He trailed one icy cold finger down the side of her face. "Are you truly willing to die to give your friend five minutes with her son?"

"If that is what you ask, yes."

He dropped his hand. His soulless eyes betrayed no emotion or any indication of his mood. "I'll have to fully consider this. Give me until tomorrow night to decide. You'll have my answer then."

She sank to one knee before him. "Thank you, akri. Xiamara will await your decision."

He faded into the wind.

Xiamara rose and returned to Apollymi to let her know that Jaden was contemplating the bargain. What she would never tell her were the exact terms they were negotiating.

Acheron tipped his goblet back, drained it, then cursed before he threw it against the wall. He'd drunk enough that he should be blind from intoxication. Yet he was stone sober. Not even his drugs would work on him.

His entire being had been altered.

Damn it all!

He felt the air stirring over his skin. Frowning, he watched as Artemis materialized in front of him.

Acheron lifted a brow in surprise. "I wasn't expecting to see you . . . ever again."

A small smile played at the edges of her lips as she looked at him shyly. "I know. I wanted to apologize for what I said to you earlier. I was wrong."

Every sense in his body went on alert. "You're apologizing to me?"

She nodded as she approached his bed, then climbed on it to rest beside him. "I've even brought you a peace offering."

"A peace offering?"

She handed him a small covered bowl.

Scowling even more, he opened it to find a yellow sticky fruit substance. Never had he seen anything like it. "What's this?"

"Ambrosia. Food of the gods."

He lifted the bowl to smell it. It was sharp and tangy with something else that was invitingly delectable. "Why would you bring this to me?"

"You're a god now. You should eat as we do." Her expression tender, she stroked his thigh and looked up at him from underneath her lashes. "Even I eat it-it's delicious."

Compelled by something he couldn't explain or deny, he picked a portion of it up and sampled it. It was much sweeter than it had smelled. Artemis was right. He'd never tasted anything better.

At least that was his thought until the room started to spin. His eyelids were suddenly heavy and his muscles weak, his breathing labored. In an instant he recognized the biological effects. Rage set fire to his blood as all the years of being drugged against his will rushed to the forefront of his mind.

"You drugged me!"

She bolted from the bed. "Forgive me, Acheron."

Of all the things she'd done to him . . . this betrayal sliced him most fiercely. "What have you done?"

Artemis didn't speak as she watched him turn from human to blue and back again.

He tried to reach her, but she made sure to keep her distance until he'd passed out. There was no telling what he would have done to her had he seized her. As he collapsed on the floor, she finally let out a breath in relief.

Leave it to Hypnos to make the one concoction that not even gods were immune to. She'd been terrified that it wouldn't work on Acheron.

Thank Zeus that it had.

Her hand shaking, she pulled the dagger from its concealed sheath on her thigh. Hephaestus had forged it on Olympus and like the drug, it too would work on a god. She'd even coated the blade with Titan blood just to be sure. One slice and Acheron would be dead.

Biting her lip, she stood over his perfect, naked body that was sprawled sideways and watched as he breathed ever so slightly. His blond hair fell over the handsome features of his face, making him look almost boyish and harmless in his repose.

She remembered the times those full lips had pleasured her. The flash of happiness in his silver eyes when he looked at her. But that was when he'd been human. Now he was a threat not only to her, but to every god on Olympus.

One cut . . .

His throat was exposed, just waiting for her. But as she moved to severe his carotid, an image of him laughing with her went through her mind.

"I love you, Artie."

No one had ever loved her. Not like him. Acheron had never hurt her. He didn't demand. He only asked.

And he gave freely of himself . . .

Kill him, damn you! Do it!

Artemis gripped the knife tightly. She lifted it with every intention of stabbing him. But she couldn't. Over and over, images of him played through her mind.

Acheron loved her and she loved him.

Sobbing, she dropped the knife and placed her head on his chest. As a man, he'd exposed her and threatened her in a way no one else ever had. As a god, he threatened the very existence of her pantheon. She needed to be rid of him.

But she couldn't.

Furious over her own weakness, she put him back in bed. She traced the line of his jaw and wanted to weep. She would have to do something.

Maybe she could find one of the other gods to kill him . . .

