Those unexpected words floored Medea and leashed her claws as she stared at the open door through which the Daimon had just vanished.
Urian’s Phoebe?
It couldn’t be. There was no way.
Davyn staggered away from her to reach for a blanket so that he could cover himself while that name sunk in past her sudden stupor.
Stunned beyond belief, Medea stood there, gaping.
No …
Wasn’t possible.
Lots of women were named Phoebe. Right?
Yeah, but he’d said Urian’s Phoebe.
“You don’t really mean Urian-Urian’s Phoebe.”
Pale and shaking, Davyn wrapped the blanket around his lean waist. His caramel skin had a grayish tint. Obviously shaken, he sat down on the bed and raked a trembling hand through his tousled blond hair. “I don’t know how, either. Like you, I thought I was dreaming at first … but it was her. I’d know her anywhere. Saw her many times over the years. It was her, beyond all doubt.”
Her thoughts reeled. “It can’t be. My father killed her.” That was what everyone had been told.
Everyone.
“That’s what I thought, too. It’s what we were all told. Yet I know what I saw, Medea. I met her when she lived in the commune. Many times when I went there with Urian.” He wiped at his thigh, smearing the blood over his skin. “I swear to the gods, it was Phoebe. I know it was. I even felt her scrambled thoughts while she fed from me.”
She sank down on the bed to sit beside him. “Was she brought back somehow?”
It could happen. In their world? Weird was normal. Impossible doable.
“I don’t know. I mean how could they? We disintegrate on death, right? But that was her body. Not someone else’s they used to host her soul.”
Yeah. Daimons turned into a gold dust that quickly scattered whenever they died. While their souls could be brought back from the grave, they required a new body to house them in. It was impossible to put them back into their disintegrated body, since it was gone.
To her knowledge, not even the gods could do that.
Scowling, she looked over at him. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know, Chicken Little,” he repeated. His features were even paler now. His expression turned sinister. “This will destroy Urian when he finds out. There’s no telling how he’ll cope with the news.”
She wasn’t so sure about that. “Will it? All he wants is Phoebe back.”
“Yeah, but that wasn’t her. I mean it is. But…” He ground his teeth. “She’s not right anymore. That wasn’t the same woman he knew.”
“Gallu?”
He pulled the blanket back so that she could see the bite mark on his thigh. “I don’t think so. Wouldn’t I be turning into one by now if she was one of them?”
She had no idea. That wasn’t her pantheon, so she didn’t know what rules governed their species. “I need to get you to Falcyn. He’ll know the answers.”
“Falcyn?”
“He’s the one I brought here to help us. Get dressed. He’s with my father right now, healing them. I’ll take you to him and we can ask. If anyone knows about gallu, he will.”
After all, his brother, Dagon, was part of their pantheon and Falcyn was older than dirt’s second cousin. Surely he’d been around when the gallu were originally active and fighting against the Charonte and gods.
Her thoughts skipping and dancing over this new turn of events, she went outside the room while Davyn pulled his clothes on. Yet while she waited, only one thought kept playing in her head on an endless loop.
Phoebe is alive.
It boggled her mind. This changed absolutely everything. She had no idea how Urian would react to this. He’d hated her father for so long now because they’d all been told Stryker had killed Urian’s wife in a fit of anger.
But what if he hadn’t.…
What if something else had happened to her. Something Stryker couldn’t stop?
Damn.
What would Urian do then? Who would he hate more?
* * *
Sitting at a small round table at the Café Du Monde in New Orleans, Dikastas looked up from his coffee and beignets as a shadow fell over him and blocked his view of the pedestrian mall where he liked to watch the tourists while they shopped and strolled along the busy street.
It was even worse than what he’d initially imagined for the interruption—some poor panhandler begging for spare change or an annoying ass wanting directions.
A pouting Girl Scout peddling some overly sweet cookies.
