Dawn

Strykerius Apoulos cringed in horror as he heard the screams of a thousand Apollites dying in utter agony. Why hadn’t they listened to him when he’d told them to take cover, and heed the warnings of the priests and priestesses?

Because no one wanted to believe their creator had turned against them over something they’d taken no part in. Something they’d been innocent of.

They continued to believe in a god who hated them. One who had not only turned his back on them but cursed them in his callousness.

Throwing his head back, Stryker roared with the injustice of it all. How could the entire Apollite race be damned over the actions committed by a mere handful?

Yet that was what they were facing.

Total extinction.

By the hand of his own father. Brutal annihilation over a slaughtered whore his father had barely tolerated. One who would grate the nerves of a saint. It was so unfair.

“Stryker?”

He winced at the sound of his wife calling to him. Though she was beauty incarnate, with blond hair, perfect blue eyes and features and curves that were the envy of every woman born, including his aunt Aphrodite, he cringed every time Hellen came near. Not because she wasn’t desirable but because he’d never wanted to marry her. Yet to please his Olympian father who’d cursed his race, he’d abandoned the real woman he’d loved. Left her cursing his very name so that he could appease his father by taking Hellen for his bride and leaving Phyra forever.

So much for wedded bliss. And familial obligations.

“Stryker, come quickly! Please! Something’s wrong with the children!”

Terror seized him at the panic in her voice.

Nay! Surely his father had spared his own grandchildren …

Are you an idiot? Since when does Apollo give two shits about you, never mind your children?

Granted, that was true—still, Stryker didn’t want to believe that his father would be this reckless.

Or stupid.

While his father might not care about him or his children, surely Apollo wasn’t suicidal …

If he and all his children died, so would the god who’d tied them to his life.

That was his thought until he ran into the nursery to find his children writhing and throwing up. Their little bodies were shaking as they sobbed and moaned in absolute agony. It was a pain he knew well, as he’d gone through it himself only hours before as he’d transitioned into the very monster his father had made him.

Tears welled in his eyes as he saw a cruel truth he couldn’t deny.

His father hated them all, without mercy or compassion.

“Seal the windows! Now,” Stryker growled at his pregnant wife and the two female servants who were assisting her.

They rushed to obey his orders.

If the rays of the dawning sun touched their children, it would kill them instantly. For that was the curse of his father, Apollo. Henceforth, no Apollite was allowed in the Greek god’s domain. If Apollo caught any who possessed one drop of their blood out in the light of day, he would singe them to the bone and kill them instantly.

Why? Because the Apollite queen, Stryker’s birth mother, in a fit of jealousy had ordered the death of Apollo’s Greek mistress and the bastard son she’d birthed for the Greek god. As further punishment for the queen’s atrocious crimes, Apollo had cursed all of her people to feed from each other’s blood—they were damned to know no other sustenance.

But the worst of all … no Apollite would ever again live past their twenty-seventh birthday. While they would now age faster than humans from the moment of birth, on the morn of their twenty-seventh year, their aging cycle would speed up even more and by the end of that day, they would painfully die of old age and decay into dust.

No exceptions. No alternatives.

Anyone who held a single drop of Apollite blood.

That was his father’s mandate. And it applied to all of them.

Including Stryker and his children—Apollo’s own grandchildren.

Horrified, he gathered his four young sons into his arms to comfort them, even though there was no solace to be had. “Shh,” he breathed.

Like him and their mother, they were all golden-haired and fair, with tawny skin and bright cheeks. Said to be the pride of their grandfather who’d turned his back on them.

Hellen held their daughter, Dyana, against her shoulder. And to think, they’d actually named her for Stryker’s aunt, Artemis—Apollo’s twin sister. The thought turned his stomach now. How could he have ever honored any of his paternal family?

I won’t go against my brother, Strykerius. Not even for you. Do not ask me for help again.

How he hated that Olympian bitch for her selfishness. His only prayer now was that Artemis would one day lose something she held as dear to her as he held his children.

“Baba!” Archimedes whined as he held his stomach and dry heaved. “It hurts so much!”

“I know, m’gios.” He kissed his son’s brow and rocked him in an effort to soothe his pain. “Just breathe.”

Theodorus didn’t say a word as he buried his little face in the folds of Stryker’s cloak and cried harder. Likewise, his twins, Alkimos and Telamon, whimpered and moaned. Their matching curls were damp and tangled with sweat as they held on to him for dear life.

Hellen’s features turned as pale as her hair. “They’re cursed, too, aren’t they?”

