Urian snorted at Acheron’s unwarranted hostile tone over his casual mention that Styxx was outside the throne room, waiting to see him. In fact, the poor man had been out there for hours, waiting.
Yeah, Ash was definitely Apollymi’s son. He saw the resemblance right now in this little tantrum over something trivial. All they needed was a herd of angry Charonte spiraling about, devouring Daimons, and the picture would be perfect.
Bitterly amused, Urian smirked. “The girl ghost who wants the two of you to kiss and make up.”
“I’d rather be hit in the head with the tack hammer Tory threw at me.”
“Tory?” Urian asked.
“Long story.” Acheron let out a tired sigh. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll go deal with him.”
Deal with him … yeah. Nice. Urian shook his head at his irritable boss, as he felt really sorry for his friend. But at least he now had a name to go with the woman Ash had been seeing.
And an explanation for Acheron’s fluctuating moods.
The doors behind Urian flew open in a staunch show of power that Ash only used whenever he was in an Apollymi-style mood. Dressed in an Atlantean formesta that bore Acheron’s sun symbol and a pair of black leather pants, he walked toward Styxx like a predator.
Urian was so glad he wasn’t the one that bitter scowl was directed toward, but he hated the fact that Styxx had the unfortunate luck.
“I’m really not in the mood to deal with you, Styxx. What little patience I have was eaten alive about two minutes ago.”
To Styxx’s credit, he didn’t flinch at all. Nor did he get angry. He stood there calm and strangely tranquil. “I know. I can sense your moods … it was a gift—” Yeah, okay, Urian detected a bit of sarcasm in those words. “From Artemis when she threw me into Tartarus. I’m only here to ask you one favor.”
Acheron sneered at him. “You would dare ask another favor of me?”
Styxx’s countenance broke to say that he was baffled by Ash’s accusation. Apparently he didn’t remember ever asking anything from his brother.
Urian wisely chose to stay out of this. He’d been thrown into enough walls in his lifetime already.
A tic started in Styxx’s cheek before he took a deep breath and then spoke in a well-measured tone. “I ask as your brother and as a supplicant to a god.”
“As a supplicant, what sacrifice do you offer for this favor?”
Urian gaped. While Ash, like anyone else, could have moments of irritability, he’d never once seen him be a total asshole to anyone before.
Not even to his father, and Stryker had deserved it.
Wow, this was a side of Ash he hadn’t known existed. But then again, Archie and Theo had often brought out the worst beast in him, too. So he wouldn’t judge Ash.
Family was hard. No one could bleed you more or cut you deeper than blood relatives.
And the rigidity of Styxx’s body language and the fact that he didn’t pop Ash one said it all. Whatever was between them was bad.
When Styxx finally spoke, his words confirmed it. “My heart.”
Acheron scowled. “I don’t understand.”
Styxx took a deep, ragged breath. “I offered you my loyalty and it wasn’t enough. So in this, I offer my heart to you. If I lie or betray you, you can rip it out over and over again. Chain me next to Prometheus on his rock.”
Damn. Yeah, it must really be bad and then some.
“And what favor do you ask?”
“Let me go.” Styxx’s voice broke slightly on those words, and they brought a lump to Urian’s throat. “I can’t live here anymore, isolated from people. I just want to have some kind of peace that neither of us ever had a chance to experience.” He looked past Ash to Urian.
I feel you, brother. And he did. Better than anyone. But unlike Styxx, Urian had never really lived in the world of man. He didn’t feel at home there. It was too wide. Too open. Too effing bright.
He’d tried to live in the boathouse and it hadn’t lasted six months. Lucky for him, Acheron had taken mercy and allowed him to live here with Alexion. Otherwise, Urian would have gone insane.
Finally Ash answered Styxx’s request. “Fine. You’ll have everything you need to start over.”
Before Styxx could finish expelling a relieved breath, he was sucked out of the throne room.
Acheron turned around to glare at him.
“Where did you send him?”
“None of your business,” he growled.
“Okay then. Love our chats, boss.”
Ash didn’t say a word.
Alexion shook his head. “You know, Urian, I can’t decide if you’re the bravest person I know or the dumbest to taunt him the way you do.”
Urian snorted. “Neither, Lex. The answer to that puzzle is a lot simpler. I’m suicidal. Just don’t give a shit if he kills me or not. In the immortal words of Janis Joplin, ‘Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.’ ”
And the one thing that Urian never talked about to anyone, not even Acheron, was the fact that his father hadn’t killed him mercifully.
He thought about that a lot. His father prided himself on the fact that he didn’t like to torture those he deemed worthy. Those he respected.
Worthy opponents, he put down quickly.
He only tortured those he thought of as weak and vile.
Which raised the question of why he’d chosen to slice open Urian’s throat as opposed to stabbing him in his Daimon’s mark. That would have been a quick and painless death. So fast, Urian wouldn’t have even felt it. He’d have been gone and Acheron wouldn’t have been able to put him back together.
Which meant either his father knew that Acheron would save him, and he would live out eternity, isolated from his friends, family, and home, agonizing over the loss of Phoebe, or his father intended for Urian to bleed out slowly, in agony, knowing his father had killed him.
Either way, his father was a cold, mean son of a whore.
And Urian had yet to find some way to settle the score between them.