“Dionysus wants the syrinx, yet I am not entirely certain what his endgame is. He would stop at nothing to possess it, allowing both Pavlo and Silenus to die, and sending Adonis here on a mission he was sure to fail in order to see how the Arcadians would seek justice.”
“Pan killed Pavlo and Silenus. Dionysus swore it.” Adonis regarded Melancton with bewilderment. “Don’t backtrack this time. Why would you oppose him?”
“Silenus killed Pavlo. I was there. Silenus attempted to slay Pan as well and died for it.” Melancton twirled his thyrsus through his fingers and it shimmered, returning to ring form. He slid it onto his finger.
“He wouldn’t lie about that, not to all of us.”
Melancton and Ariston shared their own bewildered glance. “Do you really think he wouldn’t?” Ariston asked.
Adonis’s forehead wrinkled as he considered it, and then he gasped and clutched at his skull, shaking. “I don’t know.”
“Mind control.” Melancton said dryly. “Adonis is overly perceptible to it because he was driven by hatred and anger. Dionysus could influence him and plant notions in his mind. He highly anticipated the outcome of you finding Adonis intimate with Lily tonight. I hoped he’d break out of the hold Dionysus had on him, and he did.” He met Ariston’s gaze, “Adonis fought against it and did not harm her.”
The confirmation only made Ariston’s gut tighten and his stomach heave. He’d wronged Lily in the worst way. She’d trusted him, and he hadn’t done as much for her.
A new voice joined their conversation, “And how does Dionysus manage to keep planting things in their minds. Is it one of his powers?” Lily asked, standing behind them all at the corner of the house. She’d dressed herself in jeans and a T-shirt, her wet hair pulled back in a ponytail.
“The wine,” Melancton said for the second time that night. “Alcohol is a device he uses to manipulate mortals and immortals alike. It has the ability to make one most exuberate or enraged beyond the normal state. It is like the tossing of a coin, the way he triggers each individual. For Adonis, Dionysus manipulates his negative emotions and pushes them to the tipping point. He knew precisely how to use him and contrived a method in which it would do the most damage. However, Adonis has not had a drop of alcohol in days. The wine skins Dionysus sent with him were emptied early into the week, and without a steady supply, he’s been working it out of his system. Painfully. Had he been influenced fully, I fear he may have...” he trailed off, shooting an apologetic look to Lily. “I would have stopped him.”
“Sweet Jesus, he has you all drinking the Kool-aid,” Lily mumbled.
Adonis shook his head. “I am experiencing withdrawal then?” He frowned and mumbled, “I thought I was going crazy.”
“Did Dionysus want Adonis free of the curse?” Ariston asked.
“If Adonis had broken the curse, you would have killed him in his fragile mortal state and then suffered for the harm done to the nymph and for killing your own brother. Your suffering is what Dionysus craved from this situation. And the syrinx of course.”
“But why?” Lily asked. “What does he gain from Ariston’s misery?”
“The pleasure of having caused it.”
A bright spark flared in front of them, originating from Melancton’s hand. He hissed and wretched his ring off of his finger, tossing it to the ground. It returned to its original form as his thyrsus snapped in half. Silence abounded as everyone stared at it. Even Lily and Adonis joined the huddle for a better look.
Melancton’s loyalty to Dionysus had been severed.
***
A broken thyrsus. Melancton had been loyal to a fault, so if he’d broken his allegiance to Dionysus, then...everything he’d said had to be true. Adonis didn’t want to believe it, yet again, he’d been used by a god who cared nothing for him. The evidence was in front of him, the shell cracked to expose the truth.
“How do you know this is true and not some crazy theory of yours?” Adonis asked.
Melancton leveled him with defiance. Free of his burden, he let his hatred for Dionysus show. He’d already been downright chattier and more emotional than Adonis had ever seen him, and the contempt in his voice for the wine god was unmistakable. “Because I have not had a sip of anything with alcohol in it since the night we were cursed. I’ve experienced his thrall and Dionysus is taking it too far.”