Acheron heard someone scream out. The sound was horrifying and gut wrenching. It echoed through his room. Rolling over in bed, he tried to get up, but couldn't. The drug Artemis had given him was still pressing down on him. He had no control over his body at all.

Then he heard Apollodorus crying.

"Theo! Appie need theo! Mama! Mama come to Appie. Mama!"

Acheron wanted to go to the baby, but he couldn't. His head was swimming viciously and even the subtlest movement made him queasy.

"I'll be there tomorrow, akribos," he whispered to his nephew before he passed out again.

And still the screams echoed in his drugged stupor.

June 25, 9527 BC

Noon

Acheron came awake to the sound of ultimate grief. Someone was wailing as if their heart was splintered. Blinking open his eyes, he found the sun bright, streaming through his open windows.

His head pounding in agony, he pushed himself up in bed, but almost fell as his stomach lurched sharply. He hadn't awakened this sick since he'd left Estes's home. It felt as if he'd overdosed on something.

Artemis.

There in the blinding light, he remembered her "gift." More than that, he remembered her holding a knife over him as she debated whether or not she should kill him.

"You fucking bitch," he snarled.

An instant later, his doors were thrown open. The sound echoed so sharply in his head that it made him flinch and made his head pound even more. "Not so loud," he whispered.

The next thing he knew, Styxx had him by the throat. He shoved him back on the bed to straddle him. "Are you drunk?"

Acheron shook his head.

Styxx backhanded him. He pulled the arc of herbs from the table next to the bed and flung it into Acheron's face. "You worthless whore. You lie in here on your drugs and drink while my sister was murdered!" Styxx punched him again and again.

Acheron tried to block the hits, but his muscles and reactions were still sluggish from Artemis's drugs. It took a full minute for those words to permeate the fog in his mind. "What did you say?"

"Ryssa's dead, you bastard!"

No! The denial echoed in his head. It wasn't right. Styxx was being an ass.

Surely not even the gods who hated him would do this to him.

Shoving Styxx away, Acheron forced himself out of bed and staggered down the hallway to Ryssa's rooms. Oblivious to the fact he was naked, he walked in to find the king holding Ryssa in his arms. She looked like a doll. Her face was blue, and her body . . .

He choked on what he saw. She'd been ripped to pieces. Her face and body ravaged by something that looked like large claws. There was blood all over the bed and floor. Falling to his knees, Acheron couldn't breathe or even think past the agony of what he saw.

Ryssa was dead.

And it was then, there on the floor before him that he saw Apollodorus and the nurse. Both bloody. Both dead.

Acheron banged his head against the stone floor, trying his best to clear the fog in his mind. To feel something other than the shattering of his heart.

"I heard them . . ." he whispered as the reality of last night slammed into him with fists more powerful than any that had hit him before.

Damn you, Artemis! He had the powers of a god, but not the power to come and save the only two people who'd ever loved him. And why? Because that whore had drugged him!

He screamed out in anguish.

At that instant, in his mind, he saw the entire event unfold. Saw the ones who'd come into the room from the windows and slaughtered them. He heard Ryssa screaming out for his help.

Heard Apollodorus again begging for his uncle . . .

Suddenly, something slammed into his ribs. The force of the blow knocked him to his side. Looking up, he saw Styxx's furious face as he kicked him in the stomach. Then his twin was on the ground, slamming his head against the stone floor over and over again.

"Why wasn't it you, you worthless maggot!"

Acheron couldn't even think to protect himself. In that moment, he wanted to die too. There was no reason for him to live. Ryssa and Apollodorus were gone.

Even Artemis had tried to kill him.

Impotent rage roiled through him. Roaring from the force of it, he shoved Styxx away from him, but before he could regain his feet a bright light exploded through the room. Acheron lifted his arm to shield his eyes as Apollo manifested.

There was complete silence as the god looked slowly around the room taking in every detail. Even the king had stopped crying in expectation of the god's reaction.

Apollo didn't speak as he saw Ryssa lying dead in her father's arms and his son's lifeless body still in the arms of his savaged nurse.

"Who did this?" Apollo demanded through clenched teeth.

Styxx pointed to Acheron. "He let them die."

