. There was nothing altruistic about Archon. He was much like you.”
Apollo’s eyes narrowed. But he chose to ignore the dig. “Who was he working with?”
“No one knows. Archon refused to betray his informant. He was too grateful to be the king of his own pantheon to ever give over the name of someone Apollymi would have surely gutted.”
Apollo considered that for a few minutes. “Was Kissare ever reborn?”
“Again, no one knows. But I’d say he must have been.”
“Why?”
“Because someone fathered Acheron. Knowing Apollymi as I do and how she is, I would lay my money and life that Kissare was the father of both her sons. You find out who Acheron’s real father is and you will find out who Apollymi really loves.”
“You think he’s still alive?”
Dikastas cradled his coffee mug as he considered it. “That would be the question of all time, wouldn’t it?”
*
Chewing her nail, Medea was beside herself as she and Davyn made the long walk back to her parents’ room. In fact, this was the longest walk of her life. Neither of them spoke. Which was rare for them. She even forgot that she was aggravated at Davyn.
By the time she reached their room, she’d forgotten a lot of things.
Until she pushed the door open to find both of her parents completely restored. Relieved and grateful, she rushed in with tears in her eyes to embrace her mother, then her father.
But it was Falcyn she kissed. “Thank you!”
He smiled at her. “You’re welcome.”
Her father cleared his throat gruffly. “What’s this? Leave room for the imagination between the two of you! Now!”
Falcyn snorted at his tone. “Don’t even start with me, old man. Or I’ll put you right back like I found you.”
She smiled up at her irascible dragon, yet she didn’t miss the fact that he was a bit pale for his efforts. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” He cut a nasty glare toward her father. “Better with a little Daimon blood to soothe my mood.”
She popped him on the arm. “Then take it from Davyn.”
“Hey! I think I resent that!”
Laughing, she turned toward her father, and sobered. “We have a problem.”
Her father groaned. “What now? Apollymi in another foul mood? Or is Apollo back?”
“Neither. I found Phoebe Peters in Davyn’s room, feeding on him.”
While her father paled, he took the news a lot better than she’d have thought. In fact, he wasn’t nearly as shocked as she’d been or that he should be, given how incredulous this was.
Neither was her mother.
And that sent a chill up her spine. “Father? Is there something you want to tell me about this matter?”
He glanced at her mother.
Her bad feeling tripled. She knew that look they were passing between each other—as if trying to figure out who would take the blame for whatever problem had cropped up.
“You knew?” she accused.
His features blanched even more. “It’s not what you think.” Yet that tone said that it was.
Oh dear gods! He really did know. Sick to her stomach, she exchanged a shocked stare with Davyn.
She turned back toward her father. “How is it not?”
Stryker drew a deep breath before he answered. “She was sick, Medea. Infected by the blood she’d been feeding on.”
“Gallu?”
He shook his head. “Worse.”
What could possibly be worse than the bite of a gallu that would turn them into mindless zombies?
Davyn cursed under his breath as if he understood it. “Anglekos.”
In that moment, Medea cringed, too. Then she felt stupid for not realizing it on her own.
She hadn’t even thought about that.
Yeah, that would do it. It was why she avoided preying on psycho humans. That tainted blood could overwhelm and taint a Daimon. Those corrupt souls were so evil that they had a nasty tendency to infect the Daimon who tried to feed on them, often turning the Daimon into a psychotic killer. There were some strong enough that they could handle taking souls like that.
Urian had been one. Davyn another. In fact, Davyn only fed on those souls, as had Urian when he’d been Daimon. In a way, they kept humanity safe by removing those members from society.
However, it wasn’t an easy thing to do, and after she’d taken one once, it’d been enough for her to know to leave them well enough alone.
Stryker let out another long, tired sigh. “She was always weak. More human than Apollite. Never really a Daimon at all. It’s why she couldn’t kill for herself. The blood Urian had fed on mutated her. Driven her insane. We weren’t the ones who attacked the Apollite commune in Minnesota. She was.”