The Sun Revolves Around Apollo (The Gods Are Back In Town Book 2)

by Serena Akeroyd

  Before she could leave though, Achilles grabbed her wrist. For a second, time froze. She jerked in response to his touch and he blanched—fucking blanched. Now, what the hell was that about?

  Before I could do little else than glance between them, she returned to her senses and tugged at his hold on her as I reached for his arm, stopping him from going after her. Without looking back, she started storming away from us.

  “Let her go,” I told him, curiosity making my tone soft as butter on a warm day.

  “Why? She heard us, Pollux. We need to make sure she doesn’t say anything.”

  “She doesn’t know who we are,” I said with a snort. “Plus, she won’t say shit.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because she was listening in on purpose.”

  “I repeat: how do you know that?”

  “Because we were farther up the stable than she was. If she hadn’t wanted to hear it, she could have sneaked out without our knowing. She was getting off on listening, so she isn’t about to admit to shit.” I rubbed my chin. “Did you feel it?”

  “Feel what? Pissed off? Yeah. I feel that.”

  Rolling my eyes, I grumbled, “Aside from that. I’m talking about something else.”

  “What kind of something else?”

  There was an irony to the fact that this rehab center was Achilles’ brain child when he was the male least in touch with his feelings of our bunch. “When you touched her, I mean.”

  Achilles sighed, but I saw the lie etched in his tense features before he even uttered a word. “Spit it out, Pollux. What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “A connection,” I mused. “I haven’t felt anything like that before.”

  With her fine ass out the door now, I didn’t have anything pretty to stare at so I shot his ugly face a look. He was scowling at me, and I wondered why he was lying. When he’d touched her, when their skin had brushed, they’d both frozen. Just as I had when I’d reached up to cup her chin.

  “A connection?” Achilles repeated, but his tone was pensive now, and I sensed he was looking inwardly, which meant he was about to share dick with me.

  Oh, wait, he already had.

  That was about as much as I was going to get from him today—his mulish expression told me that. The jackass. Dude needed to work out how to talk about his feelings more before I smacked him in the face for being a dipshit.

  ❖

  Castor

  I was excited to be going home.

  It wasn’t my real home, but it was the second-best place to be after Athens.

  The farther we moved away from the city, the lighter my heart felt. Not only because I was returning to the Hamptons, but because I would be close to my brother again.

  Pollux was my twin, and though the years had allowed us to spend more time apart, it was always a relief to return to his side.

  Pollux in Manhattan was like asking the bull to go storming through the china shop. He couldn’t deal with the noise, the smells, the people. It was all just too much for him, and when shit was too much for him, his naturally ebullient side came to the fore.

  When that happened?

  There’d been known to be a stock market crash or two.

  “Not long now.”

  Apollo’s voice broke into my thoughts. We were seated in the back of his limo, but I thought he’d been napping. He was sleeping like shit lately, had been cranky as fuck, and was starting to make Achilles look cheerful.

  Now that was saying something.

  “Yeah, we’re almost there.” In the darkened cab, I told him, “I’m surprised we’re coming, truth be told.”

  “You are? Why? You know James meant a lot to me.”

  “You hate being out here.”

  “So? I hate most places outside of Greece. Hating one over the other is neither here nor there.”

  I had to withhold a laugh at his emotionless tone. “That’s true.”

  Apollo found the harsh northeast winters hard. He was God of the Sun. Zeus really should have thought about that before he dumped us all here. Although Achilles surmised that this was one of my stepfather’s jokes—Zeus was Pollux’s dear old dad, mine had perished thousands of years earlier.

  Turning to look at him, I asked, “What’s wrong, Apollo? You’ve been weird for the past few months.”

  It had started with him refusing Athena and her guardians entry into New York, then I’d feared he’d do the same with Hades, but the God of the Dead had learned some tact since the last time we’d met because he’d managed to obtain a stay in the city.

  “I’m not sleeping.”

  Even though I knew that, it always surprised me when he admitted to not resting, and I’d been with him for thousands of years. One never anticipated that Gods would require rest, but they did. Apollo, as God of so many energetic things—the sun, music, art—needed more than most, but he rarely got it.

  As his PA, I was aware of everything he did for a living. The toll it took to manage the empire he’d built over the last thousand years.

  If the man didn’t irritate me more often than not, I’d be impressed by what he could and did do with his time.

  “Have you tried the drugs?”

  He made a scoffing sound. “What do you think?”

  “I imagine you have and I also imagine that you tried them once and when they didn’t work, didn’t try again.”

  “How well you know me, guardian,” Apollo said dryly.

  “Hang around with someone long enough, and you learn the score,” I retorted, strained amusement lingering in my tone.

  Apollo was a likable man, and yet, I spent half my time wanting to smack him in the face. Why? I’d lived with him for longer than I’d been alive and sometimes, it was like I didn’t know him at all. You think you know how irritating that is but imagine not knowing someone you fucking live with for tens of hundreds of years.

  It’s like sleeping with the enemy.

  Well, it would be.

  We stopped doing shit like that a few centuries ago because Apollo had lost the taste for sex. A worrying enough development in and of itself.

  “What is it?”

