by Kelly Keaton
“If they refuse to join you?”
“Kill them. Eat them.”
I swallowed. “Cool. But Hestia is mine.”
Disappointment flashed in the harpy’s eyes. Hestia was no doubt pretty good eats to a harpy. “Of course,” she dipped her head in that regal way of hers and then brought her great leathery wings down, the force sending debris flying all around us. I stumbled back a few steps as she rose in the air and donned the helmet that made her invisible.
As Saura reappeared to the harpies, I went for Hestia. The goddess blasted a few loups and then saw me coming through the debris and bodies in the street. Her eyes narrowed. She took a step forward. But a figured traced next to her, completely covered in cloak and hood, it grabbed her arm, bent toward her as though speaking. She listened, her eyes on me. Whatever she heard made her smile. Then, she disappeared with the figure.
“Damn it!” I yelled, slowing to a jog.
She’d been on my playing field. Getting to her now was going to be impossible. I swung around and marched back through the carnage, noticing the harpies taking flight with Saura. In their claws were several loups. The others in Saura’s merry band of crazies also fled in the same direction, carcasses slung over their shoulders. Tasty morsels for later, I could almost hear Saura say.
I broke into a jog, my adrenaline riding high and totally pissed at losing a shot at Hestia. I stabbed a loup as I went and dispatched another along with a revenant a few minutes later before finally being free of them.
The next several miles were dark and quiet, save for the few eyes I felt staring at me from the shadows. Part of me was so irate, I wanted to stop and challenge the lurkers. It seemed as though every step I took, my need to lash out grew. By the time I cleared Midtown and reached Canal Street, my blood was boiling. My little trip to Olympus hadn’t brought much in the way of clues when it came to Archer’s whereabouts.
The only thing I did know was that Hestia’s anal tendencies were only surpassed by her lies. And there was no doubt something foul in Olympus.
TWELVE
SEBASTIAN’S SHORT TIME in the desert had been a complete waste of time, leaving him with nothing but aches, pains, and a shit load of sand. And the hot shower seemed to be draining him of the last bit of energy he had.
Sand and sweat ran off his skin, swirling in the bottom of the white tub. It was everywhere, the sand; stubbornly clinging to his scalp, his ears, the fucking stuff was even up his nose...
The only thing that clung to him more than the sand was his frustration.
He hadn't briefed anyone yet. Horus had sent him back to his father’s rooftop in New 2. The first thing Sebastian had done was to trace to the GD to see if Ari had returned. She hadn’t. Of course she hadn’t. It was too soon. But he’d lingered in her room for what felt like hours, unsure of what he was doing there and why he couldn’t seem to leave.
Eventually, he’d traced back to his room, ripped off his clothes, and gotten into the shower. It was the middle of the night anyway. Not like anyone was up, though his father and Theron often kept late hours.
Sebastian hated the thought of having to face them and tell them that Horus had looked him in the eye and said no. Fucking no.
He'd wanted to punch the god in the face.
While he understood the no--Horus and Artemis put their daughter first; just as he put Archer first--there was a huge difference. Menai wasn’t an infant; she was a full blown goddess who could fight her own battles. He knew. He’d seen her in action.
And that’s what pissed him off and made him, more than once, stop what he was doing, put his hands on the shower tile and force himself to calm the hell down.
When the grit, sweat, and sand was finally washed clean from his skin, he ducked out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist and grabbed another to dry his hair.
He took four steps into his bedroom when a heavy, oppressive wave of energy rolled over him, making him grab the bathroom doorframe for support.
His ears popped.
Quickly, he found a pair of cargos, jerked them on, and headed for the door. The pressure in his ears was getting worse.
He couldn’t have been the only one in the house feeling this.
His bedroom was still dark, and he left it that way as he open his door, hearing a strange scrapping sound and just catching the edge of a golden gown as it trailed around the corner.
He followed, raking a hand through his wet hair to keep it out of his eyes. Whatever had passed by had left behind a wake of heavy energy. He had a very bad feeling he knew where the intruder was headed. At the corner, he slowed and chanced a look to confirm his suspicions. The figure entered Apollo's room.
