Apathy's Hero: A Reverse Harem Urban Fantasy (Truth's Harem Book 3)

by Allyson Lindt

  “Eh. I vent. You listen. That’s kind of the foreplay.”

  He wanted to argue that there was more to their relationship than that. He wasn’t losing his mind, swearing he was in love, over something that could be deconstructed so easily.

  Was he?

  Fucking Icarus, putting thoughts in Actaeon’s head. And being right. Actaeon groaned mentally. “There could be more. Most long-term relationships have more.”

  “That’s what I hear. I’d hate to bore you, though.”

  Wow, he must come off as an asshole. Though, after the conversation they’d had before they fought Hades, he wasn’t surprised there were still unresolved tensions between him and Lexi. “What about what you want?”

  “I already have a guy who stimulates my mind, and one who loves me unconditionally. I can afford to be flexible with you.”

  This was a lot to unpack. “I don’t want you to be flexible. I want us to be happy.”

  “Me too. I didn’t mean otherwise,” Lexi said.

  Actaeon had no idea where to go next with this. He wanted to spend the next several hours talking through his relationship with Lexi, but they also needed to define what they were going up against.

  Was he the only one struggling with this? She seemed content.

  Was Charon wrong? She didn’t look out of place here. It might take her some adjusting, but none of this was causing her visible stress.

  “I don’t want to stay here forever.” The sudden change in her tone clenched around his chest like a fist.

  Her expression wilted, and her posture drooped.

  “You don’t have to.”

  Was it true? He didn’t know if he could promise that.

  “You’re lying,” she said.

  “I don’t know if I am or not. I know I’d rather have you leave with me. I’ll do what I can, to get you out of here.”

  “So I guess I need saving, after all.”

  Actaeon couldn’t tackle all of this at once, and neither could Lexi. If he had his way, he’d charge full-speed ahead into any battle that awaited them and beat it to a bloody pulp.

  It didn’t seem like that was the answer this time. He moved to sit next to her on the bed. his tattered, bloody clothes needed to go, but addressing the sudden sadness in Lexi’s voice was more important.

  She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she said softly. “I’m making it up as I go along.”

  “So far it’s working for you.” Their relationship would take untangling. More than they could do in a night. But it didn’t have to be put on hold while they tackled everything else. “Tell me about this quest.”

  “I’ve told you everything. Mostly.”

  “Then how do you know there’s a quest?”

  “Because there’s this insistence in my brain, this bit of... I don’t know what to call it... insisting I need to find... something... and defeat... another thing... . And that I need your help—everyone’s help—to do it.”

  Actaeon sighed and wrapped an arm around her waist. “That’s appropriately vague. Welcome to immortality.”

  “Were you born cynical and grumpy?” Lexi’s question was soft and without accusation.

  He fell back onto the mattress, pulling her with him. “No. Once upon a time, many many years ago, even I liked hearing the stories my mother would tell me.”

  Lexi adjusted her weight, to settle next to him instead of half on top of him. “What kind of stories?”

  “The same stuff everyone post-Enlightenment was raised on. Lightning and thunder and crashing waves and Zeus is great and Poseidon will free you.”

  “But back then, the stories weren’t part of the standard curriculum.” She rolled onto her side, propped herself up on one elbow, and studied him. “I want to hear you tell one of them. Did you have a favorite?”

  “I had one.” He didn’t have to reach for it. “They don’t tell the story the same anymore, but back then it both terrified and fascinated me.”

  “Tell me.”

  He hooked his hands behind his head. “It’s a kid’s story.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  He could ask her why it was so important, but he didn’t mind, so there was no reason to argue. “Before the Olympians, the Titans ruled the world. Cronus was their king. He wasn’t the first king. There was one before him, and others before that, as with all kingdoms. However, he wanted to be the last.”

  Lexi worked her jaw, and he paused. She shook her head. “I won’t interrupt.”