“He can control anyone drinking alcohol?” Lily asked. “Like, any alcohol? Not just wine?”
“To a degree. If he chose to seek someone out and wait for them to partake, sure. He is a very busy man, and doing so takes time. Sometimes the person drinking simply cannot handle their liquor.”
“This night has been a disaster.” Lily glanced sideways at Ariston.
“I’m sorry.” Adonis repeated, under his breath, and turned to leave. Only he didn’t make it any farther. His path was blocked by Pan.
“I thought I would congratulate Ariston in person, but obviously,” Pan stated, taking in the surroundings, “I missed something here. Why is Ariston naked and everyone else dressed? And, more importantly, why isn’t he human?”
Nobody spoke, but then Ariston shrugged. “Not meant to be.”
“Bullshit. If anyone deserved a second chance at humanity it’s you. When I left this afternoon, Lily was willing. Now she’s in pants and you lot are standing here looking like you were all caught with your hands in the cookie jar. I smell a rat.” His eyes glowed red as he faced Adonis on the word, “rat.”
Adonis started to move out of Pan’s way, but the god grabbed him by his shirt and held him there. “I’m going to make a crazy assumption here. I mean, you can’t still be angry at your brother for having the courage to tell a goddess no when you didn’t have the balls to tell her you didn’t want to share her.”
“Pan,” Lily started toward them, but Ariston held her by her elbow.
Adonis pulled away, removing himself from Pan’s grasp. “I know I ruined Ariston’s life, and I’m a massive fuck up, but I was leaving. I’m tired of this shit. Screw you, Dionysus, and everyone else for that matter!” He was done with Olympians. Done. He was going to try living a life of his own making for once, hole up in a cabin like his brother had and start anew.
Lightning shot through his finger and separated it from his hand. At least, Adonis thought as much until he looked down to see his thyrsus drop off his hand, reforming to its true form, only to split like Melancton’s had.
Well, he definitely wasn’t returning to work Monday morning.
Pan stared at the thyrsus a moment, clearly taken by surprise. His jaw was clenched when he returned his attention to Adonis.
“Breaking ties with your puppet master doesn’t clear your conscious, Adonis.” The air crackled around them, energy as thick as tar blanketed around them both. A tremor of trepidation shot down Adonis’ spine, and it reminded him of when Dionysus and Pan had squared off against each other. “All those years of misery Ariston suffered because of your selfish attitude will haunt you. You thought you could take a nymph from him? That you were even worthy of touching her?”
Pan’s voice took on a terrifying echo. It was a voice of judgment, an edict from a god. “I hope one day you find a nymph who desires you more than anyone else ever will, and your own hubris prevents you from reciprocating it.” Pan’s eyes glowed red once more, and the outline of a horrible winged monster stood in his place momentarily, but then he was Pan again. His human glamour in place, eyes no longer frightening.
Adonis inhaled sharply, letting the words register in his mind. Pan had cursed him to remain as a satyr forever. There was no out clause for him. Not anymore.
Without a backward glance at the others, Adonis hiked into the dark woods, doomed to his fate.
***
Melancton observed Adonis’ retreat in silence. He shouldn’t feel sympathetic for the fool, yet he did. The influence Dionysus had on Adonis had been strong, and Melancton knew firsthand how it felt to be manipulated against his will by that partic
ular god. Somewhere beneath the fury and hate he’d kept at the surface was a decent man who had never been given a real chance. Aphrodite had broken something in him, and Dionysus exploited it mercilessly. Pan’s curse would only add to Adonis’ misery.
Glancing over his shoulder, Melancton found Ariston sitting on the ground, his head in his hands. Lily kneeled beside Ariston and hugged him to her chest, whispering in his ear so softly only he could hear her. The cliché was love conquers all, and clearly Lily’s feelings for the Arcadian were breaking through the injured pride due to the grievous misconception from before. Melancton had wanted to reveal himself early on during her encounter with Adonis, but had he interfered, Adonis would never have reclaimed the control he’d needed to break away from Dionysus’ influence. Pan’s curse was a variable Melancton had not expected as an outcome.