Sebastian approached, his bare feet not making a sound on the hardwood floor.
Apollo’s door was open. A woman in a gold beaded gown stood at his bedside. Medium height. Slender. Smooth, dark olive skin. Wavy black hair, the sides of which were gathered back from her face, the rest falling down her back. She was exotic and lush, her scent reminding him of a warm breeze off a saltwater sea.
Her feet were bare, like his.
She wasn't human; the power radiating from her was almost stifling, making it hard to breathe. A tight sensation squeezed his chest as he stared at her.
She turned, knowing he was there. He grabbed the door frame with a shaky hand.
Dark almond eyes lined in black and framed by inky black lashes glittered in the dim light. Reflections of the gold beads danced in her eyes. Her face was flawless, high cheekbones, straight nose, and full lips, the upper slightly parted and fuller than the bottom. Her lips were painted a deep, glistening red. She resembled the gown she wore, exotic and hypnotizing, putting him in mind of some Egyptian or Middle Eastern goddess.
Her expression showed no surprise at his presence, almost as though she’d known all along that he would follow her.
His heart was pounding hard in his chest as she assessed him, as though she could see inside of him, every thought, every memory, every want and desire. She knew. He tried to shake his head, to jerk himself out of the daze, but he couldn't even do that--part of him didn’t want to.
She was stunning. Earthy. Sensual and sweet. He wanted her approval, her attention, her love, her body, her blood.
What the hell was happening?
Even as he thought those words, he couldn’t rouse enough concern to give a damn.
She mesmerized him.
She broke her gaze and pain ripped through his heart. Desperate for her attention once more, he tried to move forward, but he was held still. She glanced over her shoulder and her lips quirked into a small smile.
Patience, her look said. Your turn is coming.
Her lips didn't move, but he heard the voice as clear as day. It flowed through his mind like . . . warm blood and sex.
She turned back to the unconscious god lying on the king size bed as though she had all the time in the world. She spoke to him, her words . . . ancient Greek if he wasn't mistaken.
Apollo's body didn’t move. His eyelids didn’t lift or even flinch, but his lips parted and he began to speak.
Sebastian blinked in amazement.
Then, commotion at the door. He was jostled aside as Theron and Michel barged into the room. Fear snaked through Sebastian's limbs. Fear for her. He knew deep down it was wrong, it was all wrong, the feelings he was having, but he couldn’t stop himself. Her head lifted at the intrusion.
Michel and Theron stopped at the foot of the bed.
Apollo fell silent.
Theron spoke to her in Greek. She cocked her head, an eyebrow lifting slightly as she studied the seasoned warrior.
The hold on Sebastian released and he found himself moving forward, wanting to put himself between them and her.
His father reached out to him, but he sidestepped away. “Bastian, no.”
Sebastian had no idea what he was doing or why he was doing it. “No, don't hurt her,” he pleaded with his father while another part o
f him, a very small part, was screaming for help.
The struggle in his father’s eyes, the strain on his face made Sebastian wonder if his father was caught in the same immoveable web he’d been in moments before.
Didn’t matter. She was behind him. So close, his skin shivered and his muscles tensed. So close. Her hand slid up his bare back. Dear God. He swallowed and shuddered in pleasure. Her front pressed against his back, the beads on her gown cold against his skin.
She grabbed his biceps and stared around him at the others. Then, she whispered something to them before the floor dropped out from under him.
Weightless.
Tracing. He was tracing. With her. Thank God. Relief filled him. They were alone now. Just the two of them.
Yet, a part of him wasn’t so thrilled. In the back of his mind, he knew his free will and clear thoughts were drifting farther and farther away from him. Suppressed. Smothered. Screaming.
THIRTEEN
I ENTERED MICHEL'S via the courtyard tunnel. Light illuminated the windows despite the late hour, making me pause in the shadows. Unusual for the entire house to be lit up like that. Not taking any chances, I stayed alert and moved through the garden, up the back steps to the second story balcony. The French doors were unlocked. I peeked inside, saw it was clear, and then stepped over the threshold.
