Apollymi froze as she heard Strykerius’s panicked voice shouting for her aid. Throughout her despised Kalosis hell realm, all was quiet instead of the loud celebration that had been taking place only moments before.

For days now, the remnants of the Apollite race who’d agreed to join Strykerius for their war on humanity had descended here to pick out homes and start new lives in this realm where Apollo’s deadly sunlight could never reach them.

As they settled in, Strykerius had been busy with the birth of his twin sons—the first Apollites born after their grandfather’s curse.

Now something was terribly wrong.

She flashed herself to Strykerius’s side where he and his wife had taken up residence in the smaller temple next to hers. Hellen lay in their bed, still too weak to stand after birthing her sons.

While his wife held one infant in her arms, Strykerius stood to the side with Urian—the baby that Apollymi had ripped from Bethany and placed in Hellen’s womb so that the Greek whore could birth him without anyone else knowing. It was a secret Apollymi intended to keep to herself forever.

Yet by the stern frown on Strykerius’s face, Apollymi knew something had gone wrong with the child she’d hand-chosen to be her vengeance upon the world.

“What is it?”

His face ashen, Strykerius drew a ragged breath. “We’re losing my son.”

The grief in his voice tugged at her heart, and that caused her fury to rise. Urian would not die. Apollymi had made a vow to that.

Before she could rethink her actions, she took the baby from his hands. He was much smaller than the other infant they’d named Paris. Because of the disaster that had come from her combining Apostolos’s life force with Styxx’s, Apollymi had refused to do that with Paris and Urian—she would never again make that mistake. Instead, she’d bonded Urian to Paris’s and Strykerius’s DNA only enough to mask the baby’s origins, never knowing that Apollo would be cursing them just hours later when she did so.

Sadly, prophecy and foresight weren’t among her powers.

Yet now that she stared down at the infant who struggled to live, she wondered if she’d made a grave mistake in not tying his life force to that of his twin brother.

For Strykerius was right. Unlike Paris, Urian wasn’t thriving.

She glanced over to his brother, who was pushing away from his mother’s breast and fussing about it. An odd thought occurred to her. “How much has he eaten?”

“Nothing.” Hellen choked on a sob. “Neither has Paris. They both refuse to suckle.”

Apollymi wanted to curse the woman’s stupidity. But then, she was a Greek. Intelligence from her was too much to hope for. “They don’t want your milk, human,” she spat at her.

She lifted her index finger to her lips and bit the tip until she broke the skin. Then she placed it into Urian’s mouth.

He opened his dark eyes and quickly began to suckle her fingertip as he quieted down. Color returned to his skin.

Apollymi let out a relieved breath. She was right.

Apollo was a bastard.

Grateful that she’d saved this child, Apollymi withdrew her finger before her blood mutated the babe further. As it was, it turned his dark eyes to blue.

Relieved that his life was spared, she handed him to Strykerius. “He needs Apollite blood to drink. They both do. Because of the curse, they can’t suckle the breast milk of a human mother.”

Strykerius sighed in gratitude. “I hadn’t thought of that. Thank you, akra.”

She inclined her head to him. “Tell the others with newborns. Most likely they will all need blood with their mother’s milk, even if their mothers are Apollites. No doubt your father intended for the infants to die off.”

Apollo was a heartless prick like that.

Tears swam in Apollymi’s eyes as she remembered the way she’d found her own son …

Gutted by Apollo’s callous hand. Dumped into the sea for the beasts to feast upon.

She clamped her teeth together to keep from screaming as the need for vengeance rose up and demanded she rip out Apollo’s heart and devour it. Something that would damn the very world into oblivion. And she would gladly see it burn. Gladly rip down every god in existence. That would be the only thing that would placate this pain in her heart.

Utter destruction.

Patience, dear Braith. Patience. Akou aimassorai, ni adayakopa’ia—Though I am the one bleeding, I will not be broken.

Anekico ler aracnia—Victory to the spider.

The one good thing to come from Apollo’s curse was that the Apollites aged much faster than humans now. It wouldn’t take Urian eighteen to twenty years to reach maturity.

He’d be there in only ten.

Then he would be ready to train for war and she could send him after her enemy.

One day, Urian would bring her the head of Apollo.

And return her sons to her, as well.