  “There was an oracle—they even had them in those days,” Actaeon said. “She told Cronus one of his children would overthrow him. So he ate them all.”

  “Just like that?”

  Actaeon raised an eyebrow. “You said you wouldn’t interrupt.” He wasn’t upset.

  She shrugged one shoulder. “You said it was scary.”

  “I said when I was ten, it was scary. And Mother told the story better. She had a trick that cast shadows on the walls and made the lights flicker.”

  “I’ve never heard you call her Mother before.”

  Because when he was a kid, Artemis was Mother. “Time changes things. Anyway, Cronus ate all his children, but his wife, Rhea, didn’t like it. So instead of bringing him Zeus, she wrapped a rock in swaddling.”

  Lexi snickered. “There are so many possibilities in how she even got away with that.” Her amusement was contagious.

  “It was probably a metaphor. But perhaps not. Rhea took her son and hid him on an island. He trained for years, to be stronger and faster than his father, but he knew he couldn’t confront Cronus alone. When the time came, he returned to his father’s castle, and fed him a poison to make him expectorate.”

  “Eww,” Lexi said. “Cronus puked the other kiddos back up?”

  “Not as poetic as the version I grew up on, but yes. Hades and Poseidon helped Zeus overthrow their father, and then the three split the world among themselves.”

  “It isn’t particularly scary. The story’s been told better since then.”

  Actaeon agreed. “That’s not the part that got to me.” He sat and pulled Lexi upright too. He took her fingers, the way Artemis used to do with him, and pressed his thumbs gently into her knuckles. “She’d look me in the eye, and her voice would deepen.” Actaeon held Lexi’s gaze. “Zeus swore on that day that no one would be king after him. He would never be overthrown by his children or their creations. He swore that mountains would rise and crumble, and oceans would swell and shrink, and he would ensure that he always sat on the throne.”

  Lexi stared back in disbelief. “No real subtlety there.”

  “Did I mention I was ten?”

  “A few times, yes.” She smiled. “But I would have been terrified too. Dad told me a similar story about The Enlightenment. He said Mom taught it to him. But he left out the eating babies and puking up siblings bit. That’s pretty gross.”

  Actaeon couldn’t argue that.

  A crack of thunder filled the room, and they both jumped.

  Lexi laughed nervously. “I guess it got to me a little.”

  Actaeon was glad it was only a story.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The screeching stopped after a few seconds, and Cerberus could think again. He had no idea where the sound came from. It was almost like someone set off an alarm, and it echoed across the world.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  “Irritating.” Lexi sounded frustrated.

  The clouds cleared, except for a handful of white wisps, and the sun beat down on them.

  She sighed and sat up. “I don’t want to stare at a blue sky. The world shouldn’t keep spinning as if someone wonderful didn’t just pass away.”

  Cerberus hated the sadness in her voice. “You can’t stay trapped in grief forever.”

  “I know. But I should be allowed a little time to mourn.”

  “That’s fair.” He stood and offered her a hand. “I’m going to walk. Would you like to jo
in me?”

  If this was her memory, could he walk without her? How did any of that work here? Could he interact with anything besides her? The environment was real enough, but would he be able to talk to people?

  “I was thinking of getting some lunch. I haven’t eaten all day.” She accepted his help up. Her palm was warm and familiar pressed against his, and longing spiked through him.

  How did he miss her when she was right here?

  Because this wasn’t his Lexi.

  “I’ll buy.” He patted his pockets. He didn’t have his wallet or phone, which meant no access to his accounts. Even if he had anything on him, would digital currency work in here? “On second thought...”

  “It’s all right. Dad left me a few things. I can afford a sandwich for myself and the cute-but-clueless homeless guy.” She took off toward the edge of the park.

  Cerberus didn’t care for the description, but it was as accurate as anything, given the circumstances. He walked with her. “Have you decided to trust me?”

  “Yes. It might be a stupid decision, but you’re the only honest person I’ve talked to in a while, so I’m going to take a risk.”

