Myths of Immortality (The Sphinx Book 3) Read online

  She reached back, palm open, and Athan stared at her. As her hand swung forward, and his confusion turned to shock.

  “Kaia! Stop!” Xan grabbed her wrist mid-swing.

  Only then did Athan realize she’d intended to strike him. His jaw dropped as understanding dawned. Even after getting to know Hope, Kaia was still calling for her to be killed. That wasn’t just hurt feelings. Was it a sense of betrayal? That made no sense. But what else was there? He had no idea, but the division among the demigods made it clear that not everyone agreed. And even with Hope gone, not everyone had resolved the emotional upheaval she’d left in her wake.

  “I see you’re spreading cheer already,” Xan said, looking at Athan before turning back to Kaia. “Why don’t you go find Obelia? See if you can get her . . . oriented to reality, eh?” Xan let go of Kaia’s wrist but stood squarely between her and Athan.

  “Fine,” Kaia said as she glared past Xan to Athan. “I will.” She stomped out, leaving the two young men in the kitchen.

  “I hate passive aggressiveness.” Xan’s gaze stayed on Kaia until she disappeared down the hall then shifted to Athan. “Gods, you look awful. What are you doing out of bed?” Xan grabbed Athan’s arm and led him to the table.

  “I was feeling better earlier.” He shrugged out of Xan’s grasp, not wanting any help from the son of Ares.

  Xan snorted, but released Athan’s arm. “You made a boatload of enemies when they found out you knew. Lucky for you, Apollo took care of the most violent ones.” Xan crossed over to the fridge. “Do you need something to eat?”

  “I can get it.” Athan stood, but his legs wobbled, and he had to lean on the table for support.

  “Ha. You’d probably pass out if you had to walk to the fridge right now. Don’t be an arse. Sit down. You’re not going to win an award for being stupid.” Xan pulled a carton of eggs from the fridge and set them on the counter. “Tell me what you want; I’ll get it for you.”

  He was not going to let Xan get him anything. He’d probably poison Athan if he got a chance. “No, I’ll rest for a sec then get myself something when I’m ready.”

  Xan ran his hand through his dark hair. “Don’t let your pride get in the way. I’m offering help—”

  Clenching his teeth, Athan shot back, “Maybe I don’t want your help.”

  Xan slammed both his palms on the granite counter. “Maybe that Skia blade addled your cognitive ability.” As soon as the words were out, he sucked in a breath and pulled back. Shaking his head, he extended his arm and pointed at the empty kitchen. “Listen, I’m the only other person in the room right now. You need to eat, and you couldn’t get yourself anything if you’re life depended on it.”

  “I can do it,” Athan ground out. But as he stepped forward, his knees buckled, forcing him to cling to the edge of the table to stay upright. His face burned, but he refused to be dependent on Xan.

  Xan crossed the room, pushing into Athan’s personal space until they were almost nose-to-nose. There was no hiding the sweat that trickled down the side of his temple.

  “No.” Xan put his hand on Athan’s chest and applied the slightest pressure.

  Athan’s legs trembled as if resisting the force of a bulldozer, but he would not back down. He glared at Xan, hating him because of Athan’s own weakness.

  “You can’t do anything right now.” Xan pulled Athan away from the table and then deftly put his arm under Athan, preventing the inevitable fall. Dumping him back in his seat, Xan said, “Don’t be an arse.”

  Athan took a deep breath. To acknowledge Xan was right was like drinking sour milk, and the words lodged in Athan’s throat, refusing to come out.

  Xan chuckled as he pulled things from the fridge. “You can thank me later.”

  Both were silent as Xan quickly assembled a scramble of eggs, ham, cheese, green peppers, mushrooms, and tomatoes. The smell made Athan’s stomach growl.

  Xan slid half onto a plate, set it in front of Athan and said, “Bon appétit .”

  Athan’s mouth salivated. Years had passed, but he still remembered Xan’s breakfast hash. Athan grabbed the fork and hungrily stuck the first bite into his mouth, and then he shoveled in bite after bite. It was only after he’d eaten half of his food that he realized Xan was still standing next to the table.

  “Pretty good?” Xan raised his brows.