Stryker’s gaze fell to his toddler daughter, who was an exact copy of her beautiful mother. Sick to his own stomach, he nodded as he watched Dyana’s pale eyes turn dark, and his sons’ teeth elongated into pairs of fangs like the ones he’d grown just hours before.

Since the children had gone the whole day without mutating, and because his wife was Greek and didn’t share his Atlantean blood, Stryker had assumed his father had spared his grandchildren from the curse. How stupid of him to think for one minute that his father would actually care.

Hellen let out a soul-deep wail as she realized that their children would never again be allowed to see the light of day without it killing them.

Or eat a bite of real food.

That Stryker would leave her a widow in only six years, and that she would be reduced to begging in the street for a mercy no one would give. Because he was cursed by the gods, and she was the mother of his half-bred spawn, everyone would hate her. The Apollites because she was Greek, and the Greeks because she’d married an Apollite and bred with him. People were ever cruel. They both knew that well.

For the first time ever, Hellen glared at him with fury in her pale blue eyes. “Why did your mother have to send out her soldiers to slaughter Ryssa and her son?”

“Because my father’s an unfaithful, horny idiot!” And Apollo couldn’t take five seconds to tell Queen Xura that Stryker was alive and well, and being raised in Greece by his priestesses. Rather Apollo had left Xura to believe that Stryker had been slaughtered by the gods because they feared he might be the prophesied infant of the goddess Apollymi, who was destined to overthrow their pantheon. Hence the reason Xura was so jealous that Ryssa’s son had been allowed to live after hers had been “killed.”

Leave it to Stryker to have two such unreasonable parents. His mother’s answer to jealousy hadn’t been to simply kill Ryssa and be done with her. On no, it’d been to tear her and her son into pieces. And his father hadn’t been content to just kill Xura and her soldiers in retaliation.

Nay, never something so simple as that.

The god of moderation had lost his mind and struck out at the entire Apollite race as if they’d all been guilty of the slaughter. And once such a curse was spoken, there was no way to undo it.

Ever. As Stryker had quickly learned, as every god and priest had concurred.

Apollo’s word was final.

“We’re damned,” Stryker whispered under his breath. No one would help him. While he’d never deluded himself into thinking for a moment that he was surrounded by anyone other than a bunch of selfish assholes, this more than confirmed it.

Everyone was out for themselves. They were only his friends until he turned the other way. They took what they could grab and left, and quickly forgot what they owed him. What he’d done for them.

His head swam from the horror of it all as he glanced to Hellen’s swollen belly. She would birth him another son any minute now. With his own Apollite powers he could feel the strength of the boy’s soul stirring.

A cursed child.

And that made his anger ignite to a dangerous level.

Fuck this! His indignant rage renewed its venom. “I won’t let this happen!”

Whatever it took, he would save his children.

Hellen looked up at him. “What are you saying?”

Stryker handed his sons over to their mother. “I’ll be back.”

Her jaw went slack. “The sun’s dawning. Where are you going?”

“To find a way out of this nightmare.”

She shook her head as her skin paled even more. “But—”

Stryker ignored the hysteria in her voice and kept walking. Contrary to what she thought, he wasn’t headed for suicide.

Earlier, he’d tried all the Greek gods he knew. Even though he was family, they’d all turned him away by saying there was nothing to be done.

Yet through it all, one other had called out to him. Assuming hers was a vengeance cry, he’d ignored her call out of fear. It had to be a retaliatory trap. After all, why would she help him when his own family refused to?

Her lust for his head was reasonable. His father’s pantheon had destroyed hers and cursed her people to die. It only made sense that she’d want to destroy Apollo’s son to get back at the god. She had no way of knowing that Stryker was hated and despised by his father.

But now everything was different. And he was desperate enough to take the gamble that she might be willing to do something while the others ignored his fate.

This was the best hope he had.

The only hope, really.

And he had nowhere else to go.

No one wanted him. No one cared.

I’m alone in this world.

Then again, aren’t we all?

Making sure to stay to the shadows and out of the daylight, he picked his way through the lush island home he’d once loved. Now he hated it for its alliance to his father. But he was grateful that at one time, it’d belonged to the Atlanteans before the Greeks had conquered this paradise and taken it from them. Because today, he needed that connection to the prior gods.

Not that there was much left. Most of their old buildings and temples had been destroyed—burned to the ground during battle and afterward as a show of Greek might.

All except for one village that not even Apollo had dared to touch.

Apollymia.

