He locked the door and picked up his packages, determined not to brood about it. They had a good day; he wasn’t going to ruin it. He laid the bags on the couch and opened the cage for his birds. Rory popped his head out first and fixed Nick a look with one bright, beady eye. “How’s it going, buddy?”
Rory twittered and glided out of the cage to take up a perch on the back of the couch, moments later followed by Amy. Nick grabbed himself a beer and took a long swallow. It was quiet in his apartment. Too quiet. He was restless, all that excess energy built up with nowhere to go. He flipped on the radio and took another sip of his beer as he returned to the living room. Maybe if he read some of his new comics he’d settle down.
Nick stretched out on the couch and tried to get his mind off Galen despite his body’s insistence on remembering how it had felt to hold him and kiss him again. His gaze fell on his great-uncle’s journal, and he reached over to grab it from the coffee table. The leather was old, the binding cracked in a few spots, and the yellowed pages held the musty smell that books got.
He read through some of the journal entries and soon found himself engrossed in Stavros’s slow fall with the soldier from Britain. He read a passage where Stavros struggled to sum up the other man and was struck by one line. He has a love of the moment and a fear of the future. Boy did that sound familiar. The description could easily fit Galen. To be honest, it could fit Nick too.
He paused at a photograph of Stavros Charisteas and looked into familiar eyes. His dad had always said that Nick reminded him of his uncle. He’d been named for him after Stavros had passed only a few months before Nick’s mom had gotten pregnant with him. Nicholas Stavros Charisteas. It sent a chill through him. How could he be the same man as Stavros, the same man as Dexios?
It was strange to think he was the reincarnation of a man born hundreds of generations before, even stranger to think he was the reincarnation of his dad’s favorite uncle. Nick frowned and pulled out his phone and brought up his missed calls. His dad had tried to reach him earlier. Nick hadn’t talked to him in ages. He missed him.
Nick sighed and set the phone aside along with the journal. Not tonight. He didn’t have the energy to deal with the struggle of who he was or his dad’s recriminations, whether or not he deserved them.
GALEN stared up at the dark ceiling and took several deep breaths, trying to still the panic that clawed at him. He hadn’t had that nightmare in several months, and there had been something different about it this time. He replayed it in his mind, knowing that trying to ignore it would only lead to more disturbed dreams. The recent nightmare mixed with memory made the images even more potent. He could feel the rain on his skin through the shattered windows. He could feel the hot, slick blood on his hands.
He shuddered and sat up, pushing the sheets away from his overheated body. He didn’t want to remember. Not tonight. The day had been so much fun. Those were the memories he wanted on his mind tonight, seeing Nick’s face light up as he got his comics signed, feeling the strength of his arms when he pinned him and kissed the breath right out of him before they said good-bye.
Galen scraped a hand through his hair and went to the bathroom to splash some water on his face. A presence fluttered in his chest, and he touched a hand to the spot. That had been happening more often now; Lykon stretching, awakening, and trying to impinge his awareness on Galen’s. Galen still didn’t understand how the four of them were tied together. And he didn’t want any more blackouts.
The cold water banished the last emotional vestiges of the dream, and Galen was able to think back on it without his heart constricting. It had been the same old nightmare, complete with horror and heartbreak. Nothing had been different until….
He frowned, remembering the sound of the sirens and looking up through the windshield for the source with a last desperate, fading hope. Only this time, among the gathering onlookers and witnesses trying to help, another man stood out. Dexios.
In tonight’s dream, Dexios had stood in the rain, watching him with sorrow on his handsome face. Galen’s hands tightened on the chill, metal water basin. Had Dexios actually been there that night? An icy sensation rolled over him at the thought, followed by a rage that left him shaking with its intensity. Was that what had distracted him and caused the accident?
Lykon stirred again, coming fully awake, and Galen batted him back down, using his anger to give him strength. Had Bryan died because some ancient jackasses had found him too inconvenient to their story? He shook his head violently to dispel the thought. No, no, no. They wouldn’t. That was taking speculation too far. He’d never to able to look at Nick without wondering if he didn’t let it go now.