Night began its leisurely descent into morning, and it was time for Melancton to move on. One satyr breaking his thyrsus may not have been a blip on Dionysus’ radar, at least not immediately, but two in the same night? The magic would revert back to Dionysus, and while it would make him stronger, it would also leave him furious. Betrayed. Vengeful. If the Satyroi were the results of the god’s vengeance in the past, Melancton did not ever want to witness what would happen if he crossed Dionysus’ path once more.
And Apollo... well... He couldn’t think about that. Not yet.
“Did I curse Adonis?” Pan asked as he strode by, and Melancton faced him. Pan seemed weary, the use of power wiping out the remnants of his anger. His glamour had dropped, leaving him in satyr form like the rest of them.
“You did indeed. Yet had he walked away unscathed, he may not have realized how far he has fallen. Do not regret a punishment befitting of his crime.” Melancton pitied Adonis, he did, but he had deserved what he received.
Pan nodded and allowed him to pass.
The forest beckoned him, and he let its silent sanctuary engulf him. He wandered aimlessly with only one recourse in mind: he had to get away. As far as he could, he wouldn’t let his grief take him until he succeeded in adding distance between himself and the spot where his thyrsus marked him a traitor to the god who allowed him to become a deserter to his people when they’d needed him most.
Because of her. Do not think of her.
Birds began their early songs, harbingers of dawn, and foreboding weighed heavily upon his shoulders at the sound. Sunlight would soon seek him through the leaves above, and then Apollo would appear.
If Dionysus didn’t seek him out, Apollo surely would. Of that he had no doubt. Melancton would welcome either of their wraths had he been merely concerned about himself. But he hadn’t made a decision which impacted his own fate since he’d been human. And even then, on that fateful day, his final decision had not been his own.
It was about her. Always her. Each breath, each day, each lust-filled night he’d fought his nature. All for her.
And he had failed her.
The ground was soft from the storm and it squished beneath his weight when Melancton dropped to his knees. The wet chill of mud embraced his legs, pulling him closer. It offered comfort and peace he could never have in immortality but would finally experience at a god’s hands. Numbness spread over him, helping Melancton not to think, not to feel. He craved the freedom it brought to him, the ability to exist momentarily with no purpose, but he knew the apathy would not last.
When the first glow from the rising sun turned the mud from onyx to chestnut, Melancton felt the presence looming behind him and the cold, piercing dread returned. It knotted his guts and stabbed him in the heart until he almost collapsed under the assault. He sucked in rasping breaths and squeezed his eyes closed. Perhaps it would be quick and painless. A small mercy, and the only one he hoped for. Though, for dooming her, he deserved to feel it and expected to.
“Kneeling already? Maybe you know your place after all.”
“Apollo.” No point in sparing insults. There was nothing left to fight for, yet the bitterness on his tongue made it impossible to hold his words. “Come to kick me while I am down?”
“Me? Why would I do something so...trivial? Besides, I might get satyr scum on my sandal.”
“Ever so glorious, great one.”
“I like it better when you stand there in silence and let me tell you how things are going to be. Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.”
Melancton glared at the god whose golden hair seemed to shine in the light. Apollo’s cruel smile met him, the maliciousness behind the façade of beauty and perfection palpable. In his nightmares, Apollo wore that smile while torturing her. The twisting of his heart lessened only by his hatred for the god before him. Melancton could not even think of her name without it hurting.
I failed. I am so sorry I failed you.
“Oh, don’t give me that look. You know what you did. I warned you what would happen, but you had to go and do it anyway, didn’t you?” Apollo stared down his nose at him, his tone that of a parent scolding a young child. “Tell me, why did you do it?”
“Ariston should have broken his curse tonight. Dionysus’ influence on Adonis prevented it. The nymph could have been harmed.”
“You name others, but those are excuses. Not reasons for you to act out.”
Melancton bared his teeth to hold in his retort. Apollo could stand there in his crisp white robes and act holier than thou all he wanted, but he was still a hypocrite. Instead, he replied, “I could not lie to myself anymore. I cannot keep witnessing him hurt people for sport.” The unspoken, “like you do,” hung in the air.