  “Thanks. I think.” He jammed his hands in his pockets, to resist the desire to tangle his fingers with hers. It felt wrong, not sharing the little touches, but it wouldn’t be right to do so, either.

  “Are there immortals who can lie and hide it?” Lexi asked.

  Cerberus scrolled through the list of those he’d encountered over the centuries. “I don’t know. I don’t suspect if I’d met one that they’d admit it to me.”

  “That’s fair.” She shrugged.

  As they strolled down the sidewalk, they had to weave between people. Cerberus’ nose was going nuts. He couldn’t smell any of them. It was like having a bad cold.

  The crowd was loud, but nothing distinct stood out in the conversations. Snippets of gibberish blended with traces of perfume and something that smelled really good. Roasting meat.

  His stomach growled.

  She pointed him toward a shop with Stateman’s Deli panted in large red letters across the glass window. Curtains hung behind it, blocking the view of the interior from the street. “This is my favorite place.”

  He opened the door for her, and a symbol caught his attention. A triangle with an eye in the middle, tucked above the handle. This place accepted barter, instead of or in addition to digital currency.

  The food smell was stronger in here. It made his mouth water. The chatter wasn’t any easier to decipher, but it was quieter.

  “What do you want?” She nodded at the menu board.

  There were several rows of text, but only a few words were legible. The soda, chips, and cookies, as well as five different sandwiches. “What do you recommend?”

  “I’m having the Reuben. Their dressing is drool worthy, and they make the bread here.”

  “I’ll have the same.” If he had to guess, he’d say turkey and avocado, grilled ham and cheese with tomato, and the pastrami sandwiches were her other favorites. Oh, and the peanut butter and jelly.

  She ordered their food and paid with a cufflink. The gems on it sparkled under the lights when she handed it to an older balding man in an apron.

  Cerberus expected her to pay in credits, but he shouldn’t have. She’d lived the barter lifestyle for a while. He’d assumed there was a point in her life when that wasn’t the case.

  Did her stepfather ever even put her in the system?

  Cerberus hadn’t found any record of her when he was hunting for her, so maybe not.

  They sat at a booth with a decent view of most of the room, and Lexi put her back to the wall.

  There were a few seats behind here, and someone with a silvery aura occupied one. The man looked disheveled, and his face was hidden.

  A young woman set their sandwiches in front of them almost immediately. Lexi’s wasn’t corned beef, though. It looked like the grilled cheese.

  Her clothes were different, too. Jeans, a T-shirt, and a leather jacket. He wasn’t sure if it would make her mood better or worse to comment on the change.

  His food was he ordered, though.

  He waited for her to eat, before digging in. The flavors washed over his tongue in a sharp burst. At least his taste buds still worked. “This is good.”

  “Told you.” Lexi grinned.

  The bell on the front door chimed, and Lexi’s eyes grew wide. She sank lower in her seat and spoke through clenched teeth. “Can you stop glowing?”

  “I don’t have a way to turn that off.” He doubted she’d believe him if he told her there was a slim chance anyone saw him. Even though it was the truth, it felt one step too far past the point of plausibility.

  He glanced over his shoulder.

  “Don’t look.” Lexi’s voice was tiny. Tension spilled from her, heavy enough to coil in his neck and set him on edge.

  He turned back to her. He tracked the movement of her eyes as someone approached, then came into view.

  Artemis? She looked out of place in the modest deli. Her cream pantsuit and matching silk blouse were probably valued at more than the daily receipts of the place. She settled in across from the a man behind Lexi whose hair looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in months.

  The stranger looked up.

  Actaeon? Cerberus should have smelled him the instant they walked in. Not only was his scent missing, but his aura was all wrong—brighter and colder.

  Artemis didn’t look right, either. Threads of moonlight wove around her and flashed over any exposed skin. And a severed red cord dangled from her ring finger. The edges were frayed, but the color was as vibrant as the vinyl bench she sat on.