Before Acheron could think to deny those words, Apollo spun on him and hit him with his fist so hard that it lifted him from the ground and slammed him into the wall ten feet above the floor.

Acheron fell to the ground, his body aching. Apollo grabbed him by the hair and wrenched his head. Acheron tried to push him away, but his muscles were still too weak.

The god backhanded him. Blood and pain exploded as his nose was broken and his lips split. The god set on him with such fury that Acheron couldn't even recover from one blow before two more were delivered to him.

"Artemis!" Acheron shouted, needing her to help calm her brother.

"Don't you dare say my sister's name, you filthy whore!" Apollo grabbed a dagger from his waist and snatched at Acheron's tongue. He sliced it off.

Acheron choked on the blood that poured through his mouth. Unimaginable pain throbbed to the point all he could think was to try and crawl away from Apollo.

But Apollo grabbed him by the throat in a grip so searing it burned the god's handprint into his skin.

"Akri! Ni!" Xiamara's cries filled the room as she appeared above him and dove for Apollo. She knocked the god back from him and put herself between them.

"Out of my way, demon," Apollo demanded.

Her response was to launch herself at the god. The two of them tangled in a flurry of light and feathers as they pounded each other.

Tears filled Acheron's eyes as he fought against the pain that was trying to drag him into unconsciousness. His only thought to kill Apollo, he crawled to where the god's knife had fallen. His own blood coated the blade. With a fury born of grief and all the years where he'd been abused, Acheron seized it and spun on the combatants.

Ryssa had meant nothing to Apollo. No more than he meant to Artemis. His sister had loathed the god and now the bastard acted as if her death meant something to him.

It wasn't right and by the gods who'd birthed him, he wasn't going to let the god get away with attacking his mother's demon. His fury set fire to the blade, causing it to glow as he raced toward them.

Acheron set his gaze on Apollo and was oblivious to the fight. All he could focus on was stabbing the god through his callous heart. But just as he reached Apollo, the god knocked Xiamara back, into Acheron. She turned into him with eyes wide as his stomach shrank in the realization that Apollo had slammed the demon into the knife . . .

Acheron felt her blood coating his hand. Looking down at the wound, she staggered back with a small cry of pain. He wanted to say something to her, but without his tongue, it was impossible.

He grabbed her against him as she struggled to breathe.

She lifted a bloodied hand to place it to his cheek. "Apollymi loves you," she whispered in Charonte-a language he somehow understood even though he'd never heard it before. "Protect your mother, Apostolos. Be strong for her and for me . . ." Then the light faded from her eyes as her final breath left her body.

Acheron threw his head back and tried to vent the fury inside him. But it came out as a strangled cry. Grabbing the knife, he spun on Apollo.

Apollo caught his hand and wrested the knife from him. The god seized him again by the throat and threw him down to the ground. Acheron kicked him back and rolled to his side.

A shadow in the corner caught his eye. He froze as he saw Artemis standing there, watching the fight with her hands over her mouth. Her eyes were filled with horror.

Needing her, he reached a hand out toward her.

She shook her head no and took a step back, out of her brother's sight.

In that instant, something inside him died. Coldness filled every raw inch of his body.

Artemis refused to intervene. Even now when he was wounded and hurt more than any human should ever be hurt, his love wasn't enough. He didn't matter to her.

Tired, grief-stricken and defeated, he rolled over onto his back at the same time Apollo appeared before him. He met the god's angry glare. Growling in rage, Apollo sank his dagger deep inside Acheron's heart and sliced him open all the way to his navel.

Unmitigated agony burned through him as the god slowly gutted him on the floor, no more than three feet from Ryssa's body, and right there, before Artemis.

Tears fell from his eyes as the light and pain began to fade . . .

Artemis remained in the shadows, silently weeping as she watched her brother kick Acheron's dead body aside. It wasn't until Apollo approached the king on the bed that the king realized Styxx was also lying dead in the doorway.

Not that Artemis cared about the prince.

Her heart aching, she slid down the wall to crouch in the corner as her teary gaze remained on Acheron and what was left of him.

She'd thought his death would bring her relief. Instead agony over his loss tore through her with a finality that left her bereft of any thought. Only raw emotion.

