Styxx (Dark-Hunter 22)

The physician sucked his breath in sharply at the amount of damage. Mostly because on anyone else, the wound would be fatal. Blood loss wasn't the problem. But Styxx had seen enough injuries like this in battle to know the inevitable outcome. Within a few days, the soldier always died in extreme and utter agony. Because of that, the soldiers with these wounds were often killed just to put them out of their misery. It was something that still haunted him. But during war they couldn't afford to waste their limited supplies on someone who wouldn't live anyway, and it was cruel to let them die slowly in agony when there was no help or hope for them.

His father finally returned. The horror in his eyes confirmed Styxx's dire prediction.

"It's bad, Majesty," the physician said as he worked to stop the blood flow. "Most don't survive a wound like this."

His father sank to his knees by his side. Tears welled in his eyes. "Styxx?"

He bit back a groan. "I'll live, Father. I've had worse in battle."

The physician appeared skeptical.

Styxx brushed his hand across the scars he bore. "Trust me."

For the first time, the physician nodded. "So it appears, Highness. I need to stitch this and I can't give you wine to drink."

Styxx turned his head toward the chest by the window. "Bring me that."

His father frowned as the physician complied. "What is in it?"

Styxx didn't answer as the physician returned with it and Styxx dug out the Morpheus root he hadn't used since Bethany had come back into his life. "Do you know how to prepare this?" he asked the old bald man.

"You heat it, but I don't know how much to use."

Styxx pulled out the right amount and handed it off to him so that he could begin the preparations while his father watched with an even deeper frown. Hissing in pain, Styxx clenched his teeth. "It's a drug, Father. One that won't take the pain away, but it'll make me not care that I feel it."

"How do you know about such things?"

Your perverted brother.

The words hovered on his lips, and were hard to bite back. His father had been blind to Estes, and while it angered him, what good would it do to scream at his father over his abuse now?

He'd killed the bastard and the eternal damage was done. No need to worsen it.

Luckily, the physician returned. Styxx inhaled the herbs and gave them a few minutes to take effect before he nodded at the man to start closing the wound.

Trying to distract himself, Styxx locked gazes with his father whose countenance was a mask of total disbelief.

"It dawns on me that I know very little about your life and even less about you."

What? Did his father want to play catch-up now? Given the amount of blood loss and pain, Styxx really wasn't in the mood for a lengthy father-son conversation.

But what really hurt were the memories of Galen standing by him whenever he'd been wounded. In his mind, he saw himself on that day when the wooden spike had torn through his side in Atlantis. Cocky and stupid, Styxx hadn't been paying attention. But the moment the spike went in, he'd cried out in utter agony. Galen had pulled him back and protected him from their enemies. Too weak to even hold a dagger, Styxx had been completely defenseless.

"I've got you, mou gios. Don't worry. Nothing's getting through me."

Even though Styxx was taller, Galen had carried him off the field of battle and held his hand the whole time they'd closed the wound. "Squeeze when it hurts, and don't worry about breaking anything, Highness. Trust me, if my deceptively strong Thia wasn't able to break it during her childbirths, there's no damage you can do. And at least you're not threatening to cut off my balls, fry them up, and feed them to me." Only Galen could have made him laugh while in that kind of pain and misery.

Afterward, the old man had gotten him drunk.

Gods, how he missed him.

Damn you, Apollo! Was it not enough that he'd killed Galen? Why torture Ryssa, too? She already held more than her fair share of hatred for him-why would Apollo worsen it?

I should have just fucked him and got it over with.

Not that it would have mattered. Had he given in, Ryssa would have seen a lot more than him trying to fight Apollo off. Maybe in time she'd calm down and realize what was really going on.

Who are you kidding? Ryssa would never take his side in any matter.

Once the physician was finished and had cleaned Styxx's wound thoroughly, his father called for the guards to help him to bed.

"It's not necessary," Styxx said, amazed that his speech wasn't slurred. "I can do it." Grinding his teeth against the pain that came through in spite of his drug, he pushed himself up and stumbled into bed. His head reeling, he lay there, trying to get the room to stop spinning.

He heard the sound of his father nearing his bed. "Is any of what Ryssa said about you and Apollo true?"

Opening his eyes, Styxx gave him a vacuous stare. His father really wanted to go into this right now?

What the Hades? Why not? It wasn't like Styxx was suffering in agony or anything.

Too high to care or hold back, he blinked at his father. "Yes, Apollo has buggered me. Repeatedly. No, I didn't instigate it. I damn sure never enjoyed it. And I really wish she'd keep him inside her so the bastard would leave me alone."

For once, his father didn't remark on his crudity. "Why didn't you tell me about this?"

If he didn't know better, he'd swear his father was on something, too. "I believe your exact words were for me to suck his balls and cock, and to bend over and take it wherever Apollo wanted to shove it so long as I kept him happy for you."

His father looked as horrified and ill as Styxx had been when the bastard had said it to him. I didn't mean it.

Little late for that thought.

"How long has it been going on?" his father asked.

"Since you put me in the Dionysion when I was a boy."

The color faded from his father's face. "I don't understand."

"They invoked the gods, Father," he said bitterly. "So they came for me ... in more ways than one."

"Is that why you hate me so?"

"It certainly didn't endear you to me, and neither is this fucking conversation. For the love of Olympus, Father, I've been stabbed by your daughter and it hurts. I just want to bleed and suffer in peace and silence, if that's not too much to ask? So please, have mercy on me for once in my wretched life."

"Forgive me." He finally left.

Drawing a ragged breath, Styxx stared at his saddlebags and cursed the Fates who'd forced him to stay another night.

"And you believe that lie, Father? Really?" He flinched at Ryssa's strident tone that carried plainly through his walls.

His father's reply was an unintelligible rumble.

"He's a liar. How can you not see that? He's always been a covetous liar since the day he was born. He couldn't stand that I had Apollo so he threw himself at him. You didn't see what I saw when I walked in on them. He was pressing Apollo's hands against his body parts. It was disgusting!" Her accusations went on, gaining ludicrousness with every one.

"I wish you'd let me kill him. It's what he deserves. How am I supposed to be with Apollo now, knowing he's slept with my brother? The brother I hate with every part of my being! How can I ever sit down at a table again with either of them, knowing what they've done to me behind my back? If this were in reverse and I'd slept with his whore, you'd have me whipped and exiled for it. Yet you intend to let him get away with this like he's gotten away with everything else in his spoiled rotten life. It's not fair!"

Was it too much to ask that his father pull the bitch to the other end of the palace so that he didn't have to listen to her jealous stupidity?

Unable to cope with any more insults and accusations that burned to the core of his soul, he reached for his chest and pulled out a sack full of herbs then he dumped them into a goblet of wine. He wasn't supposed to be drinking with this wound, but fuck it. Let him die. And if his stomach hurt, maybe that pain would be enough to distract his thoughts from his sister's extremely loud and ridiculous condemnation.

Gulping it down, he grimaced the moment the wine and herbs hit his stomach and made it cramp and burn in protest. For a second, he feared he'd be ill.

Yet within a few moments, it had him so disoriented that his sister's diatribe and screams became meaningless words that eventually lulled him to sleep.

But as he started dozing, his mind tried to fight it. For some reason, it wanted him alert. His instincts were trying to tell him something. Unfortunately, he was too far gone to comprehend the warning.