  I released a sigh. “Dealing with you is like dealing with a fractious horse.”

  Silence fell at that, then he murmured, “Fractious?”

  “You’d be surprised how fragile you are,” I retorted.

  “Explain.”

  “What the hell’s going on behind that mask you show the world, Apollo? You don’t want to marry Cindy DiStefano, but I genuinely think you will.”

  His silk suit rubbed against the leather backrest, making an interesting whispering noise that informed me he was turning toward me. I remained with my head facing the window, looking out into the dark night where I could see the constellation my brother and I had once formed—Gemini. We were the original Gemini twins, except no one knew us by our true names, just as those stars in the night sky.

  It had been several lifetimes since Pollux and I had resided in the ether, in the grand nothingness. Zeus and Hades had pulled us back, urged us onto Apollo’s ‘team’ as it were, dragging Achilles into the fray as well.

  The Gods had been dispersed from Mount Olympus because as fewer humans believed in them, rather than losing power, they gained it. In such enormous quantities that their already gigantic egos began to swell. Egomaniacs had nothing on the Gods, and Zeus had made them split up so that the infighting between them had to come to a halt.

  Each God now resided in one unique part of the world. Apollo’s sector was the East Coast of the States. Hades had the West. To enter another’s territory, they had to make a request, and that request could be denied—as had been the case with Athena all those months ago.

  From Zeus, the biggest power player of them all, to Artemis, the gentlest, every God and Goddess had guardians that helped ground them. Helped police them and keep them in check.

  We worked as a team but had long ago split up so that we could achieve s
omething with our lives that didn’t revolve around the Gods. It was my turn to be by Apollo’s side. I’d taken over from Achilles about eight years ago, and I had another forty-two on the clock before it was Pollux’s turn.

  Yeah, the whole immortal shit didn’t sound so cool when you were stuck with an asshole for a boss, did it? I mean, I didn’t just work for the guy, I lived with him. I was his perpetual shadow.

  The annoying thing was Apollo wasn’t always an asshole. He could be funny, charming even. He had a great sense of humor, and his talents? Jesus. He could pick up any instrument and make beautiful music with it. From the piano—who do you think had trained Beethoven?—to the cello. He could paint majestic landscapes, have you drooling over a nude so realistic it was better than having a naked woman in the room with you.

  He was creativity itself, which should have made him a joy to be around, but it didn’t. He wasn’t.

  He was…

  “I never claimed that I wanted to marry Cindy,” he said calmly, breaking into my thoughts, making me realize I’d asked him a damn question about ten minutes ago that he’d only just deigned to answer.

  I sighed. “Don’t you think it’s cruel to the girl?”

  “Her father asked me.”

  “I have no idea why you’re so loyal to the man. He was a thief and a con man.”

  “I’m loyal to the man I knew, not the thief he became,” Apollo corrected stiffly—he didn’t like his judgment being questioned, but in this? Tough shit.

  “Being loyal to the memory isn’t fair to Cindy. She deserves a chance at happiness.”

  He laughed. “You and I both know happiness is fleeting where mortals are concerned. I could break my promise to James, could allow her to live her life freely, and she may very well wed someone she believes she loves. That doesn’t stop the man from cheating five years later, doesn’t stop her from drowning herself in alcohol to overcome her misery over said cheating, does it?”

  “That’s a pessimistic point of view,” I instantly chided.

  “I’m a realist.” He reached forward and grabbed a scotch from the wet bar. When he wiggled the decanter at me, I nodded.

  Accepting the tumbler, I took a deep sip, and stated, “She could find someone who makes her happy.”

  “It’s her fate to be mine,” he intoned, and I almost shivered.

  He believed that.

  Why, though?

  “You’ve never even seen her outside of pictures.”

  That had him snorting. “So?”

  “So? We both know how fussy you are.”

  “I call it selective.”

  “I call it fussy,” I insisted. “You and I both know if she is in any way like—”

  “Don’t say her name,” he spat, making me sigh.

  Ever since Daphne had preferred to sacrifice herself than allow herself to be loved by Apollo, he had an issue with all things blonde and blue-eyed.

  It didn’t matter how hot the woman was, didn’t matter if she’d make a regular man’s dick weep—blondes didn’t have more fun where Apollo was concerned.

  And Marilyn had tried. Many, many times.

  I sought patience. “Dolly is blonde. James was too.”

  He snorted. “Dolly is bottle blonde.”

  “It’s likely she was naturally so before she turned gray and dyed it,” I persisted. “What are you going to do if Cindy is blonde?”

  “Why is this such a problem for you?” he countered, glowering at me from his corner of the limo. “It’s never been a problem when I married before.”

  No, he was right. It hadn’t.

  Some Gods married, some didn’t. Apollo had married several times and each time…

  I ran a hand through my hair. “It’s the aftermath that concerns me,” I told him softly.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means,” I ground out, all patience lost now, “that you’re a pain in the ass after they die.”

  He scowled at me—there didn’t need to be any light to see it. To feel it. “Grieving, Castor, is no sin.”

