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

by Allyson Lindt

  “Because you’re tapped for ideas?” she asked dryly.

  “No. My idea is still the same. We go back to Styx and hang out until Charon takes all three of us across. That’s obviously not the right answer, so I want to hear your thoughts.”

  Mischievousness mingled with the emotions flowing from Lexi and blanketed them. “We got the fighting out of the way, and asses have been saved today...”

  “No.” Actaeon rested a hand on her cheek.

  The spark of desire and rush of attraction raced from his touch through the bond Cerberus shared with Lexi. That was new. And if it was even a hint of what flowed between Actaeon and Lexi, no wonder sex was the one thing they didn’t argue about.

  Lexi’s pout was exaggerated. “Why not?”

  “Because I’d like to be more than that to you. I want to get to know both of you,” Actaeon said.

  “Do we get the same in return?” Lexi wanted to accept his proposal. She heard his sincerity. She didn’t trust her response.

  Cerberus wished he could make this easier on her.

  “You already are, by being here,” she said mentally.

  LEXI DIDN’T REALIZE she suggested sex with Actaeon out of habit, until he told her no. What he asked for instead...

  If she had to be honest—and the fact that she was a shitty liar, plus she hated deception meant she did—letting Actaeon in terrified her. She wasn’t sure why. The whole fate thing made her take a step back when it came to Cerberus and Icarus, but things were easier with them. Everything clicked.

  But Actaeon... He didn’t know his own heart well enough for her to get an idea of what was there.

  “Falling in love isn’t always easy.” Cerberus’ words echoed in her head. “You have to open yourself up, without knowing for sure it will work.”

  She liked the wisdom in his words, but the idea scared her as much as anything. She pulled away from Actaeon’s touch, but held his gaze. “What do you want to know?”

  “What happened after Cerberus woke up? What happened before? The whole story, rather than fragments.”

  It seemed like a simple question on the surface, but there was so much turmoil attached to the memories. “Cerberus was stuck in my memories.”

  Cerberus was hesitating. He didn’t want to say too much, in case it betrayed her trust.

  “It’s okay. You can tell him whatever you believe will help,” Lexi said mentally. “I have to make that leap at some point, and now seems like as good a time as any.”

  “This is the equivalent of three people having a conversation, and two of them whispering so the third can’t hear.” Actaeon interrupted.

  He had a good point. “I’m sorry,” Lexi said. “Half the time, I’m not even aware I’m doing it until we’re several sentences into the discussion.” Something occurred to her. “How did you know we were talking?”

  “You both go quiet and stare at each other. There’s also a feeling, I can’t describe it. I just know.”

  Lexi had lived her entire life without talking to anyone telepathically. She could survive the occasional pass now. “I think it’s a fair request. I’m still learning to set the mental boundaries, but I’ll try to keep it under control.”

  “That’s all I ask.” Actaeon relaxed.

  She swore she felt it, and the sensation was unsettling. Tension she didn’t realize was there, and his, uncoiled in her neck when he spoke.

  “I lived parts of Lexi’s past with her,” Cerberus said. “Memories of points in her life that were traumatic. That’s where I was when I was unconscious.”

  “Literally stuck in her head?” Actaeon covered Lexi’s hand with his. Icy concern and comfort wrapped around her—the familiar sensation his touch always brought, but there was more behind it. A tenderness she’d never noticed before.

  She nodded. “It’s as though, while he was there, I relived all those parts of my life. Some of them I’d forgotten, and others I just wished I could.” A knot rose in her throat at the nudge of images she’d tried to bury long ago.

  “And Aphrodite was responsible for hiding several of them,” Cerberus added. He wrapped an arm around Lexi’s waist and pulled her back into him.

  Actaeon’s frown was one of worry. It was so odd, knowing that instinctually, but she’d adapt. “Do I dare ask for details?”

  A simple question, but one that broke the dam holding back the potent pieces of her past. “I found him, memory-time-wise I guess, after Dad’s funeral.”

