Шеррилин Кеньон - The beginning

The halls of Mount Olympus were opulent and massive. Perfect homes for the egos of the gods who lived inside them.

Artemis’s was made of gold, with a domed top and white, marble columns. The view of the sky and world below was breathtaking from her throne room.

Or so he had thought in his youth.

But that was before time and experience had jaundiced his appreciation. To him there was nothing spectacular or beautiful here now. He saw only the selfish vanity and coldness of the Olympians.

These new gods were very different from the gods Acheron had been reared with. All but one of the Atlantean gods had been full of compassion. Love. Kindness. Forgiveness.

There was only one time when the Atlanteans had let their fear lead them — that mistake had cost all of them their immortal lives and had allowed the Olympian gods to replace them.

It had been a sad day for the human world in more ways than one.

Acheron forced himself across the bridge that led to Artemis’s temple. Two thousand years ago, he had left this place and sworn that he would never return to it.

He should have known that sooner or later she would devise a scheme to bring him back.

His gut tight with anger, Acheron used his telekinesis to open the oversized, gilded doors. He was instantly assailed with the sound of ear-piercing screams from Artemis’s female attendants. They were wholly unaccustomed to a man entering their goddess’ private domain.

Artemis hissed at the shrill sound, then zapped every one of the women around her.

“Did you just kill all eight of them?” Acheron asked.

Artemis rubbed her ears. “I should have, but no, I merely tossed them into river outside.”

Surprised, he stared at her. How unusual for the goddess he remembered. Perhaps she’d learned a degree of compassion and mercy over the last two thousand years.

Knowing her, it was highly unlikely.

Now that they were alone, she unfolded herself from her cushioned ivory throne and approached him. She wore a sheer, white peplos that hugged the curves of her voluptuous body and her dark auburn curls glistened in the light.

Her green eyes glowed warmly in welcome.

The look went through him like a lance. Hot. Piercing. Painful.

He’d known seeing her again would be hard on him— it was one of the reasons why he’d always ignored her summons.

But knowing something and experiencing it were two entirely different things.

He’d been unprepared for the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him now that he saw her again.

The hatred. The betrayal.

Worst of all was the need.

The hunger.

The desire.

There was still a part of him that loved her. A part of him that was willing to forgive her anything.

Even his death…

“You look good, Acheron. Every bit as handsome as you were the last time I saw you.” She reached to touch him.

He stepped back, out of her reach. “I didn’t come here to chat, Artemis, I—”

“You used to call me Artie.”

“I used to do a lot of things I can’t do anymore.” He gave her a hard stare to remind her of everything she had taken from him.

“You’re still angry at me.”

“You think so?”

Her eyes snapped emerald fire, reminding him of the demon who resided in her divine body. “I could have forced you to come to me, you know. I’ve been very tolerant of your defiance. More than I should have been.”

He looked away, knowing she was right. She, alone, held possession of the food source he needed to function.

When he went too long without food, he became an uncontrollable killer. A danger to anyone who came near him.

Only Artemis held the key that kept him as he was. Sane. Whole.

Compassionate.

“Why didn’t you force me to your side?” he asked.

“Because I know you. Had I tried, you would have made us both pay for it.”

Again, she was right. His days of subjugation were long over. He’d had more than his share of it in his childhood and youth. Having tasted freedom and power, he’d decided he liked it too much to go back to being what he’d been before.

“Tell me of these new Dark-Hunters,” he said. “Why would you create more of my kind?”

“I told you, you need help.”

“I need no such thing.”

“I and the other Greek gods disagree.”

“Artemis…” he growled her name, knowing she was lying about this. He was more than able to control and kill the Daimons who preyed on the humans. “I swear…”

He clenched his teeth as he thought about the early days of his conversion. He’d had no one to show him the way. No one to explain to him what he needed to do.

How to live.

The rules that bound him to the night.

The new ones would be lost. Confused.

Worst of all, they were vulnerable until they learned to use their powers.

Damn her.

“Where are they?”

“Waiting in Falossos. They hide in a cave that keeps them from the sunlight. But they’re not sure what they should do or how to find the Daimons. They are men in need of leadership.”

Acheron didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to lead anyone any more than he wanted to follow someone else’s orders. He didn’t want to deal with other people at all.

He’d never wanted anything in his life except to be left alone.

The thought of interacting with others…

It made his blood run cold.

Half tempted to go his own way, Acheron knew he couldn’t. If he didn’t train the men on how to fight and kill the Daimons, they would end up dead.

And dead without a soul was a very bad existence. He of all men knew that one.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll train them.”

She smiled.

Acheron flashed from her temple back to Simi and ordered her to stay put a little longer. The demon would only complicate an already complicated matter.

Once he was sure she would stay, he teleported to Falossos.

He found the three men huddled in the darkness just as Artemis had said. They were talking quietly amongst themselves, grouped around a small fire for warmth and yet their eyes watered from the brightness of the flames.

Their eyes were no longer human and could no longer take the brightness that came from any source of light.

He had much to teach them.

Acheron moved forward, out of the shadows.

“Who are you?” the tallest one asked as soon as he saw him.

The man was no doubt a Dorian with long black hair. He was tall, powerfully built, and still dressed in his battle armor that was in bad need of care and repair.

The men with him were blond Greeks. Their armor was no better than the first man’s. The youngest of them had a hole in the center of his breast plate where he had been stabbed through his heart with a javelin.

These men could never go out and mix with living people dressed like this. Each of them needed care. Rest.

Instruction.

Acheron lowered the cowl to his black himation and eyed each man in turn.

As they noted the swirling silver color of his eyes, the men paled.

“Are you a god?” the tallest one asked. “We were told a god would kill us if we were in their presence.”

“I am Acheron Parthenopaeus,” he said quietly. “Artemis sent me to train you.”

“I am Callabrax of Likonos,” the tallest said.

He indicated the man to his right. “Kyros of Seklos.” Then the youngest of their group, “and Ias of Groesia.”

Ias stood back, his dark eyes hollow. Acheron could hear the man’s thoughts as clearly as if they were in his own mind.

The man’s pain reached out to him, making his own stomach tighten in sympathy.

“How long has it been since you men were created?” Acheron asked them.

“A few weeks for me,” Kyros said.