  “You’re not grieving the woman, though, are you? You’re grieving what you can never have. The prospect of you marrying Cindy and then having to endure another few decades of you in this fucking ugly mood is more than I can stand.” It might have sounded a tad melodramatic, but it was the truth.

  Apollo on a downer was like…

  Well, the trouble was it didn’t just affect him. If it did, I could probably cope, but because he was the God of most creative arts like music and literature and then art itself, it meant that the entire realm’s musicians, writers, and artists all turned gloomy as fuck.

  That was the man’s power.

  He affected the world on a global scale. I could only imagine what would happen the next time his depression hit.

  “What the hell am I supposed to say to that?” he rasped.

  “Nothing.” I blew out a breath. What could he say? “Look, I’m just thinking out loud.”

  In the distance, the sight of the house blossomed into view. The lights ran down the driveway and illuminated the front of the Tudor-style home that Achilles had built here over three hundred years before. He kept reincarnating himself as the next heir, and I was relieved he did. Pollux loved it here. We’d had stables since Achilles had first moved in.

  At my side, as I’d known he would, Apollo relaxed.

  This was home.

  He tried to deny it, tried to state that the city was his haven, but it wasn’t.

  Here was.

  More than anything, I thought it pissed him off that something Achilles had built was where he found himself most at peace—Apollo was a douche like that.

  For myself, I found that I was relieved and wary about being here. I wanted to see the horses more than I wanted to see Pollux—no joke. But I was wary because these were the first steps we’d be taking toward a future that wouldn’t turn out well.

  Sometimes, being immortal, thinking in decades and not weeks and months, truly sucked, and I was tired of everything fucking sucking.

  I needed to catch a break.

  Fast.

  ❖

  Achilles

  When the gates to the estate opened without a call coming in from the guards, I knew who was on their way. Knew it and was pissed too.

  As much as my life, my soul, was tied to Apollo’s, I preferred to steer clear of him as much as I could.

  Several thousand years was too much for anyone to deal with a God, and I had less patience than most.

  “What the fuck is he doing here?” I snarled at Pollux, who was pushing off the sheets to come to my side at the window.

  “How the hell did you even hear that?” He squinted at the gates, then up at me.

  I rolled my eyes, trying not to be touched by the sight of him all tousled. He was the least neat man I knew. His hair all over the place, his jaw stubbled even though he shaved before bed so he didn’t have to do it on a morning.

  “That’s the first question on your lips?” I chided, and when he nudged me in the side, I sighed. “I make sure the gates squeak, so I know when they’re opened.”

  He hummed under his breath. “That makes sense considering how neurotic you are.” He scrubbed a tired hand over his face. “How long has it been since he’s been here?”

  “Hell of a long time.” Not long enough.

  “Eighteen years?”

  “Could be.”

  He rubbed his chin. “Castor didn’t message to say he was on his way.”

  “Why would he? It’s late. He probably thought we’d be asleep.”

  “Because we sleep so much,” Pollux mocked, and I almost laughed because he was right. We didn’t need much sleep, but the irony was Apollo did and he barely caught any Zs. I doubted that had changed since the last time I’d been on duty.

  Pollux rested his forearm on my shoulder and leaned against me like I was the wall. The man was naked, of course, and didn’t care that he was rockin
g a semi.

  I ignored the attraction. It was hard, but I’d already acted on it twice since Cinderella had barged her way out of our stables. Something about her made my cock hyperactive, and it wasn’t exactly used to inattention. Pollux was as horny a motherfucker as I was.

  “It can’t be good that he’s here,” he commented.

  I cringed at his musing tone. “Castor is stuck with him for another forty years, isn’t he?”

  “Thereabouts.” He rubbed his stubbled chin against my arm. “Don’t worry. You know I’ll stay on with him longer so you don’t have to.”

  “That’s not fair to you,” I countered, even though I wanted to grab hold of his offer with both hands.

  “Being stuck with Apollo isn’t fair to you either,” Pollux consoled, which was unusually kind of him.

  Pollux was many things, but kind wasn’t one of them.

  Ebullient and belligerent more like.

  “It happened a long time ago. I need to get over it.”

  “If you haven’t learned that grief isn’t something easily overcome yet, then you’re crazy.”

  I had to smile at his exasperation with me, even if that exasperation was deserved.

  My story wasn’t exactly low key. My fucking heel was the source of my demise, and the arrow that Paris had released, the one that had felled me, had been guided by Apollo himself to my one weakness. Paris had slain me, but Apollo had done the deed. All to save his beloved city of Troy, to stop me from destroying it in the war.

  The Gods were the kings of sick twists of fate, and that was why they’d tied me to Apollo for the rest of eternity, I felt sure.

  As the limo pulled in at the front of the building, I murmured, “We should greet them. Figure out what’s going on.”

  “I’ll go.”

  I tried not to feel relieved by that. I was a hero known for my courage, but being stuck in the same room as Apollo always made me uneasy.

  Pathetic, I know. I should have grown used to the sensation, but I hadn’t, and I was fortunate the twins took most of the slack on my behalf.

  Making word into deed, he pulled away and I immediately felt the lack of his warmth. As he strode toward the door, I cleared my throat to hide my amusement. “Pants, Pollux.”