The Dark-Hunters, page 417
That hollow, empty stare came into Acheron’s eyes as he shoved the man away from him.
“What is this?”
My blood went cold as I recognized the hostile, demanding voice of my father. I’d been so intent on Acheron and the unknown man that I had failed to realize Father and his entourage were traveling past.
Now Father’s full attention was riveted on Acheron whose face had turned to stone.
Father roughly snatched the cowl back over Acheron’s head and shoved him toward his guards who were ordered to take him into custody. Acheron was escorted back to the palace where Father had him beaten for his disobedience.
I tried to mitigate the punishment, but Father wouldn’t listen. They dragged Acheron into the courtyard outside my father’s throne room that was reserved for punishment. The guards stripped Acheron bare and delivered sixty-five strokes to his back. I couldn’t watch, but I heard every whistle of the whip as it traveled through the air and every lash that cut through his flesh.
Acheron would grunt and several times I heard him fall, only to have my father order the guards to make him stand again. Never once did he cry out.
When it was finally over, I turned to see Acheron leaning against the post, bleeding, his hands still securely tied. The guards threw a coarse blanket over him before his ropes were cut and he was dragged back to his room and locked inside.
All I could do was hold Acheron afterward. For once, he didn’t turn me away. He lay with his head in my lap as he used to do when we were children. When he would beg me to tell him why his parents hated him so.
I waited for someone to come and tend his ravaged back.
No one did.
It was only later that I learned Father had forbidden it. So I sat with Acheron for hours, holding his head as he quietly wept from the pain.
But whether he cried from the throbbing wounds of his back or the deeper ache in his heart, I didn’t know. Gods, how I wanted to take him back to that day in the orchard when it’d been just the three of us playing and laughing. Away to someplace where he could be free and lackadaisical, where he’d be a normal boy of nineteen as he should have been.
When he finally fell to sleep, I continued to brush my hand through his golden hair as I stared at the ragged welts on his back. I couldn’t imagine a pain so severe.
“I love you, Acheron,” I whispered, wishing my love was enough to spare him from this.
DECEMBER 10, 9529 BC
After that day, I never spoke again of the fact I knew Acheron continued to slip out of the palace to go to plays. Many days I followed him just to make sure no one bothered him. That no one knew what it was he did.
He kept to the shadows, his identity and beauty carefully guarded. His head was always hung low, his gaze on the ground as he passed through the unsuspecting crowds.
Acheron risked much to go. We both knew it. I’d asked him once why he dared so much and he’d told me simply that it was all that comforted him.
He liked to watch the characters in the plays. Liked to pretend he was one of them. How could I fault him for that when so little brought joy to his life?
As my union with Apollo drew critically near, I spent more and more time in Acheron’s chambers. He alone didn’t treat the event as some magical moment that I should be anticipating with relish and enthusiasm.
He saw it for the horror it was.
I too was being whored. Only Father saw my whoredom as noble and wonderful.
“Will it hurt much when he takes me?” I asked Acheron as we sat on his balcony that overlooked the sea below.
I was on the ground while Acheron sat up on the banister as he always did. He balanced precariously over the edge of it, which dropped down to the raging sea.
I was terrified of heights, but he seemed oblivious to the danger.
“It depends on Apollo and his mood. It always depends on your lovers and how much force they use. How much pleasure they take from causing you pain.”
That didn’t comfort me since I couldn’t control someone else’s mood. “Was it painful your first time?”
He nodded subtly, his eyes blank. “At least you won’t have an audience when he violates you.”
“Did you?”
He didn’t answer, but then he didn’t have to. His expression told me that he had.
My heart aching for him and the horror he must have known, I looked down at the cord I was twisting in my hands. “Do you think Apollo will hurt me?”
“I don’t know, Ryssa.” His tone showed his impatience. He always hated talking about intercourse. Then again, he hated talking, period.
But I had to know what was coming and no one else would speak to me of such things. I met his swirling gaze. “Just how painful can it be?”
He glanced away, out toward the sea. “Try not to think about it. Just close your eyes and imagine that you’re a bird. Imagine that you live high up in the clouds and that there’s nothing that can touch you there. You’re free to fly anywhere you want to go.”
“Is that what you do?”
“Sometimes.”
“And others?”
He didn’t respond.
So we sat there in silence, listening to the waves below crash against the rocks. For the first time, I finally understood some of his pain. His humiliation. I wanted no part in my future and yet I had no choice.
As I listened to the waves, it reminded me of the time we’d spent alone when he was younger. Of the hours he used to spend on the rocks, listening to the sea and the voices that called out to him. “Do you still hear the gods’ voices, Acheron?”
He nodded.
“Do you hear them now?”
“Yes.”
Years ago, he’d told me they were the gods calling out to him. Telling him to come home. “Do you ever think of doing what they say?”
He shook his head. “I never want to go back to Atlantis. I hate it there.”