  “Yeah,” Athan mumbled around his food. He swallowed the bite, and with it his pride. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Xan walked back to the stove and dumped the remaining scramble on another plate. He grabbed the remains from the fruit and cheese plate and came back to the table. “You must be getting better. Your appetite is back.”

  “I’m awake—”

  “Ahhh! Alive and kickin’!” Dion’s gravelly voice preceded him into the kitchen. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Athan at the table. “Filos mou ! It is so good to see you this morning!”

  Xan stood, his posture rigid and tense. With his gaze fixed on Dion, he said, “Enjoy the rest of your meal.”

  Leaving his breakfast at the table, Xan brushed by Dion muttering profanities under his breath.

  Athan looked from Dion to the now empty doorway. “What was that about?”

  Dion shrugged, went to the fridge, and pulled out a bottle of wine. He grabbed a drinking glass and sat down in the vacated chair. “I think he is still, ah, how you say, anger with me?”

  “Angry with you?” But Xan didn’t get angry with people. He beat the crap out of them and moved on.

  “Ah, yes, angry with me.” Dion poured a glass of the chardonnay and took a long drink, as if the wine were water and he’d just finished a marathon.

  At that rate, Dion wasn’t going to be buzzed but full-on sloshed soon. “Why?”

  Dion picked up Xan’s fork and dragged it through the plateful of food. Steam rose from the still warm eggs, and he stuck a forkful in his mouth.

  The tension in Athan’s chest knotted tighter and tighter. “Dion?”

  Dion looked up, but he shifted his eyes, refusing to meet Athan’s. “Oui ?”

  “Why is Xan mad at you?”

  Dion exhaled slowly. “I . . . I did not do what he wanted me to.”

  Athan snorted. “So he’s mad because he couldn’t push you around.” Nothing surprising about that, but there had to be more. Xan wasn’t one to avoid confrontation, so why had he left? Dion, on the other hand, hated confrontation, but he’d only tell what he wanted when he wanted. Had Dion really defied Xan?

  Dion nodded, shifting his gaze back to the plate of food. “This is quite good. Did you make it?”

  Maybe Dion was already a little drunk. “No, Xan did. Scoot it over. I want a little more.”

  The two of them quickly devoured the rest of the scramble and then sat picking at the fruit.

  “What’s on the agenda today?” Athan asked before biting into a large strawberry. The sweetness burst in his mouth, and he promised himself he would never take food for granted again.

  Dion shrugged. “I do not know this. It’s been pretty quiet, pretty boring, the last few days. Maybe you want we play some poker?” Dion’s lips pulled up on the left side, his eyes bright at the prospect.

  That would have to wait. “Maybe after I find out what’s going on. Who else is here?”

  Dion looked up at the ceiling, his face measured concentration. “You, me, and Xan. Obelia and Kaia.” He was quiet a moment more. “Ah, Dahlia came in last night. Thenia is to be back soon.”

  “Do you know when?” Athan didn’t relish the idea of going to Xan or Dahlia, and Kaia and Obelia weren’t really an option.

  “Den xero , I don’t know.”

  Athan sighed. “I guess I’d better go find Xan.”

  “Or, you see Dahlia. She is very pretty; maybe she knows this.” Dion tipped the wine bottle over his empty glass, and the wine sloshed up the sides.

  Athan grimaced. “Maybe.” He shook his head at the proffered wine and stood cautiously on his w
eak legs. Feeling stronger than he’d thought possible, he nodded to Dion and started down the hall.

  A muted pounding reverberated through the walls, announcing exactly where Xan was. Athan walked into the matted room of the training arena in time to see Xan backfist a bag so hard the leather split. Clearly, he was still pissed.

  Athan sat on a bench against the wall and watched while Xan moved to another bag hanging from the ceiling. There were two additional bags on the floor, one with a broken chain, the other torn along a seam. Athan looked up at the beam from which the bag was suspended and saw it had been reinforced. His attention returned to the demigod of war, and, after a series of strikes set the bag swinging, Athan wondered how many bags Xan would go through.