  “I’m sorry.” Actaeon stroked his thumb along her skin in tiny circles. “I’ve never asked, and I don’t know if you want to tell me, but how did he die?”

  She could do this. She’d relived the grief already. Now all that was required was a short answer. “Sacrificed to Poseidon. No one said so, but it was for sheltering me.” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed a sob. “Because apparently the gods have known about me for years, and taking away Dad was one way of keeping me from standing up to them.” The bitter words tumbled out and spilled tears down her face.

  Actaeon drew a finger across her cheek, leaving a damp streak. “I know how much that hurts. I wish I could take that ache away from you.”

  “How do you know?” She wasn’t trying to be cruel, but he still had his mother.

  “I wasn’t always a grumpy old man. I told you I was a kid once. Had a mortal father.” Actaeon sounded kind, and the comfort he brought was tinged with sadness. “He died when I was little. Maybe five or six? I cried for a week.”

  “I didn’t realize.” Lexi’s frown deepened. She hated to admit it, but she forgot sometimes there was more to the figures from history books than what it said on the pages.

  Cerberus squeezed her. She was grateful for the silent support.

  Actaeon moved closer, half-pulling her into his lap, without taking her from Cerberus. It was a neat trick.

  “A couple decades passed—that’s a literal thing; I was probably in my late twenties—and I thought I had gotten over it,” Actaeon said. “And then I found out it wasn’t a hunting accident, as I’d been told. Zeus was responsible.”

  Lexi might have laughed at the cruel parallels, if his story plus hers didn’t leave her raw inside. “Is that the first time you went after Zeus?”

  “No.” Actaeon gave a dry chuckle. “Artemis talked me out of it... Did you really see her and me?”

  Lexi would rather hone in on the scene from the deli than most of the other memories. She was grateful for the change in subject. “She was convincing you to give up, after you talked to Cassandra.”

  Something caught in her thoughts and snagged. “Cerberus tried to talk me out of it too.” That wasn’t right. Cerberus was part of the memory, not real life.

  “You tried to go after Poseidon?” Actaeon’s question was a combination of concern and awe.

  “It wasn’t her idea,” Cerberus said.

  When Dad died, Lexi didn’t see herself as powerful. She could make intangible knives. She wouldn’t have pursued Poseidon. “I never did that. Did I?” A stabbing pain pulsed behind her eye, as she tried to grasp the thought.

  “Clio talked you into it.” Cerberus’ concern spiked.

  “Who?” Lexi’s head pounded.

  “Clio. Your best friend?”

  Actaeon squeezed her leg. “Clio, the muse? I didn’t realize you knew her.”

  “I don’t.” Snippets of a memory that wasn’t Lexi’s invaded her thoughts. “Do I? She’s there, but she’s not. I didn’t know her, but... She’s not part of my past, outside of that day.” The harder Lexi grabbed, the more difficult it was to find answers.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Lexi and Icarus strolled along a street in Berlin. This wasn’t the same place it had been just a few years earlier. The plague killed thousands, and now the streets felt vacant.

  Immortality kept them safe from the disease, but required them to maintain a low profile, not to draw suspicion. It felt like ages, since they’d been able to stroll through the city.

>   Laughter reached Icarus’ ears. It was a welcome but out-of-place sound. He steered Lexi toward the noise.

  A large crowd had gathered in an alcove at the edge of the city, and at the front of it all, someone had set up a stage.

  “Traveling actors,” he said. It had been ages since troupes stopped here.

  Lexi hugged his arm. “Can we watch? We have time, don’t we?”

  “We do.” They had all the time in history.

  The man on stage was dressed in oversized robes, with excessive padding underneath. The effect was comical as he stumbled and sat on his throne.

  Another man strode in front of him. He wore a fitted toga and a long, dark wig, and he carried a wooden piece of lightning. “Father. I have returned.” His overacted lines were in German.

  “Do you want a translation?” Icarus whispered in Lexi’s ear.

  She shook her head. “I get the gist of things.”