Oh no, those nightmares would be far preferable to this pestilent beast who brought with him a sickening sensation that caused Dikastas’s jaw to fall slack. Indeed, he wouldn’t have been more shocked or stunned to find Apollymi herself standing there, glaring hatred at him.
He choked down his bite of the sugary confection and took a drink of coffee to clear his throat. “Apollo … to what do I owe this…” He searched for an appropriate word.
Honor definitely didn’t fit.
Horror, not really.
Inconvenience would be the most apropos, but since Dikastas was the Atlantean god of justice, moderation, and order, he had a bit more tact than to say that out loud, as it would cause conflict and strife. So he left it open to the Greek god’s interpretation while he wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, then gestured at the small metal chair across from him.
Apollo accepted the invitation without hesitation. “What a peculiar place to find you. I actually thought Clotho was lying when she told me where you were living these days.”
Little wonder that, given the fact that the vast majority of his pantheon was currently frozen as statues beneath Acheron’s palace in Katateros—the Atlantean heaven realm. Because Dikastas had had the good sense to not cross Apollymi’s wrath or Styxx’s sword arm, he was one of the extreme few who’d been left free to roam the earth after Styxx, Acheron, Bethany, and Apollymi had broken buck wild on them all a few years back. “And how are my dear half-Greek nieces?”
“Worthless as always.”
Dikastas didn’t comment on that. Mostly because he agreed about the three Fates. What with their great stupidity and rash actions, they had accidentally damned the entire Atlantean race and pantheon in the blink of an eye. Jealous words spoken in a moment of fear against Acheron that had played out with devastating consequences for all the rest of them, especially the triplet goddesses.
He cleared his throat and pinned Apollo with a cool stare. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”
After all, they weren’t friends, or even friendly. In fact, they hated each other with a fiery zeal. Their pantheons had been mortal enemies, back in the day. And the only thing the two of them had in common was their blond hair.
Literally.
And even it wasn’t the same shade. Apollo’s was far more golden and his tended toward brown.
“I want information.”
Dikastas cocked his brow. “The Fates couldn’t give you what you wanted?”
Apollo snorted. “As I said, they’re basically worthless. What I need to know predates their births by a number of centuries and has to do with Apollymi and Kissare.”
Interesting …
A waitress came up to ask Apollo for an order.
He sneered at her. “Do I look like I eat or drink shit? Begone from me, mortal scum!”
Dikastas sighed at his angry words. So much for Apollo being a god of temperance. “That was unnecessary.”
“So is wasting my time!”
Yet Apollo had no problem intruding on his zen and wasting his. Typical. But then Apollo had always been a selfish prick that way.
All that mattered was his life and his wants.
Everyone else could go to Kalosis and rot.
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.”
“What?” Davyn scowled at him.
Rubbing his hand over his face, Stryker winced. “It’s why I had you keep Urian occupied that night. Trates and I got the call for help. I knew Phoebe was living there. Had known about her for a long time, contrary to what Urian thought—they’d told me about it not long after he set her up with an apartment. I just felt so betrayed that Urian had taken Cassandra and Wulf there, too. I didn’t mind that he’d converted Phoebe. I could almost respect that. It was the Dark-Hunter I resented him for. That he’d lie and shield our enemy from me when he knew how much I wanted that last bitch dead. And Kat. That was the bitterest pill. He even married them!”
Tears glistened in his eyes. “Even so, I couldn’t let him know about Phoebe and her killing spree. When I saw what she’d become, I knew Urian would blame himself for it. Hate himself for the monster she’d become. I didn’t know what to do.”
“So you killed her.” Davyn had a sick expression on his face.
He shook his head. “I started to, but I couldn’t. I’m not as cold as you think. Instead, I brought her back here and locked her in the catacombs. Originally, I was going to tell Urian and let us deal with it together. Then when we were in Dante’s Inferno … and Acheron showed up in all his arrogant, prick glory. The Dark-Hunter was there with that stupid demon disguised as a baby, and one thing led to the next … my anger got the better of me. Next thing I knew, I’d cut his throat and left him there to die.” A tic started in his jaw. “Just like Phoebe, he was never really one of us either.”
