Styxx (Dark-Hunter 22)

But that brother was gone forever. There was no trace of the Acheron he'd once known. And maybe there was no young Styxx left in him either. War and life had changed him completely. Perhaps Acheron was right to forget how they'd once been. There's no grief over its loss if you don't remember it.

Acheron raked him with a sneer. "So when am I to be dragged back to my shit-hole, Highness?"

"How would I know? I never leave mine."

Styxx was amazed the scathing glare Acheron gave him didn't raise a blister on his skin.

"Now who mocks whose pain?"

"I have never mocked your pain, Acheron. Only your self-pity."

"And what of yours?"

"I suppose we're both selfish bastards. Two pieces of one whole."

"I'm not a part of you. I have no brother and I have no family."

A tic started in Styxx's jaw as those words shredded him worse than any others. "Think well, Acheron, before you draw that battle line."

"I'm not the one who drew it. You did when you allowed me to go back to Atlantis."

You bastard! Acheron would dare throw that in his face?

"I tried to save you," Styxx snarled. "I offered you an escape and you refused to leave with me."

"No. You wanted to play hero. Rescue me like I was some bitch who would be forever grateful to the noble prince for his good deed. Had you really wanted to help me, you would have stood up to your father and not allowed them to take me back to Estes."

Of course. Because his father listened to him so well. Acheron was as bad as Ryssa with his delusions. "Had I stood up for you then, I assure you, I'd have met the same fate you did."

"You should have, you coward."

That ignited his fury as Styxx looked at his brother's pristine, unscarred body. A body that hadn't been ravaged for months by priests trying to drive out demons he didn't have, while his father carried on as if he'd never been born. One that didn't have "whore" branded into it in two languages and hadn't been marked by a god who coveted it and hated him for it ...

A body that had never seen the horrors of heads, brains, guts, and limbs flying past it as he fought for his life. Or held the hands of boys who should have been at home with their mothers as they died from dysentery and ferocious battle wounds.

From starvation.

Yes, it sucked to be whored....

Styxx knew that as well as Acheron did. But the atrocities Styxx had suffered went far beyond Acheron's. His brother had never seen the horrors that lived inside his mind and heart. The nightmares that never failed to haunt him ... even with his eyes wide open.

He seized Acheron's jaw and ignored the pain he caused himself. "I know your nightmares, brother. You should be grateful to the gods that you don't know mine."

Acheron's scornful gaze turned icy. "I would pay anything, just once, to see you held down and get fucked in your sanctimonious throat."

Those words and the brutal memories they conjured from where Styxx tried to keep them buried tore him apart. He wanted to kill Acheron. If he'd had a weapon on him, he probably would have sliced him open. Instead, he lashed out with what he did have.

His words.

"And I would pay to see you butt-fucked until blood runs down your legs and you can't walk."

Acheron laughed at him. "Too bad you weren't there when it happened."

Styxx punched him in the ribs with everything he had and cursed as the blow stole the breath from his own lungs. "I wish to the gods they'd have let you die."

Acheron spat on him.

Wiping the spittle from his cheek, Styxx lifted his head and turned to leave.

As he reached the door, Acheron's last act of cruelty slapped him harder than any blow. "And as they butt-fucked me, Styxx, it was your ass they pretended to pound on until it bled.... Your name they called out and insulted the entire time they were inside me or whenever I sucked their cocks until they came in my mouth.... Including Estes. If you think I hate you, Styxx, you have no idea how much others begrudge your every breath!"

November 9, 9529 BC

Exhausted and weak, Styxx lay down on the cottage bed. I just need a moment to rest before I head back.... He'd come to find Bethany, but she wasn't here today. Disappointment stabbed his heart and filled him with pain. All he'd wanted was to feel the warm hand on his skin of someone who cared about him.

Funny how all these years he'd stupidly thought having his brother at home with him would make everything better. Instead, it was so much worse.

Ryssa used it to fuel her hatred of him. As did the servants and nobles.

And his father ...

The king could barely meet his gaze, and when he did, the disdain there scorched his soul. His father no longer saw Styxx as anything other than the bastard of some god who'd tricked him.

I should have kept Galen with me. But he'd sent the old man home to his daughter.

Utterly alone, Styxx had been drinking for days, trying to forget them all and their sneers and condemnation. Trying to forget Acheron's words and his brother's "good" wishes for him. But it was no use. He had no escape whatsoever.

The cottage door opened.

Styxx grabbed his dagger and started to rise when he heard a beautiful voice that brought tears to his eyes.

"Hector?"

"In here, akribos."

Dynatos came running and barking into the bedroom. Styxx grunted as the dog launched itself onto him and jumped around the bed then to the floor and back again. Patting the huge dog's head, he fell against the mattress.

Bethany pushed open the bedroom door more. Dressed in a gray peplos that made her skin glow in spite of its drabness, she stole his breath. "Where are you?"