  It was a little odd. They’d lived here for as long as he could remember, and she didn’t know the language. But it was what it was.

  “Zeus. I thought you were dead,” the king said.

  Icarus knew this story—how Zeus overthrew Cronus, freed his brothers, and became king of the gods. A child’s tale, but every few centuries, it made a resurgence in theater. From the way the characters were presented here, Zeus was very much meant to be the hero.

  Two more actors joined Zeus on stage. It was odd that the woman playing Hades had a faint glow.

  She turned and looked at the crowd, and Icarus swore her gaze met his.

  “Does she look familiar?” Lexi asked.

  He dug through his thoughts but ran into several walls of nothingness. “Clio?” The muse of history? What was she doing with a traveling acting troupe?

  “Clio. I know her...” Lexi pressed a palm to her forehead, and her face twisted in pain. “Don’t I?”

  “They don’t really do meet and greets.” Why couldn’t Icarus access those bits of his mind?

  Lexi’s frown deepened, and she stumbled back, away from the stage. “I need to get some air.”

  A strange thing to say, given they were outside, but he followed, concern pulsing through him. He didn’t remember this from... From what?

  “She died. I saw,” Lexi muttered. “On the street. A café.”

  The walls in Icarus’ head pulsed, then shattered, and a lifetime of memories rushed back. Hundreds of years surged in, in a blink, reminding him there was more outside of this world.

  The stone buildings and streets splintered. Not the way breaking rock should, but more like it was all painted on glass that someone threw a rock through.

  “When I was younger, I met her. She was my best friend.” Lexi was still talking. “But she wasn’t. There’s a memory there, but it’s not mine...”

  “It’s mine.” Clio appeared in front of them on a blank white landscape. “Hello.” She waved and smiled.

  This wasn’t good—understatement of the century they’d just not-lived.

  “Where are we?” Icarus asked.

  The muse shrugged. “Same place you were before you noticed me. Your head. Her head. It’s all kind of a deliciously messy and fucked up blur.”

  Lexi massaged her temples. Icarus knew the feeling. This was a lot to be shoved into a brain at once. “In case you missed the news,” Lexi said, “a siren already tried trapping me in my thoughts. Lorelei didn’t fare well.”

  “Trapped? I haven’t trapped you.” Clio tilted her head to one side and then the other, studying Lexi.

  “Then why can’t I leave?”

  Icarus remembered more now. He was supposed to pull her out. Instead, they’d gotten sucked into a life that was half-mishmashed memories, half-fantasy.

  “That’s on the two of you. I’m only here as an observer, and maybe to poke and prod a little, to see how the two of you react.” Clio’s tone was light and playful. She bounced from one foot to the other.

  “Why? On whose behalf?” Icarus wanted to know. Their settings hadn’t re-solidified. If he or Lexi focused, would they go back to Germany? Would they lose themselves again?

  “Why did you pretend to be my best friend? If you’re only here to watch, why did you interfere in my other memory?” Lexi added to the stack of questions.

  “I’m not supposed to tell.” Clio sang the words.

  Icarus didn’t care what she was or wasn’t supposed to do. On earth, he might not be a fighter. When it came to the mind, he was a master. He pinned her to a non-existent wall with invisible force. “Explain, or stay in here with us.”

  “You can’t keep me here.” Clio’s playfulness faded as she squirmed. “I’m here because you’re creating new worlds within your own history. I’m just inspiration. I can leave anytime.” She twisted her body but didn’t otherwise move.

  “Then, go.” Icarus poured the menace into his words. “If I can’t stop you, why are you still here?”

  Panic tinged her laugh. “I like it here. The two of you are fun. Plays and operas and sex every day. Why would I leave?” She clawed at the air but remained pinned in place.

  He advanced on her. The gods’ fucking with his life was status quo, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. “I want to know why Zeus sent you. Simple question that requires a simple answer. Talk, and you can go.”

  She stared at him, eyes wide and chin quivering. “I told you already. He wants to know how the new goddess of the underworld reacts. He needs to know what he’s up against.”