“But you didn’t rush in and save the nymph, did you?” Apollo countered. “No. You watched it happen and remained loyal to dear old Dionysus like a good little soldier until you started running your mouth. Now who is going to spy on him for me?” How did Apollo know the details to an event he couldn’t have witnessed unless he’d been present to see it transpire? Had he been there too, glorifying in the mess of it? Melancton wanted to tell him to do his own dirty work, but didn’t want her to suffer more because of his comments.
“Please,” Melancton said. His fingers dug into the dirt. Too muddy to ground him, but still something to keep him from wrapping his hands around the god’s throat. “Please, don’t hurt her due to my error. Take me in her place.”
Apollo snorted. “I don’t want to fuck you, satyr. But Daphne...she will never open her legs for me if I kill you, and you know it. My three thousand or so year hard-on for that nymph is the only reason she’s still alive, and I cannot wait until I break her of her stubborn streak so I can describe it all to you in vivid detail. But after I have what I want, I may very well slaughter the bitch for being such a massive pain in the ass.”
The thought of Apollo and Daphne together made his stomach heave, but he didn’t show it. She was a prisoner on Olympus, and Melancton couldn’t reach her there. He’d bloodied himself attempting to climb to the top of the mountain to free her, on four separate occasions, and it’d been for naught. The fourth time he realized physically rescuing her wouldn’t work, and admitting it had nearly done him in for good.
“The deal was I had to tell you everything Dionysus planned, and if I cooperated, you’d set her free. I’ve told you everything I know, but you continue to hold her. What more do you want?”
“You know he’s plotting a play for the syrinx, and you really think there is no further information I want? Nonetheless, I’ve concluded I won’t be giving Daphne up until I am ready to. I told her she could go if she allowed me one night between her thighs, but she refuses me. I like my lovers willing; call me old-fashioned.”
Thank the gods for that at least.
“Just think, Melancton. She could have lain with me three thousand years ago and all of this”—Apollo sneered toward the mud Melancton had failed to sink into despite his best efforts—”could have been avoided. You may think she held back to honor you, but she knew I mocked you and made you stay with Dionysus. She knew and she did nothing. The heartless, sel
fish twat.”
“If you let her live,” Melancton bit out, wanting badly to make Apollo eat those foul words against her, “and do one favor for me, I swear I will never attempt to free her from you again. I will...” His throat constricted, attempting to kill the words forming there before they were born upon his tongue. “My ties to her will be severed.”
Apollo tapped a finger against his chin, considering the offer. “I don’t really know about that. You see, she still loves you, and that’s my problem. Because you say one thing doesn’t mean she will say another. Although, I’m mildly interested in this favor you crave. What is it?”
A god’s curiosity was a dangerous thing. It never failed to provide the perfect bait for negotiation.
“I will tell you if you agree to it first.”
“Clever. You learned from the last time.” Apollo didn’t look impressed, however. “How do I know it isn’t something sneaky?”
“I swear it has nothing to do with me, Daphne, or you.”
He didn’t seem all together convinced about that, but Melancton remained silent until curiosity won out.
“Fine,” Apollo said, “I promise not to kill Daphne after I get what I want from her, and I will grant you one favor if you swear you will never attempt to steal the nymph from me again. Or any other devious little ploy you cook up to get her free. Because if I catch the two of you together, someone will die bloody.” He examined his fingernails, as though ensuring no blood from his last exertion of power had remained. “Understand?”
“I accept these terms.” While the thought of Apollo and Daphne together sickened him, she would live. If it came to her survival or his, hers would always be the answer.
“Now, what is this suspicious favor you ask of me?”
Melancton told Apollo what he wished to hear, all the while his heart shattered.
Nineteen
Men were pricks. They have pricks, they think like their pricks, and therefore they’re walking pricks. Not particularly elegant, Lily realized, but true enough for the moment.
The Cursed Satyroi: Volume One Collection Page 52