  Xan struck rapid combinations of kicks and punches, and the bag rocked back and forth. The staccato rhythm of Xan’s attack was no fewer than eight techniques. Athan thought of potential counter attacks only briefly. The timing would have to be perfect. And with the irregularity of Xan’s count, and the rapidity of his techniques, he’d be a very difficult target. Xan’s movements were a blur of punches, knife-hand, and ridge-hand strikes that were followed with jumping spin kicks that would easily crush a man’s skull. The beating continued. Athan’s eyes felt heavy, and he leaned his head back against the wall to wait for a pause.

  A loud thud followed by silence awoke him. Athan opened his eyes to see Xan walking toward him; two more bags now lay on the floor. Xan’s blue shirt was dark with sweat, and his face glistened. Despite the obvious signs of exertion, his breathing was still regular, and as he approached Athan, the corner of his mouth pulled up into a half-smile.

  “Nice rest?”

  Athan grunted. “I guess so. I didn’t think I was that tired.” He leaned his head side to side, stretching out his stiff neck muscles. “How long was I out?”

  Xan shrugged. “Who cares?” He sat down and pulled a duffle bag out from under the bench. He wiped his face with a towel and pulled off his shirt. Bands of black tattoos covered his arms in Celtic patterns that climbed over his muscular back.

  Athan knew the tattoos were a tribute to Xan’s mother and her Irish heritage. But Athan had never understood the reason behind marring one’s skin in memory of someone who’d never be forgotten anyway.

  Rummaging through the bag, Xan pulled out a white T-shirt and put it on, the dark markings almost bleeding through the thin fabric. “Do you have an appointment to keep today?”

  Athan couldn’t help but notice the disparity between the two of them. Xan was built like a professional MMA fighter—broad shoulders, narrow waist, and thick thighs of pure cut muscle. Athan’s frame was leaner, ropier muscle, like a marathon runner. It’s who they both were. Except that right now, Athan looked like an emaciated refugee. How fitting. “No. No agenda. But I was hoping we could talk.”

  Xan sat down next to Athan, the bench reverberating with his weight. “What’s up?”

  It was a bitter pill to ask Xan for help, and even more bitter to actually need it. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  Xan exhaled slowly, and his shoulders fell. “She left.”

  Athan gritted his teeth. “What do you mean she left? Voluntarily, or did you force her to go?”

  Xan turned to face Athan and looked him squarely in the eye. “Come on, Athan. It was crazy here. Apollo came and killed his own sons then threatened to kill anyone that harmed her.” Xan ran his hand through his hair. “Death inside the conservatory. Threats from a god. You know what that means. And the fact that she’s a monster? The gods were bound to get involved.”

  Athan wasn’t about to tell Xan the gods had been involved long before Hope came to the conservatory. Even Hermes was on the hunt for Hope. That was why Athan was originally hunting her. He should’ve contacted his father as soon as he’d found her the first time. Then none of this would have happened.

  “It was the best I could think of, what with Obelia screaming for her death and Thenia demanding we contact the gods for a tribunal. A head start was the best I could offer.” Xan grimaced. “I thought I’d find her by now.”

  Athan’s blood boiled. As if Xan really cared. Athan knew, he knew, how brutal Xan was when it came to monsters, and now he cared about Hope? Whatever act he was playing, it needed to stop. “Zeus Almighty. Enough with . . . this. You don’t really care, except what it means to you.” Athan glared at the other demigod. “What does she mean to you?”

  Xan clenched his hands then released them, and his jaw tightened. But his gaze stayed rooted on the ground as he whispered his response. “Don’t assume to know me, Athan. You’ve been gone for years.” He swallowed and then fixed Athan with a stare. “If I recall correctly, you’ve claimed to have changed a little, too.”

  There was no mistaking Xan’s meaning. The dig was well aimed, and it stung mostly because of its truth. There had been a time when Athan manipulated female demigods into believing he liked them romantically so he could get them to the conservatory. He’d justified his actions as the end justifying the means and never even considered how it might make someone feel. It was only when he’d started dating Hope, and his feelings had changed . . . Athan dropped his head in his hands. “How much do you know?”