Galen glanced up at the mirror and found Lykon staring back at him through his own eyes. He snarled, lashing out at the image. His fist connected with the mirror and the sound of shattering glass, the sudden appearance of the spider-webbed crack across the glass, knocked the anger right out of him.
Galen stared at the distorted image of himself and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw his own eyes. His knuckles throbbed and stung. He glanced down and shuddered at the blood welling from his knuckles to slip down his fingers. Blood on his hands. He wasn’t sure if he was still dreaming or not.
Shaking, Galen turned the water back on and slid his hand underneath until the blood washed away. Dexios couldn’t have been there that night. Galen would’ve remembered something as blatant as a man standing by the side of the highway in full, ancient battle gear. His nightmares were getting all mixed up with his obsession over the statues. He was awake and overreacting to a dream that he had thought he’d already put behind him.
His knuckles ached as he examined them, but the damage wasn’t too bad, none of the cuts deep enough to require real attention. He winced as he looked at the mirror and the smear of blood across the center of the cracks. He didn’t need to see that every time he came into the bathroom, so he tossed a towel over it to hide the damage until he could get it fixed.
Galen tended to the worst of the cuts and then tugged on a pair of jeans and a hoodie. It was one in the morning, too early to head to the museum, and it would be a while before he could get back to sleep. He wondered if Nick had the same trouble sleeping. He doubted it. He probably was dreaming of geek stuff, reliving the day. Maybe thinking of him. Galen didn’t dare to hope. At least he didn’t have someone fighting to take him over so he could go make nookie with the ghost of his lover.
He took down a shot glass and a half-full bottle of tequila. The smoky, smooth flavor exploded in his mouth and left a sweet burn on the way down. He poured another shot, then set the bottle and glass aside. Lykon pulled at his consciousness, taking advantage of Galen’s distraction to make his presence known once again.
Galen rubbed his palm against his chest. “Leave me alone, will you? There’s nothing I can do about the statues tonight, I’m sorry.”
It should’ve felt like he was losing his mind, talking out loud to himself in the empty apartment. Instead, he didn’t feel alone at all; it felt like Lykon was listening to him. The urge to get out, to take a walk in the cold night air came over him, and Galen found himself putting on his sneakers and shrugging into his leather jacket.
The air nipped at cheeks still warm from the shots of tequila, and the dual sensations invigorated him. He wasn’t sure how long he wandered; the longer he stayed outside, the more bemused he seemed to get. A part of him questioned the wisdom of this jaunt, but the more aware side was confident he could handle any trouble that came his way.
Galen finally managed to flag down a cab, intending on heading back to his place and the warmth of his bed, and instead he found himself giving the driver Nick’s address. He sat in the back seat, tapping his chest and worrying his lip as he tried to fight the urge that drove him forward.
It wasn’t that Nick wouldn’t invite him in if he showed up on his doorstep. It wasn’t that the sex wouldn’t be scorching hot. He knew deep down it would be a mistake. Nick already
thought he was some kind of sex-starved nympho who had no real interest in any kind of a commitment, not even a casual one. This would just confirm it in Nick’s mind.
Galen had been at a point not too long ago when he’d been ready to bolt at the slightest provocation, so he recognized the signs in Nick. In fact, he wasn’t too sure of Nick’s motivations. He could be giving this relationship a chance because of whatever he knew about those statues and what it took to end the curse. It hadn’t taken as much work as Galen had thought it would to woo him back into being with him again.
If he wanted Nick to stay when the Collection was complete, he’d have to give Nick every reason to do so. He had to win his trust again. Galen stared out the window and brooded as the cab pulled up in front of Nick’s apartment. The windows were dark, but that didn’t stop the sharp jump inside of him, the pull to get out and climb the stairs to Nick’s door.
“Stop it,” Galen muttered under his breath, pressing the heel of his hand against his skin as though it would somehow contain Lykon.