It hurt on a level she'd never known existed.

The king's cry of pain matched the one in her soul as Apollo took Ryssa from his arms and he realized that his heir was dead.

For all his dignity and power, the king crawled on the floor to Styxx and screamed as he rocked his son against him.

No one mourned Acheron.

No one save her.

Unable to stand the sight, she returned to her temple where she shattered every mirror, every piece of glass and pottery. Her rage roiled through the room, laying waste to everything around her.

What had she done?

"I let him die."

No, she'd tried to kill him. Last night, she'd wanted him dead. But never had she dreamed just how much he meant to her.

His touch, his friendship . . .

Now he was gone. Forever.

"I love you, Acheron," she sobbed, tearing at her hair.

It's over. No one will ever know about the two of you now. You're safe.

It seemed so petty a concern compared to the fact that she'd live out eternity without ever seeing his face again . . .

Apollymi gasped as she felt the weight in her chest lift. Without being told, she knew that she now had the ability to leave Kalosis.

Leave . . .

"No!" she screamed as she realized the significance of that. There was only one way for her to gain her release.

Apostolos was dead.

Those three words chased themselves around in her head until she was sick from them.

Unwilling to believe it, she ran to her pond and summoned the universal eye. There in the water, she saw Xiamara lying dead on the palace floor and Apostolos . . .

No!

From the deepest part of her being, a scream of rage and grief swelled and when she gave vent to it, it shattered the pool and rocked the garden around her.

"I am Apollymia Thanata Deia Fonia!" she screamed until her throat was raw and bleeding.

She was ultimate destruction.

And she was going to bring her son home . . .

May the gods have mercy on each other because she was going to have none for them.

June 25, 9527 BC

Tartarus

Hades, the Greek god of death and the Underworld, stood in the center of his throne room, staring in disbelief at their newest arrival who lay in one of the darkest cells of Tartarus.

And he hadn't put him there . . .

He looked down at the timepiece on his wrist and ground his teeth. It was still three months before his wife would be returned to the Underworld to be with him. But honestly, he had to speak with her.

It couldn't wait.

"Persephone?" he called, hoping her mother wasn't close enough to hear him. The old bitch would have a stroke if she caught them together. Not that it would be a bad thing . . . if only it would kill her.

An image of his wife flickered in the darkness by his side. "Butterbean!" Persephone breathed. "I was just missing you something terrible."

He really hated the nicknames she came up with for him. Thank the gods that she only used them when the two of them were alone. Otherwise, he'd be the most mocked of all gods. But he could forgive his beautiful wife anything. "Where's your mother?"

"Off with Zeus looking over some fields, why?"

Good. The last thing he needed was for Demeter to come in and catch them talking.

But that brought him back to his current "dilemma." Anger swept through him as he gestured toward the wall that showed the cells where his prisoners were kept. "Because I'm getting really sick of cleaning up the messes of the other gods and right now I'd love to know whose ass I need to bust over this latest fiasco."

She solidified before him. "What's happened?"

Taking her hand, he led her to the cell where they could see inside, but the occupant inside was completely unable to see them.

At least that was the normal case. In this one, who knew what the occupant could and couldn't see?

He pointed to the blue-fleshed god who lay cuddled into a ball on the floor. "Any idea who killed that and sent it here?"

Eyes wide, Persephone shook her head. "What is it?"

"Well, I'm not completely sure. I think he's a god . . . Atlantean . . . maybe. But I've never seen anything like him before. He came in a short time ago and hasn't moved. I'd try to destroy his soul and send him into complete oblivion, but I don't think I have the powers to do it. In fact, I'm pretty sure that just by trying, all I'd do is piss him off."

Persephone nodded. "Well, sweetie, my advice to you is if you can't defeat it, befriend it."

"Befriend it how?"

Persephone smiled at her husband who was far from a sociable entity. Tall and muscular with black hair and eyes, he was gorgeous, even when befuddled and angry. "Wait here." She opened the door to the cell and made her way slowly to the unknown god.

The closer she moved toward him, the more she understood Hades's concern. There was so much power emanating from the god that the air was rife with it. She'd been around the gods her whole life, but this one was different. His marbled blue skin was strangely attractive as it covered a body of perfect proportions. Long black hair fanned out. He had two black horns on top of his head and black lips and claws.