Medea gaped at her father. “And in all this time, you didn’t think to tell him the truth? To tell any of us the truth?”
“To what purpose? The deed was done. Besides, you saw her. She’s not his wife anymore. She doesn’t know herself. Wouldn’t know him. For all intents and purposes, she might as well be gallu. And it’s not like he’s going to forgive me at this point, anyway.”
“You did cut his throat, Father.”
“I know, Medea. I was there. Believe me, I’ve relived that nightmare more times than I care to recount. It’s never far from my thoughts. Even when my eyes are wide open. That night is one of the few things in my life I would give anything to do over and do differently.”
Her mother moved to hug him and offer him comfort.
But sadly, like Urian, Medea couldn’t quite forgive him for his actions. As a mother, she’d never be able to harm her child. Not for any reason.
Even betrayal against her. Having lost her child, there was no way she’d be responsible for the loss of her baby’s life.
And it made her wonder if Urian wasn’t right. If one day her father would do the same to her.
How could she trust anyone? Ever?
Yet when she met Falcyn’s gaze, she saw in him a promise of faith. A blood oath.
Like her, he’d known bitter betrayal. Pain.
Loneliness.
Lies.
And he wouldn’t do that to another. Because he knew the bitter taste of it.
She was nothing more than the product of broken dreams and broken trust. Of heartache and sorrow.
But in his eyes, she finally saw a future. And for the first time, it wasn’t bleak.
Against her better sense, she reached out for him.
Falcyn saw the torment deep in Medea’s eyes and he recognized it for what it was.
Fear. Misery. Crushed dreams that hurt so deep down inside that she’d had no choice except to deny that they’d ever been there.
He felt them, too. Had buried them beneath an apathy that had left him unable to feel anything for so long he’d begun to believe the lie of it all.
That there was nothing inside him. No emotion. No sentimentality of any kind.
And there was the irony. He’d actually convinced himself he was numb and unfeeling. Uncaring when the truth was he cared so much that he’d been forced into denial so that he could remain sane when faced with the madness of a brutal world that constantly assaulted him with its insanity and pain.
Now …
He could no longer pretend. Damn it to hell. Against all his carefully constructed shields and safeguards this little Apollite had slid in past his defenses and carved her name into his dead heart. And he would never be the same.
Because now that he knew her name and her face …
Her touch … she was as integral to him as breathing.
Shit.
Falcyn didn’t need his dragonstone to live.
He needed Medea.
Grinding his teeth, he searched his mind for something to say to her, but words failed him. There was nothing he could say to adequately convey what he felt for her.
Nothing.
So he took her hand into his and pressed her open palm to his lips, then to his heart so that she could feel the fact that it beat solely for her and no one else.
Medea swallowed as she saw the tenderness on Falcyn’s face and felt the strong beating of his heart beneath her fingertips. “Is that it, dragonfly? Really?”
“You know me, princess. If I speak, chances are, I’ll say the wrong thing and piss you off. Ninety percent of intelligence is knowing when to shut the fuck up.”
Laughing, she stepped forward to kiss him. “Then that makes you a genius.”
Suddenly, a loud rumble shook the walls around them. Medea pulled back with a frown.
Falcyn cocked his head at the sound as a weird fissle went down his spine. One he hadn’t felt in a long time. Surely that couldn’t be what he thought. It would be impossible for Apollo to infiltrate Apollymi’s domain.
Wouldn’t it?
The sound returned. Even louder.
Harder.
“What is that?” Zephyra asked with the same note of panic in her voice.
Falcyn narrowed his gaze on the doorway. “It sounds like…”
“Strykyn,” Stryker finished for him in a breathless tone as the cacophony of rushing wings grew louder and louder.
Closer and closer.
Like a tornado across a vast field. It rumbled all around, shaking the ground and walls.
An instant later, the door burst open to admit the giant black war owls of Ares.