“Hey, mister, you okay?” The cab driver turned in his seat, his eyes narrowing on Galen.
Galen nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He dug his wallet out and shoved some money at the cab driver and gasped out his own address. Lykon fought him, and Galen’s vision went gray as he tried to hold on. He couldn’t pass out now, and he wasn’t going to be Lykon’s fucking marionette either.
He unzipped his hoodie partway, dug his fingers into his skin, and the pain of bruises forming shocked him into some semblance of control. Galen shook his head, pushing Lykon down until the sense of his presence faded, though it didn’t disappear entirely. His relationship with Nick was nobody else’s business.
“Do you hear me, Lykon?” Galen said under his breath. “We’re doing it my way or not at all. Stop trying to manipulate me.”
The cab driver shot him another nervous glance through the rearview mirror. “Look, do you need me to take you to a hospital?”
A surge of panic welled up, breaking the last bit of Lykon’s control, and the man disappeared. “God, no. Just take me home.” He laid his head back and tapped his bruised and cut knuckles against the window, counting on the renewed ache to keep him in control until he managed to get back home. No one manipulated him.
A PROMISE OF PATIENCE
DEXIOS knelt on the shore, the sand digging into his knees until his skin was numb. He was frozen, unable to make any decision about a future that now seemed without purpose or joy. His plans were shattered, and no wound he had taken on the battlefield hurt as much as he hurt now. Lykon had deserted him and the betrayal had taken him by surprise.
Lykon had broken his promise the very same day they were given their freedom to leave and pursue their own lives again. He did not even try to find another way. And no argument or plea from Dexios had been able to sway him. Lykon didn’t even offer hope for a future.
Dexios knew what would happen when his lover returned home. His family would ply him with problems that needed fixing, questions that needed answering, and Lykon would bury himself in the day-to-day. By the time his thoughts turned back toward Dexios the memories and emotions would have turned distant and cold. There would be no desire or reason to return to him.
Lykon could be single-minded when it came to a problem. It was one of the characteristics about him that drew Dexios in the first place. It had also been the cause of much vexation. He chose practicality over giving vent to his feelings. It had taken much effort for Dexios to get Lykon to open up. Now that Lykon had locked himself away again out of fear, he wouldn’t readily open that door again. How had he missed the signs and not noticed that he had overwhelmed his lover with his plans?
“Why do you kneel on the shore all alone? Why does your soul weep?”
Dexios leapt to his feet, drawing his sword as he spun to face the voice that surrounded him. At first he didn’t see anyone, and then he noticed a form in the waves that followed the curves of a woman’s body. As the realization struck him, the figure rose, riding with divine grace as the surging wave transformed into a woman of unearthly beauty, clad in nothing but the damp tendrils of her hair.
Dexios gasped and averted his gaze as he fell back to the sand. “Cythera.”
Words froze on his tongue, and he found himself unable to speak, unable to react as the sheer force of her presence touched him. Bare feet stopped in front of his eyes, sand clinging to delicate toes and the arch of her feet.
“I sensed your pain. Where is your other half?”
Dexios closed his eyes as another wave of grief washed over him. It seemed as if the pain had grown a hundredfold in Cythera’s presence, and if Dexios had not already been on the ground he would’ve been bowed down by it.
“He has returned home to see to his family.” Dexios struggled to lift his head and felt a slender hand tangling in his hair. “He takes his duties with utmost seriousness. He always has. For him, duty takes precedence.” Perhaps Dexios should have shown Lykon that he had a duty to them as well.
“But what of love?” The hand tightened in his hair, and Dexios looked up at the goddess. She was beautiful, but there was an implacable resolve in her eyes that was terrifying to see, a will that went beyond human comprehension. “Duty is pale in comparison, boring and without life.”
“Love does not come first with him.” Dexios hadn’t been able to get Lykon’s last expression out of his mind, the baffled fear that he tried to hide by busying himself. It wasn’t that Lykon didn’t feel; perhaps he felt too deeply and did not know how to handle such strong emotion. Dexios wished now that he had taken time to understand why Lykon needed some distance.