And more than that, he wasn't a god of creation. He was one of ultimate destruction.

Seph, get out of there.

She held her hand up to signal her husband that she was fine. Her legs trembling in trepidation, she reached out to touch the god.

He opened his eyes that were a yellow orange encircled by red. They flashed from that to a swirling silver color. And they were filled with raw anguish.

"Am I dead?" he asked, his voice demonic.

"You want to be dead?" She actually dreaded his answer because if he didn't want to be dead, there could be serious consequences.

"Please tell me I've finally made it."

Those desperate words tugged at her heart. Reaching up to comfort him, she brushed the black hair back from his blue cheek. "You're dead, but as a god you live."

"I don't understand. I don't want to be any different than anyone else. I just want to be left alone."

Persephone smiled at him. "You can stay here as long as you want." She summoned a pillow for him and tucked it under his head. Then she covered him with a blanket.

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Because you seem to need it." She patted him on the arm before she got up. "If you need anything, I'm Persephone. My husband, Hades, is the one in charge here. You call for us and we'll come."

He gave a subtle nod before he closed his eyes and returned to lying quietly in the darkness.

Mystified by him, she returned to her husband. "He's harmless."

"Harmless, my ass. Seph? Are you insane? Can you not feel the powers he holds?"

"Oh I feel them. Go near him and you'll have nightmares. But he doesn't want anything. He's hurt, Hades. Badly. All he wants is to be left alone."

"Yeah, right. Left alone here in my Underworld? Another god whose powers rival mine? Fuck that. They trump mine. How stupid would I have to be? You know there's a reason pantheons don't mix."

"You can ally him," she said, trying to calm him down. "Having a friend is never a bad thing."

"Until the friend turns on you."

She shook her head. "Hades . . ."

"I'm a lot older than you, Seph. I've seen what can happen when one god turns on another."

"And I think he poses no harm to either of us." She lifted herself up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "I have to go before my mother finds me missing. You know how she gets when I see you during her time with me."

"Yeah and a pox on the-"

She pinched his lips together before he could let fly the insult. "I love you both. Now behave and take care of your guest."

Only his wife could get away with treating him like this and being so cavalier with his body. But then she held his heart and he'd give her anything.

He kissed her finger. "I miss you."

"I miss you too. I'll be home soon."

Soon, yeah . . . right.

But there was nothing to be done about that.

He nodded glumly, then cursed as she faded away from him. Damn the bitch, Demeter, for cursing them to live apart half the year. But right now he had bigger problems than his wife's mother.

And at about six foot eight, that god-killer was definitely one big problem.

June 25, 9527 BC

Didymos

With the icy wind twisting her ghostly pale hair around her and plastering her black gown to her limbs, Apollymi staggered on the rocks of the sea where Apostolos's body rested in a broken heap. Her precious son had been dumped here as if he were nothing.

Nothing . . .

Unshed tears racked her. She was so cold inside. So defeated. So . . . There were no words to describe the anguish of her seeing her son's body lying face down in the water, abandoned and forgotten.

Thrown away.

After all they'd done to him, they couldn't even provide a decent funeral.

Weak from her grief, she sank to her knees in a pool of water and pulled him from the rocks to the beach. Unable to stand it, she screamed out, sending birds into flight.

"Apostolos!"

But he couldn't hear her. His body was as cold as her heart. His silver eyes were open and glazed, and even now, they swirled like a stormy sky. Yet for all the horror of his death, his features were serene.

And they were beautiful. More so than any mother could have hoped for. She saw in his face, herself. Saw her hopes for him made real. He was so perfectly formed. So tall and strong . . .

And they had butchered him. Tortured him. Defiled and humiliated her son. Her precious baby.

Choking on a sob, she ran her hand over the long gash in his chest to seal it closed. Only then, when he was perfect again did her tears break as she laid her lips to his cheek to kiss him and cry.

This was the first time she'd held him since the moment she'd cut him from her womb. Gathering him close, she rocked him on the beach and let all the horror inside her free. "I tried to protect you, Apostolos," she breathed against his ear. "I tried so hard."