Said to have been under the protection of the great Apollymi. The goddess of destruction was so revered and terrifying that the fearful Greeks had allowed nature to reclaim her beloved village. Because everyone, god and human alike, feared the goddess so. Even after she’d been defeated, not one piece of the village had been pillaged or plundered. Left completely untouched, it lay like a time capsule, completely empty as it’d been the day the Greeks had arrived and the Atlanteans had abandoned it.

Sadly, time had been unkind to the structures that had caved in or that were overgrown with weeds and brush.

As a boy, Stryker used to run and play through the ruins here, seeking some connection to his mother and her people, aching to know something of that side of his blood.

One day while exploring, he’d discovered a forgotten temple of the goddess who’d once protected this place. For reasons he still didn’t know, he’d come here to sit and talk to the goddess who ignored him as much as his father. Yet even as a boy, he couldn’t help wondering what the island people had done to cause Apollymi to abandon them so. Had it been hubris? Neglect?

Or simple divine capriciousness that caused her to turn her back on her people?

When it came to Apollo, it took nothing to make him abandon those who worshiped him.

Stryker hoped that wasn’t the case with Apollymi. Please be better than my father …

Terrified she wasn’t, Stryker prayed even harder that her summons wasn’t a trap. That maybe, against all odds, she would come to his aid in spite of how the others had treated him. Surely, the Atlantean goddess of destruction hated his father as much as he did …

Her hatred of the Greeks was legendary.

Stryker had barely reached the ornate gold-covered doors of the old temple before the sun began scorching him.

His legs burning, he shoved at the doors that protested his entrance with stubborn defiance that seemed determined to have him combust on the doorstep. Their rusted hinges creaked mightily from all the decades of disuse, neglect, and decay. But he wasn’t about to let them win this. Even more stubborn than the doors, he pushed harder until they gave way, then rushed into the soothing darkness that succored his ravaged eyes and blistering flesh.

Breathless, he used his cloak to put out his smoldering skin that bubbled and boiled. He hissed at the bleeding, festering wounds on his legs that would no doubt leave vicious scars. So be it. He’d heal.

Grimacing in pain, he cursed his father again and wished the bastard dead a thousand times over.

“May you roast in Tartarus, you rat turd!” His voice echoed, sending several birds into flight and other animals he didn’t want to think about scurrying for cover.

Disgusted, Stryker glanced about the decaying mess. It was even worse than it’d been the last time he’d ventured here years ago. The cobwebs were so thick now, they hung like hollowed-out curtains from one column to the next. No vessel or burner remained intact. Nor statue. The once pristine marble lay like crumbs on the earthen floor. Even the main statue in the center of the temple where Apollymi’s worshipers had gathered to pay homage to her had been cracked to such a state that Apollymi held no arms, or crown.

Her once beautiful face was contorted into a condemning sneer, yet remained intense and terrifying. Her mercury eyes seared in the dim light.

Truly, the goddess of destruction had long ago abandoned this place and not looked back.

Damn it!

Not that it mattered. He couldn’t go home until nightfall. So he might as well attempt this. Not like he had anything else to lose, other than six more years of misery.

Praying for a miracle he doubted would ever come, Stryker headed for the broken altar that stood at the foot of the broken statue where the goddess sat upon an ebony throne made of skulls and roses. With eyes of chipped silver, she stared down at him as if she could see straight through his very soul.

Maybe she could.

Since Stryker was born of a god and had visited them many times over the years, he’d never been nervous in the presence of divinity before. Yet something about this one made him extremely uneasy. Perhaps it was her ruthless reputation.

Or something more. A sense of foreboding that said her reputation wasn’t one of boasting, like his father’s. That hers was actually understated.

Either way, he swallowed hard as he lifted his arms to invoke her.

“Apollymi Magosa Fonia Kataastreifa …” He cut open his forearm and made a blood offering on her altar to let her know that he was most serious in this matter. “If you can hear me, my goddess. I have come in answer to your summons, and I implore your divine aid. Please, akra … I need you and I offer you my life, my soul, and my sword. For all eternity.”

Nothing happened.

Why should it?

He was half Greek and her enemy. For centuries, his people had warred against hers. Why should an Atlantean goddess care what happened to him and his children when his own father didn’t?

You knew this was bullshit. You shouldn’t have bothered.

Disgusted that he’d ever believed for a moment that someone, anyone, would help, he started for the doors, intending to try to find a way home again.

“Why did you wait to come here, son of Apollo?”

Stryker froze at the sound of a fierce, yet melodic voice. One that sent shivers over him.