  Xan sat back with a sigh. “Only what she told me.” He explained how she’d come to the conservatory looking for information to break the curse. “But judging by the ash that’s still in the corners of her room, and the fact that she’s disappeared, she must not have found much.”

  “Do you know where she went?”

  Xan shook his head. “No. She said no one had ever broken a curse. But she had that look she gets when she’s determined. You know how her chin juts out?”

  The fact that Xan knew her so well was like a punch to the gut. Athan merely nodded. Judging by how well she’d fought those Skia, she and Xan had spent a lot of time together. Maybe Xan really did care about her. The thought somehow made Athan feel worse.

  Xan quirked a brow. “Did you know she had an aunt here in town?”

  Athan shook his head. “It’s not really her aunt. Her name is Priska—”

  Xan swore. He threw one glove across the room and swore again as he threw the second one. “Shite .”

  “You know her?” Clearly.

  “It’s the demigod she was staying with when I picked her up. She’s definitely not her aunt.” He swore again and kicked at his sparring bag. “She’s not in The Book .”

  The Book of Demigods , their recorded listings of demigods and their divine parents.

  Athan frowned. Hope hadn’t told him much about Priska when they were in Goldendale, only that she was like family and she’d gone missing. While at the conservatory, he’d overheard Ty and Tre bragging about beating the crap out of Priska, and because it was such an unusual name, he’d put two and two together. He didn’t even know she’d come back, but it made sense why Hope came to Seattle when she ran from Goldendale.

  But who was Priska? Demigods were all listed by their parentage somewhere. “You mean she’s not in the one here?”

  “She’s not in any of them. I went through the entire Olympian database. There is no Priska. Are you sure that’s her real name?”

  The records went back hundreds of years. Maybe even thousands. Athan shrugged. “I’ve never met her, but that’s the name Hope always used.”

  Xan let out a slow, controlled breath. “I don’t know who she is, but someone matching her description has popped up in conservatories around the world in the last year. Athens, Greece, then a few weeks later in Nashville, Tennessee, and she was here the night Hope disappeared. Obelia slammed the door in her face.”

  Athan rolled his eyes, and his frustration with Obelia ballooned. Not that it would do any good. “But we know she’s a demigod? Have you seen her mark?”

  Xan shook his head. “I’ve never been that close. But she’s a demigod all right. I’ve talked to her on the phone. She called the conservatory before we picked up Hope. She knows way too much to be
anything else.”

  “Why is she helping Hope?” Athan couldn’t think of a single reason a demigod would knowingly befriend a monster. “What does she have to gain?” It made no sense. A chill danced across his skin, and he shivered.

  “No idea,” Xan said with a shrug. He stood, grabbed his bag, and took two steps toward the door, then turned and came back to the bench, standing over Athan. “You’re no good the way you are. Thenia is supposed to be back next week with her mum. I’m going to be gone. You need to be well afore then or I won’t take you with me, right?”

  Xan was going to search for Hope again. Of course he was. He was nothing if not tenacious. But Athan wasn’t going along. He needed to find her first. Which meant a call to his father.

  Athan nodded. “Right.”

  As soon as Xan left, Athan locked the door and pulled out his phone.

  Hermes answered on the second ring. “Yeia sou ?”

  “Dad?”

  Hermes laughed. “Athan! It’s great to hear your voice. How are you?”

  “Fine. Fine.” Athan told his dad how he’d found Hope at the conservatory only to have her disappear again. “I just want to find her so I can help.”

  His father said nothing, and Athan wondered if they had been disconnected. Was that even possible on his father’s phone? “Dad?”

  “I’m surprised you would even consider that,” Hermes said.

  Athan flinched from the steel in his father’s tone.

  “What madness is this? We’re talking about the monster that almost got you killed a couple of weeks ago. Olympus was in an uproar after Apollo killed his sons over her. And now you want to put yourself in more danger for her? Are you even recovered from the Skia’s blade?”

  “I . . . I’ll be okay.”

  But his father continued in the same harsh tone, “She is selfish and dangerous, and you should leave her alone.”

  Athan reeled. “How . . . How can you say that?”

  “Wait. You . . . think you love her? Is that what this is?” When Athan didn’t respond, Hermes continued, “Mother Gaia! She is a monster.”