She'd failed miserably and in her attempt, had made his life an unbearable one.

Wanting to comfort him and knowing it was too late, she futilely rubbed his cold arms to warm them.

If only he could look at her. Hear her voice. But he never would.

And she would never hear him call her matera.

It was more than she could stand. "Please," she breathed. "Please come back to me, Apostolos. I swear I'll keep you safe this time. I won't let anyone hurt you. Please, baby, I can't live knowing I killed you. I can't. Look at me, please!"

But he couldn't and she knew it.

If only she had the power to restore his life. But unlike his father, she was born of destruction. Death. Pestilence. War. Those were her gifts to the world. There was nothing she could do to bring back the one she loved most.

"Why!" she screamed at the sky. Where were the Chthonians now to demand blood over the death of her precious child? Why weren't they here on Apostolos's behalf?

They didn't care. No one cared, but her.

And Xiamara who'd tried so hard to save him. Xiamara, her closest friend. The only one she'd ever been able to confide in. Closer than sisters, closer than mother and daughter. Now she, too, was gone.

Apollymi was alone. Bitterly alone.

She cradled her son's head to her breasts and screamed out so loud that the sound was carried on the wind all the way to the halls of Atlantis. "Damn you, Archon! Damn you!"

How could he have ever claimed he loved her? How could he have allowed Apostolos to die like this? To suffer so much pain?

Her heart broken, she buried her face in her son's wet blond hair and cried until her sobs were spent.

Then her fury mounted and took a vicious root into her heart. They'd both been betrayed by the very ones who were supposed to love and honor them.

Now there would be Kalosis to pay.

It was time to take her son home where he belonged. Time to make her so called family bleed for their betrayal.

Her course set, Apollymi clothed her son in the black formesta robes of his station. This was his birthright. As the son of the Destroyer, his symbol was that of the sun that represented her, pierced by the three lightning bolts of his power.

He wasn't garbage. He was an Atlantean god.

And he was the son of the Destroyer.

Picking him up from the surf and cradling him in her arms, she took them both home to Katoteros.

It was an island surrounded by islands. Breathtakingly beautiful, there was no place in the human realm that could compare with it. Standing at the highest point, where her mother the North Wind shrieked on her behalf, Apollymi looked out over the landscape that should have been owned by Apostolos.

The islands sparkled in the perfect light under the sun that attempted to warm her cold skin. It was futile.

The island to her right housed the paradise lands where the souls of their Atlantean people went to rest until reincarnation. The one on her left had been held by the Charontes before her banishment-unlike her family, her demons had been loyal to her. They had all followed her into Kalosis.

And the island before her had been intended as the home of her son.

But it was the one that possessed the second highest point in Katoteros that held her attention now. The one that ruled and united all the islands. It was the one where the hall of the gods had been built.

Archon's.

Her vision darkening, she took them there, outside the grand marble hall that stood so tall and proud as it looked down upon their world. Music and laughter drifted out to her.

Music and laughter.

Oblivious to what had come to pass and to what they faced, the gods were having a party. A fucking party. She could feel the presence of every god inside. All of them. Celebrating. Laughing. Cheering. Having fun.

And her beloved son was dead . . .

Dead!

Her world was shattered. And still they laughed.

Holding Apostolos close, she ascended the stairs with a deceptive calm and flung the doors wide with her powers. The white marble foyer was circular with statues of the gods taking up station every four feet against the pristine walls.

Her heart hammering with vindictive fury, she walked through the center of the foyer where her emblem of the sun had been etched into the floor. As she crossed over it, she changed it to that of Apostolos. One by one, his bolts of power pierced her symbol.

The colors now red and black to represent her grief and his spilled blood.

Without hesitating, she walked straight for the set of gold doors that led to Archon's throne room. To the room where the gods made merry while her son lay dead from their treachery.

By all the dark powers of the universe, they wouldn't be laughing for much longer.

She opened those doors with the full force of her fury. The clattering sound rang out as the doors slammed against the marble walls and broke from their hinges to fall to the shiny, perfect floor.

The music stopped instantly.

Every god in the hall turned to look at her and one by one, their faces blanched white.

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