“He made an oath to you in my name. Does that not mean anything to him? Does he dismiss me so lightly?” Cythera asked with an edge in her voice.
Dexios shook his head and tried to speak past the knots on his tongue. Fear broke through his sorrow, fear for himself, fear for Lykon. The gods and goddesses were not known to be forgiving. “No, this is an exception. He needs time to think. He will return when the time is right. I know it.”
He hoped it. One day soon, Lykon would come back to him of his own free will. He would not return unless he knew that staying was what he wanted. It would not be an ill-thought-out promise spoken in the heat of passion and the desire to make Dexios smile. So when Lykon did return, Dexios had no reason to fear that he would leave again. If he did. Please let him return.
“Time? Lykon spoke of time as well.” A smile touched the corners of Cythera’s lips. “I will make sure you have all the time that the two of you need. Would you like that, my brave warrior? Would you have the patience to wait for your wayward lover if given the chance?”
Dexios hesitated. He could say yes, but what if Lykon never changed his mind? He’d be stuck waiting for something that may never happen, prolonging the ache in his heart. He could choose to move on, let the ache heal and find someone new. His heart rebelled against the thought.
Then Dexios remembered the look in Lykon’s eyes when he made the promise. Lykon did love him, of that he had no doubt. He would come back someday, and when he did, Dexios would be ready for him. He just had to be patient, not one of his stronger virtues, but if it was for Lykon….
Dexios smiled up at the goddess as certain of this vow as he had been of his vow to leave and make a new life with Lykon. “Yes, Cythera, for him I could have endless patience.”
“Then I will give you this time.” She paused and searched his face. “Perhaps this will give you some measure of comfort. Your other half does love you and already regrets his hasty retreat. In time he will come searching for you.”
Dexios closed his eyes as some of the ache in his heart was replaced with hope. Perhaps they both needed to listen more and demand less. When they did see each other again, Dexios would tell him so. In the meanwhile, Dexios clung to the knowledge that Lykon would come. “Thank you, Cythera.”
“Still, you both broke your vow said in my name.” Dexio
s’s eyes flew open, and he stared at Cythera in horror, shaking his head and unable to give voice to the protest locked in his throat.
“You said that he returns, so the vow stands unbroken, merely postponed.” Dire fates rose in his mind, tales of all the punishments inflicted upon those who had offended the gods. “Please, do not bring harm on him for leaving.”
“What of you for letting him leave?” Dexios had no reply as she paused, studying him with a small smile on her lips. “You fought the enemy harder than you fought for him. I think you were susceptible to your own fears. You did not wish to push him too far, not knowing what you would find. It was easier to let him go.”
Again Dexios wanted to protest, but instead he searched his heart and was ashamed to realize the truth to her words. He had left Lykon in anger and haste, too hurt to listen to words, unable to give him then the patience he promised now.
He lifted his face and met Cythera’s gaze stare for stare. “I freely admit my own guilt. We both were at fault.”
“Done.” The goddess’s capricious smile widened, and Dexios felt his limbs become heavy as the world shifted. He tried to look down and found himself unable to move. Cythera touched his jaw. “You make a very handsome statue, and you will be as eternal as the tides until your fickle lover fulfills his promise four times over and you accept him. Be well, Dexios, and remember your promise to be patient. I will be watching.”
Dexios tried to cry out as the goddess vanished, but no sound emerged from his frozen lips. He stood staring out at the sea, his arms reaching for something that wasn’t there.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
GALEN shut the journal with a snap and sank back into Nick’s couch with a sigh. He wasn’t going to get any answers from the mismatched lot of books. Most of Nick’s journals were written in Greek and, despite his heritage and his great-grandmother’s harping when he was younger, he’d only picked up a few phrases, most of them curse words. The one journal written in English, Nick’s great-uncle’s, seemed to have chunks missing, and what was there focused more on Dexios, which didn’t help him at all with his Lykon problem.
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