As he began to turn back toward the statue, the temple doors flew open. A fierce wind plastered his clothes against his body and forced him to grab the column at his side to keep from being blown outside into the deadly rays of the sun. Out of the dark shadows appeared the outline of a tall, graceful woman.

One with glowing eyes made of swirling silver. They were filled with a fury that matched the rage in his own heart.

Ribbons of white-blond hair twisted around her body as if they had a life of their own. She appeared wild and fierce in a ghost, wraith form, the very epitome of the ruthless goddess she was purported to be.

“Goddess Apollymi?”

She curled her lips. “You think another would dare step her foot inside my temple and dare my wrath?”

Given her temperament? Only if they were profoundly stupid.

“Now answer my question, Greek dog!”

Stryker met her gaze levelly, knowing that this particular goddess couldn’t abide cowardice in any form. “I delayed because I thought you were asking me here to kill me. And I apologize profusely, akra, if that was an incorrect assumption. Now, I’ve come to ask your guidance and benediction. I throw myself on your mercy.”

She laughed. It rolled through her temple like thunder and caused part of the ceiling to crash down around him, threatening his life with more daylight as it streaked ever closer to his body.

But he was desperate enough to pay it no heed. “Please, akra. I come here to beg vengeance against my father.”

Her laughter died instantly. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because I’m also the son of the Atlantean queen he slaughtered.”

“You never knew Xura. Your father took you from her womb before you were born, and you were raised in Greece among his priestesses. Why should you have loyalty to your mother or to me?”

Stryker flinched at the truth. But there was a lot more to it than that. His childhood had never been happy. In truth, it’d been bitter and miserable. One he held against his father and hated him for. “Among women who lived in terror of my father and his capricious moods, and who had no love of me because of him. Only fear that I might prove no better a man than what sired me. I assure you, akra, I hold no loyalty to any of them. They never brought me anything other than heartbreak and misery.”

The wind settled down as she raked a suspicious glare over his body. She swept him from head to toe as if trying to gain insight to his character. “You come to me with an offer of loyalty while telling me that you’re loyal to none?”

She was right. He’d never given it to anyone. The closest he’d ever come was Zephyra. His first wife had been the one he’d intended to die beside. To this day, he owed his fealty solely to her.

But his father had seen to it that he’d had no other choice than to let her go. More to the point, that Stryker had been forced to make Phyra hate him forever.

“I freely admit that I’m worthless, akra.” Stryker drew a ragged breath at a truth he didn’t want to face. “In all honesty, I care nothing for myself or anyone else … except for my children. They’re all I have that I value.”

He prayed that she saw the truth of his heart in his eyes. “And my father has damned them. I beg you, please spare them, and I will do anything you ask me. And I mean anything at all. Take my life. My soul. Whatever it is you ask, I will do without hesitation. Just don’t let them die. Not like this. Not for something they took no part in. Again, I beg you, akra. And I have never begged for anything. Not from anyone.”

“And that is why I called to you, Strykerius. I knew we could come to an accord. That our hatred for Apollo would be enough to bind us.”

With a sweeping grace, she crossed the room so that she could stand before him. There was a light that shone from her so bright that it was almost blinding to his Apollite eyes, and it forced him to lift his hand up to shield them.

Her ghostly fingers cupped his chin. “Aye, Strykerius. I can show you how to live past Apollo’s decree and thwart his curse. But the cure is ofttimes worse than the malady. However, if you are brave enough, and can suffer the taste of it, you and your children will have life eternal. Walk by my side and serve me, and I will show you how to claim the entire world. Together, we will rebuild what they’ve destroyed. Fight with me and the world shall belong to the Atlantean gods once more, and the Greeks will choke to death on our wrath.”

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled at her words. Bargains with the gods never worked out well for the weaker party. He knew that better than anyone.

Yet for his children, he would barter with the darkest powers in existence.

Apollymi.

“I will do as you say, akra”—he made sure to use the Atlantean word for “lady and mistress” to placate her ego—“Forever.”

A warm smile curved her lips as she manifested a beautiful golden chalice. With one long black nail, she cut open her wrist and bled into it, then offered it to him. “Drink, m’gios. If you dare. And I shall reveal my realm to you. There you and your children and people can live where the daylight will never again harm you. From this day forward, you shall be as my son. A member of my pantheon, and an Atlantean god. I will show you the key to Apollo’s destruction, and together we will make your father pay and you will regain everything he took from you.”

Stryker wrapped his cold hand around her cup and nodded. “Here’s to the future. May it rain nothing save the blood of the gods and humanity for all eternity.”