A small lamp lit the hallway to my left and to the right, voices echoed from down the hall, light spilling from around the corner where Apollo and Jenna slept. As I approached, the voices became clear. Michel. My father. Bran.
“This can’t be good,” I muttered, picking up my pace, unable to shake the eerie, dreadful sensation that seemed to linger in the hallway.
As I rounded the corner, I ran smack into a warm wall of muscle. “Jeez!” I shot backward, hand going to my gun as a pair of huge hands grabbed my biceps and shoved me against the wall. I heard the slip of a blade against its sheath a second before it pressed against my throat.
Bran glared down at me, shaking his head. “Nice, Selkirk. I could have been the enemy. And you just wrapped yourself up with a cute little bow and handed me a present. What the hell is the matter with you? I taught you better.”
I rolled my eyes. “I heard you talking, so I was pretty sure things weren’t code red. And for the record, you move like a damn ninja, which is really wrong, given--” I waved a hand at his large frame-- “all that.”
He snorted. “And you move like a goddamn elephant.” He waved his hand at me, stepping back and sheathing his blade-- “for all that you lack.”
“Awesome. Thanks. It’s all muscle you know.”
He eyed me from head to toe. I was a wreck, clawed, bloodied, my skin smeared with revenant and loup blood. No comment or concern came my way. To Bran if I was standing here talking to him then I was a-okay. “Head on down,” he said, gesturing down the hall. “I have to make a call and then I’ll join you in a sec.”
The door to Apollo’s room was open. My father and Michel were standing by his bedside. “What’s going on?” I asked as I came inside. “Did he wake up?”
They stared at the shape I was in. I checked my boots, hoping I wasn't tracking blood onto Michel’s floors. When I straightened, they were looking at me with a mixture of disbelief, concern, and rising anger. “Look, I’m okay,” I said, understanding those looks.
Like a second father, Michel couldn’t hide the relief or the fear in his expression, fear for what might have happened and anger that anyone dared attack me. But it was way easier to look at Michel because my own father was looking a little scary at the moment. “Really, I’m fine.” I lifted my arms, spun in a slow circle. “All fingers and toes accounted for. Just ran into a little trouble in the ruins.”
“The ruins,” Michel said, surprised.
“Yeah. I’ll brief you when Bran gets back. What’s up with him?” I jerked my chin to the comatose god.
They both went tense and, oddly, neither one of them would look me in the eye.
“Apollo has been touched by death,” my father said.
That got my attention. “Is that even possible?” There were only a few things that might kill a god of his magnitude. Me, for instance. Zeus’ thunderbolt, another.
“He won't die. But he won't wake up either. Death is in him, inside of him, warring with the light, keeping him occupied, keeping him down.” Michel explained.
“The being who assaulted Apollo mid-trace. It was Thanatos.”
“God of Death,” I breathed, shocked. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Dumbfounded, I sat on the chair in the corner as I realized with instant clarity that the being who so casually jogged down the steps of Zeus’ temple had to be none other than death himself.
Yeah. I’d definitely dodged a bullet.
I put my head in my hands and let out a loud sigh. After what had happened in Olympus and then in the ruins... Things were piling on, making it hard to think straight. Weariness settled over me. I was beat. Hungry. Aching. I wanted the blood and grime off my skin, could smell it on me and it turned my empty stomach.
“Rowen is researching ways to help Apollo battle the darkness,” Michel said, leaning against the dresser as my father approached me.
“You look like hell, daughter.”
With his super senses he, no doubt, knew exactly how I felt, how tired I was. “Yeah. I feel like it.” I sank back against the cushion and filled them in on the state of things in Olympus and Hestia’s strange behavior. They could brief Bran later. “I don’t know... I’m starting to wonder if this is even about Archer.”
My father let the weight of my words sink in. He shook his head. “As of now there’s no way to tell.”
