Styxx (Dark-Hunter 22)

It took everything he had not to curse them. But the last thing he wanted was for his father to return him to the Dionysion for more treatment.

If he could learn to ignore the depravity and horrors he'd witnessed and suffered these last months then he could certainly ignore them.

"I see you've returned." Ryssa's frigid tone definitely didn't help his mood. You don't look as if you've suffered any. You look fine and healthy, except for that stupid bald head.

Ignoring her cruel, childish thoughts, Styxx met her cold gaze. She was beautiful, he'd give her that. But he pitied whatever man was stuck with such a heartless bitch in his bed.

"Come, Ryssa," their father said, smiling at her. "Embrace your brother."

The loathing in her eyes turned his stomach. I'd rather hug a snake. And grow your hair back. It doesn't make you look manly. You're sickening without it. And what's with that voice? Trying to sound more mature? Please ...

Styxx forced himself not to touch his head as her internal comments cut him to the bone. He couldn't help the damage done to his voice. Unlike his hair, that was a permanent reminder of the months he'd spent screaming in agony and begging for a mercy that never came.

"It's all right, Majesty," he said to his father. "I'd rather go to my room ... if I may?"

He scowled. "Of course."

Styxx lowered his head and didn't look up again until he was locked in a place where no one could harm him.

Even so, he didn't feel safe here. He'd never feel safe again. How could he? At any moment, his "patron" nameless god could find him and feed on or grope him.

All the priests had taught him was a brand new hell. In the past, he'd detested being alone. Now he despised being with people, too. And while the pain and voices continued to torment him, he now had frequent panic attacks that assaulted him whenever he let his guard down.

His unidentified god could be lurking in any shadow....

Worse, he'd learned that he was as disposable as Acheron. If he displeased his father in any way, he'd be sent back and left there. Then he'd have no choice except to turn to the Olympian who wanted to own him.

Styxx removed his chlamys then hissed as his palm began to burn for no reason whatsoever. It felt just like one of the hot irons they'd tortured him with. Shaking his hand, he tried to get it to stop, but it wouldn't.

Damn it, Acheron!

What in the name of Hades was he doing? Why couldn't his brother behave and not get hurt?

Styxx blew cool air across his palm as tears blinded him. Please don't do this to me again. I don't want to go back to that damn temple.

Next time, his father might never allow him to return home.

Cold fear gripped his heart. "I will be perfect. I swear." Whatever his father wanted him to be, he would be without argument. Yes, he hated them, but he hated that temple most of all.

Styxx froze as he caught sight of himself in the mirror on his dressing table. Ryssa was right. He was hideous.

He ran his hand over his scalp, where only the tiniest bit of hair was growing back. Turning away, he lifted the hem of his short chiton. Though mostly healed, the blisters and scars were even more appalling than his head. While he healed faster than humans, it didn't mean he wouldn't scar. In fact, his entire left side from his armpit to his thigh was a solid line of vicious scars. They went along nicely with the ones in his shoulder and chest where his mother had stabbed him.

"What difference does it make?"

Scarred or not, women would still clamor to bed him. Men would still cater to his ego.

And each would despise him as much as his sister and mother did, and their insults would ring in his ears. In all honesty, he had to give credit to his family. At least they didn't bother to hide their true feelings. They openly insulted him every chance they got. He could almost respect them for that.

Sick and angry over his fate, he reached for the wine on his desk and carried it to his bed where he intended to get drunk enough to drive every last bit of it from his mind. "I finally understand you, Mother."

August 16, 9534 BC

"Greetings, Uncle." Styxx gave a formal bow to Estes as he met him on the palace steps.

Estes arched a brow at his aloof formality. "No hug for your uncle, little squirrel?" What has happened to you, boy?

Refusing to react to his uncle's thoughts, Styxx glanced to his father before he quickly complied then stepped back out of Estes's reach. He still didn't like being touched by anyone.

"He's becoming quite the dignified man, isn't he?" his father asked, clapping Styxx on the shoulder.

It was all he could do not to cringe or grimace. Only his father would be stupid enough to mistake diffidence for dignity.

"Uncle!" Ryssa ran forward to hug and kiss him.

Grateful for her distraction, Styxx took three more steps away from them and folded his hands behind his back.

Estes glanced at him over Ryssa's shoulder while she chattered on about nonsense. Styxx averted his gaze. It was hard to get past the fact that the last time his uncle had seen him, he'd been lying broken and naked on a table and sobbing like a woman.

An event his father never hesitated to throw in his face. I should leave my crown to Ryssa. At least when she cries, it's understandable.

But more than that was Styxx's anger over Estes not helping him when he'd needed him most. For all his promises, his uncle had gone home to Acheron while Styxx had spent another four months on that table being bled and tortured. He was only now getting back to his full strength and filling out again.

I wish all of you were dead.

Styxx cleared his damaged throat, which still sounded as if he had a severe cold even when he didn't. He'd lost a full octave range courtesy of the priests. "Father? May I be excused? I'm to meet Master Galen for practice."

Ryssa curled her lip at him. "How thoughtless are you? You're going to practice with Uncle just arriving?"

His father held his hand up to silence her. "Your brother's quite right with his priorities, Ryssa. And I'm glad to see him showing some ambition for once." He inclined his head to Styxx. "You're excused."

Styxx gave them a curt bow before he headed down the drive, toward the gymnasium with his guards in tow. While he didn't enjoy battle practice as a rule, he would much rather have Galen knock him around for a bit than face the shame and horror he felt whenever he remembered begging his uncle not to abandon him to his tormentors.

And then watching as the bastard left him.

Twice.

It was the same atrocious feeling he had any time he was required to attend any temple celebration.

His aversion to the gods at this point should be legendary. And he despised the fact that he had to publicly worship the same gods who'd damned him to this existence. To the nameless one who'd preyed on him.