Tears misted in Styxx's blue eyes as he lovingly brushed his fiercely scarred right hand across the page. "Miss you, Beth," he breathed before he began filling in more details. He pushed the book back a bit as he worked, and it was only then Ash realized why.
He was protecting it.
Every so often, a random tear would fall as Styxx worked. Silent and focused, he would wipe it away on his shoulder and keep drawing.
Awed by his brother's heart and talent, Ash sank to his knees to watch Styxx's precise, expert strokes. He'd had no idea that his brother could do such.
Once it was finished, Styxx sniffed back his quiet tears and flipped through the book that was filled with pictures of the same woman and the baby boy at various ages that ranged from newborn to adulthood. It was as if Styxx had created the memories of his wife and child that he'd wanted to have.
Memories that had been stolen from him.
By Acheron's mother.
But what tore out Ash's heart was how much the boy looked like Bas. And when Styxx paused on a drawing of Styxx holding his wife and child, Acheron had to leave.
Sobs tore through him as Urian's words came home to roost and he thought about trying to live without Tory and Bas for even one day. Never mind centuries.
How could I have asked him to save my wife's life and embrace the killer of his own?
Urian was right. He was a fucking prick. And he knew nothing about his brother.
Pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, Ash fought for control as he saw the drawing Styxx had made of the boy holding a teddy bear. If he didn't know better, he'd swear his brother had met his son.
Now that he thought about it, even their wives favored enough to be related.
Was it possible that he'd allowed his hatred for Estes and Ryssa's jealousy toward Styxx to infect him so completely and color his own opinions? Surely he wouldn't have been so easily swayed.
Would he?
All the times in his life he'd preached to others that there were always three sides to every event-yours, theirs, and the truth that lay somewhere in the middle.
Yet when it came to his brother ...
Emotions don't have brains. Ash knew that better than anyone.
And as he stood on the solitary dune, looking out at a hot, vast desert, he remembered how much Styxx had hated being alone as a child. How many times he'd sneak into Acheron's room and had been beaten for it. But Styxx hadn't cared. He'd come to Acheron regardless.
Brothers. Forever and always.
Styxx had tried to make amends. He'd reached out and Acheron had slapped him away. Repeatedly. Worse, Ash had walked away from Styxx for centuries and hadn't even given him a single, passing thought.
Not once.
It's amazing the damage we do to ourselves and others when all we're trying to do is protect ourselves from being hurt. How many times had he said that to a Dark-Hunter?
But then advice was always easier to give than to follow.
Needing to set this right, Ash returned to the tent. He stood outside for several minutes, debating the sanity of this.
But he wasn't a coward.
With a deep breath for courage, Acheron opened the tent flap. "Styxx?"
The dog crouched low and growled at him.
His brother was now sitting forward, holding a blood-soaked cloth to his pinched nose while he calmed the dog beside him. "I didn't fucking do it."
Baffled, Ash frowned. "Do what?"
"Whatever it is you're here to accuse me of. I am not a god. I cannot travel from here to wherever you live in the blink of an eye. It would take me a solid week to reach even a modest village." The anger and hatred seared him.
And Ash knew he deserved it. "I came to thank you for the present you sent to Sebastos."
"An e-mail would have sufficed."
"Would you have gotten it?"
"Eventually."
Ash narrowed his gaze as he saw the other two blood-soaked cloths on the ground. "You still get headaches, too?"
"Yes, and the biggest one of all just traipsed through my door." Styxx pulled the rag back to check the bleeding, which was still pouring. He folded the cloth and returned it to his nose. "What do you want?"
Forgiveness. Yet he had no right to ask this man for it. Urian had been right. Styxx had tried to kill him, but Styxx had come at him openly. Hell, he'd even warned him he was gunning for him.
He, on the other hand, had gone at Styxx's back. And both had struck for the same reason. They'd just wanted an end to their suffering.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Yes," Styxx snarled, "you're an asshole and I'm a bastard. What the fuck is wrong with the men of my family that they always want to interrogate me when I'm in pain and bleeding?"
Ash dropped his gaze to the row of brand scars that ran the length of Styxx's side. They started in his armpit where no hair could grow because of the burn-damaged flesh and vanished beneath his waistline. Even his nipple was severely disfigured. Those unique scars tweaked Ash's memory and brought out a long-suppressed act of stupidity on Ash's part. He cringed as he remembered when he'd seen the scars that covered his brother's groin and thighs in Atlantis.
What did you do? Masturbate with a hot poker?
Instead of punching him as he should have, Styxx had curled into a ball and said nothing. He'd just stared at the wall.
Ash wished he could go back in time and slap himself for that cruelty. It was obvious someone had tortured the hell out of his brother.
And Styxx would have had them as a kid.
Before he went into battle. Only back then, Ash hadn't cared. Lost in his own misery, he hadn't spared three seconds to consider Styxx's.