“The guy I saw in Olympus . . . it had to be Thanatos.” Though, maybe I was mistaken. When I thought of the embodiment of death, the image in my mind was more Grim Reaper than Mr. Tall, Dark, and Deadly. But then I knew as well as anyone, the most beautiful things could sometimes be the most evil. “Are you sure he attacked Apollo? Did Apollo tell you this?”
A hard tick appeared on Michel’s jaw, his features going hard. A seriously pissed off vibe flowed from him, and he exchanged a cryptic glance with my father.
“All right. You guys are acting weird. Just spit it out.”
“We had an intruder,” Michel began, calming himself with a heavy exhale. “Only a few minutes ago. Theron and I, we found her here in this room. Bastian, too.”
“What they’re trying to say,” Bran cut in as he returned, “is that Apollo had a little visit from the one and only Dark Mother. Lamia. First vampire. Queen to the entire race, prophetess, and recluse. Blah, blah, blah. No one has seen her for a long ass time, and all of a sudden she’s here in this room with your boyfriend.”
I didn’t appreciate the insinuation and instantly shot to my feet. “What the hell are you trying to say?”
Bran and I stared at each other for a hot second, before he shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest. “The truth.”
“Before she left,” my father cut in, “Lamia told me Apollo was touched by death. And I heard him, when I came into the room. I heard him say Thanatos.”
“And Sebastian?”
“Gone. She took him.”
“What do you mean, took him?” For a full five seconds I couldn’t seem to digest those words. “Why the hell would she take him?” There were no signs of a struggle in the room, nothing to suggest he’d put up a fight, so what the hell had happened?
Bran explained, having mercy on my struggle to comprehend. “Lamia’s power of persuasion is the stuff of legend. It was strong enough to make Apollo speak to her while in a coma.”
Hell.
“I had no idea her power was great enough to compel a god,” Michel said in a weary tone before meeting my gaze with familiar storm-colored eyes. “Bastian tried to fight her. I could see it, but all vampires, they are drawn to her like a magnet. She brings out their . . . . protective instincts. They'll do anything to serve her, protect her, ga
in her attention. She’s their mother, the original Dark Mother, and it triggers in them the instinct to be with her, protect her...”
Love her.
Yeah. I got the message loud and clear.
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
“How can she be the original vampire? I thought vamps branched off from humans and evolved over time...” I distinctly remembered Sebastian telling something similar.
An uncomfortable look appeared on Michel’s face. “That is what we teach our children, yes. For their protection and to limit Lamia’s reach.”
“The vamp kids hear about her, want to know her, and where they came from, and they go,” Bran said. “At some point you can’t stop them. And they never return, Selkirk. Never. So we and a whole bunch of other communities around the world wised up. A long time ago, we stopped telling her story, stopped feeding the myth. Literally.”
“Literally?”
“Yeah.” Bran shrugged. “She eats the kids.”
I stared at him for a long moment, wondering if he was pulling my leg. Michel didn’t correct him. I shook my head and decided to leave it at that. “Do you know why Sebastian came back so soon?”
Michel shook his head. “No. But he came back alone.”
Awesome. Well, that was just super. No gods to help us, and Sebastian taken.
My blood pressure was rising steadily and the thought of Sebastian being unable to control his thoughts and instincts, being a slave to something he’d never chose for himself, made me see red. He’d been in a similar situation with Athena when she’d starved him and manipulated him into becoming a full blown vampire.
“Well, one thing we know for certain, Archer’s disappearance has pulled her out of seclusion. Lamia is the one who foretold and spread the tale of Archer's birth tale among the vampires, who called him their Deliverer. The Salian Front bows only to her.”
“So we turn our attention to Thanatos and hope we get to Archer first.” The monumental impossibility of what I’d just said made me laugh and I put my head in my hands. I wanted to scream. And if I sat there any longer, I would, so I pushed to my feet. “I need to eat something, catch a few Z’s, and then I'll go back to Olympus and try to find Mel. She can get me into the Underworld.”