  Was this how Lexi saw her world?

  “Have you ever been to Los Angeles?” Lexi’s question drew him back to the conversation.

  Cerberus nodded. “It’s pretentious and crowded, but the smog is almost gone, especially compared to two decades ago.” The Enlightenment had one nice side-effect—the gods didn’t like their world being polluted, so they’d magically cleared out the debris. Relocated and recycled what they could, and incinerated the rest. They had strict laws in place, to keep things from getting out of hand again.

  Lexi plucked a piece of ham from the edge of her sandwich and nibbled on it. “I want to be an actress.”

  “You seem as though you don’t like people noticing you.”

  She frowned. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone who I am, but I don’t have to use my real name, and auras don’t travel on camera.”

  “But the people who cast you will know. They’ll wonder why you don’t have ID. Why you’re not in the system.” His counter points didn’t matter. She’d already made this decision. Why didn’t he just let her have the dream? He’d never known this about her. An actress?

  “I could get myself put in the system. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you this, but you have to suspect there are people who make fake identities.”

  Cerberus only had one real argument for her, outside of all of her considerations. “I don’t think you’d like the people. Hollywood is all lies.”

  She twisted her face. The expression said she was considering his words. “But there, I’d expect it. They’re honest about their deception.”

  “Good point.”

  Silence settled between them as they ate. Cerberus couldn’t keep his attention from drifting to the booth behind her.

  Actaeon looked so different from the man Cerberus knew. This hero’s hair was longer. Dingier. Pulled into messy ponytail. His eyes were sunken, and his clothes tattered.

  Was this why Lexi didn’t remember she’d seen him in her past, or was this a memory Aphrodite took from her?

  Cerberus still wasn’t one-hundred percent sold on the this is Lexi’s past theory, but he was sticking with it until something else made more sense.

  “Did you have any luck?” Artemis asked. Her voice was kind, but something hostile lay underneath. It wasn’t a sound so much as a sensation.
r />   “No.” That was Actaeon’s voice.

  They didn’t move as they spoke. It was as if Cerberus watched cardboard cutouts having a conversation.

  Lexi glanced over her shoulder, and Actaeon dropped his face into his hands.

  She turned back to Cerberus, and Actaeon remained frozen in that pose.

  It made sense. In her mind, Actaeon and Artemis only existed in this moment the way Lexi had seen them.

  “What’s so fascinating about them?” Lexi asked.

  “I know them. So do you.”

  Lexi snorted. “The goddess Artemis? The purest of the pure? The embodiment of moonlight? The mistress of the hunt?” Disdain leaked from her words. “And some random hero? I don’t know anyone like that. The gods are bad fucking news. Deadly, you might say.”

  “I just might.”

  “You need to give this up,” Artemis said. “It’s destroying you.”

  “I have to find her. She said I’d come for her, but she’s not there. Where else would she be?” Actaeon sounded tortured.

  Was he talking about Cassandra?

  “What happens if you do get her back?” That same hostility lingered in the air each time Artemis spoke.

  “She’s lying,” Lexi said.

  Was it deception he heard, not disdain? “She asked a question. How can that be a lie?”

  Lexi shrugged. “She wants him to think she cares, but she’s manipulating him. There’s a twist to her words. She wants him to see the world through a different perspective.”

  “He’s looking for his dead lover. Why would Artemis stop that?” Cerberus was asking himself as much as Lexi.

  Lexi stiffened and glared. “You’re making a lot of assumptions based on a snippet of conversation. Why would you say that?”

  “It’s a hunch.”

  “Fighting only ever brings you pain.” Artemis sounded kind, but that sensation—the lying—lingered. “I hate to see you like this. Tortured. Lost.”

  “What am I supposed to do? Walk away?” Actaeon was forlorn.

  Lexi stretched and rolled her neck, taking the opportunity to glance over her shoulder.