I could well understand that and it made me wonder how much more he must hate it here. Sorrow always followed him and it was never his fault. How awful not to be able to show your own face for fear of people assaulting you. Everywhere he went, everyone who came near wanted him with a desperation that made no sense.
Even I desired him. I was only grateful that he couldn’t feel those impure thoughts that came to me at the worst possible times.
But unlike the other people in his life, I would never act on them. He was my brother and I only wanted to protect him. Unlike the rest of my family, he saw the real me and loved me in spite of my faults. Just I as loved him in spite of his.
“Will you go with me tomorrow to the temple?” I asked quietly.
He looked startled by the question.
“Please, Acheron. I’m so scared of what they’re planning. I don’t want to be the mistress of a god. I’ve never been touched by any man. Never been kissed. I don’t think I have the courage for this.”
“It’s not hard, Ryssa. Just lie there and act as if you like it.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You pretend you do. He’ll be so intent on his own pleasure that he’ll never even notice if you’re grimacing or crying. Just tell him how skilled he is and how good it feels. That’s all that matters.”
I reached up from my place on the ground and took his hand in mine. I stared at the strength of his tanned tendons. He’d been through so much. Truly, I had no right to complain or bemoan my fate. No one had ever been there to comfort him through the terrors of his life.
But I wasn’t as strong as Acheron. I couldn’t do this alone. I wanted … no, I needed someone to be there. Someone I could trust to tell me the truth and to see tomorrow for the horror that it was. “Please come with me.”
There was still reservation in his eyes. He didn’t want to do this, but he nodded anyway.
Grateful, I kissed his hand and held it tightly in mine. He alone understood my fears. Knew what it felt like to be sold against his will.
In this we were kindred spirits.
DECEMBER 11, 9529 BC
I’d tried my best to sleep, but it was fitful at best. This was to be the worst day of my life. Today, my own father would tie me to a god …
When it was time to leave for the temple, I found Acheron in the hallway outside my room wearing the bland-colored peplos he used to visit the plays. As always, it was pulled up over his head to shield him from others.
It was good of him to come with me when I knew he didn’t want to. I wanted to hold his hand for courage, but didn’t dare for fear of drawing attention to him. The last thing I wanted was for him to be hurt again because of me.
Without a word, he followed me and my maidservants as we left the palace. I thought Father would meet me outside, but I was told he was already at the temple.
I hesitated there in the street as my courage fled and left me on trembling legs.
Turning back, I met Acheron’s gaze. “Should I run?”
“They always brought me back whenever I tried and made me very sorry for the attempt.”
My stomach cramped even more as I remembered the time I’d taken him from Atlantis. He’d told me then that he would be punished for my actions, but not once had he ever told me how. “What did Uncle do to you after I took you from—”
He placed his hand over my lips and shook his head. “You don’t ever want to know.”
I stared up into his silver eyes and saw the pain that was there and it was then I fully understood why he hadn’t left behind the life our uncle had taught him. I remembered what he’d said to me at the brothel.
Without skills there was nothing either one of us could do. No way to support ourselves.
“I tried to find honorable work…”
His words haunted me now.
Acheron was right. They would find me and they would punish me.
Taking a deep breath for courage, I turned and headed toward the temple district.
There was a crowd waiting for me there to cheer the fact that I was being sold against my will to a god. Six young girls stood with baskets of white and red rose petals in their hands. They scattered them before my feet as they led me toward Apollo’s temple.
At the door, I met my father. He smiled at me until his gaze went past my shoulder to see my tall “guard.”
A snarl curved his lips. “What is he doing here?”
“I asked him to come.”
Father shoved Acheron back. “He’s not allowed here. He’s unclean.”
“I want him here.”
“No!”
I looked back to see Acheron lift his chin as if the words didn’t hurt him, but I saw the pain in his gaze.
“I shall wait outside for you, Ryssa.”
Father made a disgusted noise and I knew it was only fear of making a scene before Apollo that kept him from doing anything. However, there would be punishment for Acheron later. Of that I had no doubt.
I held my hand out to my brother, but Father shoved me toward the door. Tears gathered in my eyes as I choked. I wanted to call Acheron to my side, but couldn’t get my voice to cooperate.
Acheron drifted away, into the crowd.
I wanted to see him. I needed his strength, but there was nothing I could do.
Against my will, they drew me into the temple and to a destiny I wanted no part in …
ACHERON
9529 BC–7382 BC
DECEMBER 11, 9529 BC
Acheron turned away from Apollo’s temple. Impotent anger roiled through him. He was so tired of being reminded of his place in this world.
Being reminded he was nothing.
No doubt his father would punish him later for this. Not that he cared.
He no longer felt physical pain like the rest of the world. Too many days of being used and abused had left him hollow and unable to feel much of anything except hatred and anger.
Those two emotions burned inside him constantly.
He’d been made a whore against his will and now it was held against him as if he’d had a choice in the matter. As if he enjoyed being groped and fought over.
So be it.
Seeking some sort of vengeance on the ones who had cursed him to this fate, he found himself heading into the temple across the street from Apollo’s.