  “Is that all?” The answer was stupidly straightforward. He pushed a little more pressure into the force that held her. It wouldn’t do physical damage, but the mind was a dangerous playground if someone let themselves get lost in it.

  As he and Lexi had discovered.

  “Nothing more. I promise.” Clio’s glee had vanished. “I was there with the hellhound, and I’m here now, to see how she responds and report back to Zeus.”

  “Wonderful.” Lexi spat the word. “Another god poking in my thoughts for his personal gratification. When do I get to do the same to them?”

  Icarus relaxed his hold, and Clio vanished. “If I could tell you how, I’d let you play around in any one of their dreams,” he said.

  “On second thought, it’s probably nasty in Zeus’ head. Like all... superiority complex and shit. I’ll stay out, thank you very much.”

  He was glad she saw the humor in the whole thing. “I can’t believe we got stuck here.”

  She leaned into him and pulled his arms around her. “I don’t know how much I mind. We had fun, right?”

  “True.”

  “As long as we get to keep the memories...”

  He wasn’t getting rid of those, ever. Not if he had any say in the matter. “Yes.” He wrapped her in an embrace and kissed her the top of her head. “I’d still like you to join me in the real world, though.”

  “Me too.” Lexi sighed. “And then go kick Zeus’ ass for thinking he had the right to jab me in the feels. How much of this was real?”

  “None of it, except for the impressions it left behind.” And the most important thing. He’d never said it. How had they gone decades without the words passing his lips?

  “You’re so smart. Dad would be proud of me, finding a smart guy who’s as irritated with the gods as I am.”

  He laughed and pulled her closer. Trepidation coursed inside, over answers they didn’t have and Zeus’ involvement, but Icarus could set that aside to appreciate this moment. “He’d be proud of you anyway. And you need to know something.”

  “What? Are you all right?”

  “I’m worried about you being stuck in here.” He was stalling. “Which is why I need to tell you, and I should have said this sooner.”

  Worry whispered across her face. “Tell me what?”

  “I love you.” He brushed his lips over hers. “That’s the one thing down here that’s real. I love you wholly and completely. I’m so glad I found you, and wherever we are in history, or in planes of e
xistence, or trapped in a dream, I’ll always find you.”

  Her smile was worth more than all the money in the universe. “I love you too.”

  That sounded incredible. Better than he thought possible. He kissed her hard, drinking her gasps and falling into the scrape of her nails up his back. He pulled away with a gasp, not wanting the moment to end. There was a critical issue at hand. “I need you to come out of this. Please?”

  “I still don’t know how.”

  “Meditate?” He tried to laugh as he said it, but he was tapped for other answers.

  Lexi whirled to face him and grasped his hands. “Or hold me tight and take me with you.”

  “I don’t like the idea of leaving you in here.”

  “But you’ve come back every time. It’s not like it’s difficult for you to climb into my head at this point. If it doesn’t work, we try something else. Not meditating. Not only because I’m stubborn, but also ’cause I’d rather not get sucked even deeper into my head.”

  He didn’t have an argument for that, and they were out of ideas. He tugged her close again. “See you soon, one way or the other,” he murmured against her lips.

  He felt her smile. “See you soon,” she said.

  Icarus closed his eyes and pictured himself in his body, in his room. He looked again, and his ceiling stared back. This was promising. He sat up.

  “That didn’t take long.” Conner was sitting on the stool again. “Oh, fuck.” He looked to Icarus’ side.

  Icarus followed his gaze to the empty space on his bed, where Lexi should be. Everything was still in his head—the last few years of fantasy, the talking, the falling in love—but she wasn’t here anymore.

  Fuck was putting it mildly. Fear and anger filled him. “Where is she?”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Lexi didn’t care for having a third set of memories jammed back into her skull. Especially not in the middle of this made-up town in the underworld, while she tried to figure out why she couldn’t get out of this place. Was anyplace she’d been in the last few days—years?—real?