His eyes half-hooded, Acheron reached for her. She pulled back as her heart slammed against her breast. This was terrible. Awful. Terrified over what she'd allowed him to do, she left the bed, feeling sick.
Acheron followed her. "Artemis?"
"Don't touch me!" she snarled as he tried to hold her. She pushed him back.
"Did I hurt you?"
The concern in his voice left a ragged hole in her heart. But it was nothing compared to the shame and fear she felt. "You've ruined me."
In that moment she hated him for what they'd done. How dare he make her want him like this. Make her forget who she was and why her virginity was so important.
Dear gods, what had she done?
She wanted to kill him and yet she couldn't. How could she hate him so badly and still crave him?
"Why did you touch me?"
He looked stunned by her question. "You asked me to."
"I didn't ask you to kiss me in my temple," she accused. "I'd never known a kiss before. And then you touched me . . ." She slapped him hard for the affront.
Acheron staggered back in shock as his cheek burned. Before he could recover himself, Artemis attacked him, slapping and punching. When that didn't seem to satisfy her, she flung him against the far wall and held him there with her god's powers.
I will protect you . . .
Her words rang in his ears as he stared down at her, waiting for her to finally kill him. Truthfully he'd rather be dead than feel the splintering in his heart over what she was doing.
She'd lied.
Suddenly, he slammed to the floor. That same invisible force rolled him over and held him against the marble as Artemis approached him with a feral glare. "So help me, you ever breathe a word of this to a single soul and I will see you killed so painfully that your screams for mercy will resonate throughout eternity."
Those words brought tears to his eyes as they reminded him of so many others who'd hated him because they craved being with him. How many dignitaries and nobles had come to him and then cursed him the moment after he'd pleasured them?
They lived in fear of a whore ruining their precious reputations. They'd kicked him from their beds or knocked him to the ground, cursing him for their own lust as if he'd wanted it.
Why had he ever thought for one moment that Artemis would be any different?
In the end, he was what he was.
Nothing.
"Do you hear me?" Artemis snarled in his face.
"I hear you."
"I'll rip your tongue out."
He had to force himself not to laugh at a threat he'd cut his teeth on. But he knew the truth. His tongue had more value than anything else since it gave them the most pleasure. "Your will is my will, akra."
She grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head up to force him to look at her. "I am the goddess Artemis."
And he was Acheron Parthenopaeus. Cursed whore. Despised slave. Incapable of being loved by anyone.
How stupid of him to fall for her lies. To think for one minute that something like him could ever have had value to a goddess.
Artemis saw the hurt in his eyes and it ripped through her own heart. She didn't want to do this to him, but what choice did she have? He would be dead in a few decades, but her shame would be eternal if word of this ever reached the other gods.
Humans couldn't be trusted. Ever.
"Remember my wrath will be legion." She wrenched his hair in warning before she sent him back to his world.
Shattered, Acheron sat on the floor of his room. Numb by the rejection and attack, he crawled out to the balcony that overlooked the sea and laid his head against the stone railing. He heard the voices of the Atlanteans calling to him.
More than ever before he was tempted to go. What would it matter if they did kill him?
If he could make sure they wouldn't abuse him more, he'd go to them. But deep in his heart was the fear that they only summoned him so that they could torture him too. Bowing his head, he wept and as every tear fell he hated Artemis for it.
No one had made him cry like this in years. Not since the day Estes had sold his virginity to the highest bidder and then held a party for everyone to watch the brutal violation that had made him ache and bleed for days afterward. Even now the laughter and jeers haunted him.
Break the whore in for the rest of us . . .
Acheron pounded his fist against the stone, wanting the pain to erase the shame inside him. But there was no relief. No mercy. Nothing could take it away.
The whore was tired now. He was finally broken. And it wasn't by the hand of his master or a client.
It'd been by the hand of the only person he'd ever loved. Defeated and lost, Acheron lay down on the cold balcony and closed his eyes, praying for death to finally come and end this nightmare that was his life.
January 28, 9528 BC
Ryssa was in her father's throne room while he, Styxx and Apollo laughed together, ignoring her. Which was normal. But what she hated was the fact that Apollo wanted her by him any time he came here. He treated her like a possession whose only purpose was to smile and fawn over his presence. And it made her wonder if this was how Acheron had felt in Estes home.