It was empty. Most likely the occupants and caretakers were all across the street to witness his sister’s sacrifice.
Fucking pigs.
There was nothing people loved more than to watch someone else being humiliated, especially royalty. It gave them a sense of power. A sense of superiority. But in the back of their minds, they all knew the truth. They were just grateful it wasn’t them being degraded.
He walked down the center aisle that was framed by huge columns that stretched up toward the heavens. Columns that led toward the statue of a woman. He’d never been inside a temple before. Whores weren’t allowed since the gods had abandoned them and mankind had damned them.
Defiantly, he lowered his cowl as he stared up at the carved image of the goddess. Made of solid gold, she was beautiful. Her peplos seemed to be rippling from an unseen wind and she held a bow in one hand with a quiver of arrows on her back. Her left hand rested on a tall poised deer that was brushing up against her leg.
He stared at the writing on the tablet at her feet, but couldn’t read it.
He vaguely recalled Ryssa trying to teach him to read all those years ago when she’d rescued him. He hadn’t seen a scroll or word since.
As he traced the first letter of the goddess’s name, he thought he recognized it.
It was an A. Ryssa had told him his own name began with that letter.
He ran through his mind his limited knowledge of the gods and what he knew of them as he tried to think of one whose name sounded similar to his.
“You must be Athena,” he said out loud. It would make sense since Athena was goddess of war and held a bow in her hand.
“I beg your pardon? Athena?!”
He turned sharply at the angry voice behind him. The woman was incredibly voluptuous with long, curling auburn hair and dark green eyes. Her beauty was natural and piercing. If he were capable of being sexually attracted to anyone, he might even have desired her. But honestly, he’d screwed so many people that he could live the rest of his life without another body under, over or near him.
Dressed in a white flowing gown, she stood with her hands on her curvy hips. “Are you blind? Or just stupid?”
He snarled at the insults. “I am neither.”
She approached him with a narrowed gaze before she gestured toward the statue behind him. “Then how is it you don’t know the image of Artemis when you see her?”
Acheron rolled his eyes at the mention of Apollo’s twin sister. He should have known since the temples were so close together. “Is she as worthless as her brother?”
The woman’s mouth fell open. She appeared shocked by his question. “I beg your pardon?”
Anger burned through him as he saw the tributes laid out on the altar before the imperial goddess. He flung his arm against them, sending them flying. Platters crashed to the floor while bits of flowers, toys and other offerings scattered and rolled over the marble. “Why do they bother when no one on Olympus hears them and if they do it’s obvious they don’t care?”
“Are you mad?”
“Yes, I am,” he said from between clenched teeth. “Mad at this world where we are nothing to the gods. Mad at the Fates who put us here for no purpose except to toy with us for their petty amusement. I wish all of the gods were dead and gone.”
The woman snarled, rushing at him. Acheron caught her hand before she could slap him.
She shrieked and something slammed into him, knocking him straight to the ground. Pain spread through his body.
An unseen force picked him up from the floor and flung him against the wall. The breath left him as he was pinned to the wall, a good ten feet above the ground.
The woman glared at him. “I should kill you.”
“Please do so.”
Artemis withheld the final god bolt that would have sent this human straight to Tartarus where he belonged, and let him fall to the ground. She’d never met anyone who didn’t know her on sight. Never met anyone who couldn’t feel her unearthly presence and god powers and yet this human seemed immune to them.
She watched as he pushed himself to his feet and stood defiantly before her. He was a handsome young man. She’d give him that. His face was flawless in its beauty. Dark blond brows slashed over swirling silver eyes that were searing with their hatred. No one had ever dared give her such a look.
His long blond wavy hair framed his features to perfection. It appeared softer than down and was every bit as inviting.
And his body … It was lean and well muscled. Tanned. Gorgeous. There was something about it that made her mouth water for a taste of him. Never in her life had she felt such an incredible pull toward any man.
More than that, he was taller than she, a mortal rarity that she appreciated.
“Have you any idea who I am?” she asked him.
“Judging from your anger and what you just did to me, I would assume you’re Artemis.”
So, he wasn’t stupid after all.
“Then bow down and apologize.”
Instead, he offered her an intense look that caused her stomach to flutter. He walked toward her with an arrogant swagger that made his entire body ripple like a panther’s. A foreign aching need pounded through her. She didn’t understand what she felt, but whatever it was, it left her breathless and weak.
He laid his warm hand against her cheek as he stared down at her face with those beguiling eyes that seemed to hypnotize her. “So, you’re a goddess,” he said, his voice thick as he boldly examined her. His pupils dilated …
Her stomach tightened even more. His nearness was searing. His eyes riveting.
She’d never felt anything like this.
Before she realized what he intended, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
Artemis couldn’t breathe as she tasted him. Part of her was outraged that he would dare such, but another, alien part of her was thrilled by the unexpected sensation of his lips on hers. Of his tongue exploring her mouth.
