Styxx (Dark-Hunter 22)

Styxx cursed as he reined his horse and slid from the saddle so that he was on solid, nonmoving ground. "Ah, gods..." Why today of all days did he have to have one of his more vicious headaches?

It hurt so badly he couldn't even breathe. And then it started ...

That damned nosebleed.

Unable to stand it, he sank to his knees and didn't bother trying to stop his nose. Pressing his hand to his eye, he stared out at the sea far below. The waves crashed against jagged rocks. It looked so soothing and pleasant.

He remembered when he'd been a small child and his father would take him to the ships to meet with their captains and owners, and he'd watch fishermen's children playing and laughing in the surf. He'd wanted to join them, but his father had refused.

It's common entertainment for common people. You are a prince. It's time you acted like one.

As the prince, according to his father, he wasn't to mix with them. The familiarity would cause them to see him as a lesser being. You must always hold yourself to a higher standard and conduct yourself with dignity. A king can only lead when others respect him.

And who could respect a king who'd been tied facedown over a punishment bench and violated? One who'd been bartered and sold, and ...

Branded.

Styxx cried out in anger. I'm done with this world. I've had enough.

That was what he'd come here to do. End it. He watched the surf below with a hungry gaze. One step. Then both he and Acheron would be free of this horror. Free to play in the waves and laugh like other people did ...

You're stronger than this!

Was he? He didn't feel strong. Not today. Today, he felt like the incompetent wretch they accused him of being. He felt used and powerless.

Shamed to the core of his blackened and burned-out soul.

One step ...

No more headaches or nosebleeds to suffer. No more gleeful humiliation shoved down his throat. No more hatred glaring at him from his mother's and sister's eyes. From the eyes of everyone who thought him a spoiled, beloved prince who had no care in the entire world.

I just want peace.

Determined to see it through, Styxx pushed himself to his feet. His horse, Troian, sniffed at his shoulder. Styxx sank his hand into the long, soft black mane then gently patted him. Troian had been his only real friend.

He hugged his horse tight. "It's all right, boy." He pulled the bridle off, knowing his horse would return to the stable without it, and this way he wouldn't have to fear Troian snagging it on something and getting hurt or trapped.

After nuzzling the horse's neck one last time, he stepped away. His heart pounded in a rhythm that matched his head as he watched the waves roll in. It would hurt when he hit the rocks, but hopefully it wouldn't last long.

With luck, he'd be dead before he hit them.

He dropped the bridle to the ground and turned around so that he could see the countryside he'd been raised and groomed to rule. It would survive without him. His people would probably be better off. At least they'd have a king now who was worthy of his crown.

One who hadn't been mocked and sold.

Swallowing the pain that never ceased, Styxx stepped back and fell into nothing.

Winds rushed over his falling body, whipping his hair and clothes. It seemed to take forever before he hit the water. He slammed into it so hard, he swore every bone in his body shattered. The waves rushed over him, dragging him down to the frigid depths of the vibrant blue sea. He swallowed and choked on the water as it violently invaded his body then sputtered and coughed.

Everything went black.

But after a brief period of nothing, he was still alive.

Even underwater ...

How? It couldn't be possible. It couldn't. Yet, the surf carried him to shore and threw him roughly against it.

Battered and bruised, he lay on the sand, aching and freezing.

And dismally alive.

I can't even die right. How pathetic am I?

As he lay there in more pain than he'd ever known, a raw, hateful truth slapped him in the face. The gods had no intention of sparing him even one heartbeat of the misery they'd damned him to. They wouldn't even allow him death as a way to escape it.

You sick bastards!

He would cry at the despair he felt, but there were no more tears in his eyes. Why bother? All tears had ever done was cause him to be beaten more.

Disgusted, he dragged himself out of the water and staggered up the shoreline. One ankle felt badly sprained. Maybe his arm, too. Not that it mattered.

Nothing mattered now that he knew his real place in the world. Not to be king or prince.

Not even to be human ...

I am damned and cursed. Forever.

With a ragged sigh, he crawled up to the road and paused as he saw how far he'd have to go to get home. Had he been whole, it would have been too damned far.

As he was right now ...

"I'll never make it." Not like this.

Maybe some bandits will ...

What?

Kill him?

He laughed at their imagined stunned dismay when they learned he was immortal then winced as pain tore through his entire body. There was no use in lying here. It wouldn't do any good.

Pushing himself up, he stumbled along the road as best he could.

After a while, he saw a small break in the trees on his right that led to a peaceful, bubbling stream. Needing to rest for a few minutes, he headed for it.

He was so focused on getting a simple drink of water, that he didn't notice the tiny girl with a fishing pole until she shot to her feet with a cry of alarm. She brandished a small knife in front of her with enough skill to say she was well proficient at its use.

For a full minute, he couldn't breathe at the sight of her. She was beauty incarnate. Yet not the same as Ryssa's perfect fragile beauty. With bright tawny skin and thick black hair, she had eyes the color of light, precious greenish-gold. Her red and white gown draped over her lean body and highlighted the fact that she was very nicely proportioned. Lusciously so ... She was also a lot taller than his sister. But she was still tiny in comparison to him.

He'd never in his life seen anything more inviting ... More beautiful or pure.

"Who are you?" she demanded, gripping her knife even tighter. "You touch me and I'll stab you, I swear it."

Styxx frowned as he realized by the way she moved her head and arm that she was completely blind, and he felt like a total shit for terrifying her.

"Please," he said, struggling to breathe through his pain. "Calm yourself. I'm sorry I scared you, and I mean you no harm. Even if I did, I'm in no shape to do anything more than bleed on you in my current condition. I promise you, girl, I have much more to fear from you than you do from me."

She straightened up and finally lowered the knife. "How old are you?"

"Ten-and-six. Now please, I just need to sit for a moment to catch my breath and then I'll leave you to your ... whatever it is you're doing." He sank to his knees and groaned out loud.

She returned her knife to the sheath on her wrist. "Are you all right?"

"Yes..." He hissed as more pain lacerated his middle. "No. Not really. I..."

What was he going to say? He jumped off a cliff, trying to die, only to find out he was immortal?

Not a wise confession by any means.

"My horse threw me."

She tsked in sympathy for him. "You poor thing. Do I need to get you help?"

He caught himself before he laughed at her offer. Really, there was no help for him.