“Brothers to the end,” Ash said, taking his hand and clutching it tight. “Now before we break into tears, get your ass upstairs and prepare for what’s coming.”
“Don’t worry. I always have your back.”
“Yeah, but this time, we’re up against the god of war.”
Which meant all the backup in the world might not be enough.
January 19, 2009
Urian ground his teeth as he led Savitar into Styxx’s bedroom in New York where he’d been holding a silent vigil on and off since they got back from Kalosis with Tory and Acheron, and Styxx had collapsed on the floor.
He was terrified about Styxx’s condition. And he was at a loss about who else to call. Who else would know how to fix a sick immortal, other than Apollymi, and given their current relationship, he figured it was best not to try that venue, as the goddess was likely to splinter him into pieces.
“He’s been likethat.”
Savitar gave Urian an arch stare.
“I know, right? It’s like his whole body has shut down. He hasn’t eaten or drunk or even moved. Every now and again, he whispers in ancient Greek, Arabic, or ancient Egyptian, but I can’t make it out.”
Frowning, Savitar pulled the blanket back to examine the wound Acheron had sealed. But the moment he saw Styxx’s extensive scarring he gaped in horror. “What the hell?”
Urian more than understood his reaction. He’d had the same one himself the first time he’d seen it. “Aside from being a war hero who fought in dozens of battles, he spent a year as a POW in Atlantis. He never really says much about it other than it sucked, but from the scars I’d say they tortured him the whole time he was there.”
Savitar expelled a heavy breath. “I had no idea. Does Acheron know about this?”
If he did, he didn’t care. Obviously. Nor had he bothered to check on them or even ask. While Urian had cut him a lot of slack because of Tory being threatened, he was getting a little pissed about it at this point.
“I don’t know. From his hatred of Styxx, though, I’d say he doesn’t care. He’d probably say Styxx deserved it.”
Savitar felt Styxx’s forehead. “How long has his fever been this high?”
“Since the fight with Stryker. He had it when I brought him home and it hasn’t broken or gone down at all.”
Savitar placed his hand to Styxx’s throat. “He barely has a pulse.”
No shit, Sherlock.
Savitar gave him a pissed look that said he might have heard that.
Clearing his throat, Urian reminded himself to rein his thoughts in around the omniscient, irritable one. “Yeah. I didn’t know what to do. Not like I can call a doctor. When I tried to call Ash, he said Styxx was probably faking it for attention. He told me Styxx couldn’t die and would be fine. Not to concern myself with it. But he doesn’t look fine. He looks like a corpse.”
And since Ash had sounded distracted and hung up without saying good-bye, Urian had taken the hint.
Whatever had gone down between him and Styxx had left them as strangers. Ash didn’t want anything to do with his brother.
Period.
Damn, Styxx, What’d you do? Piss on his favorite toy and make him eat it?
“All right. Stand back. I’m going to shock him out of this.”
Urian moved to stand in the doorway as Savitar placed his hand over Styxx’s chest. A slight hum filled his ears a few seconds before what appeared to be a sledgehammer-like bolt shot from Savitar’s hand into Styxx’s chest.
Styxx’s eyes flew open. Panting, he frowned at Savitar and then Urian as if he didn’t recognize them at first. As soon as he did, his eyes filled with panic and tears.
“No!” Styxx breathed raggedly, sweeping the room with his gaze. “Beth! Galen!”
Well, that wasn’t the reaction Urian had expected. Nor was the next one, where he flung himself out of bed and frantically searched his condo room to room. Stunned, he exchanged a wide-eyed stare with Savitar that turned into a gape when Styxx fell to his knees and bellowed. “Why did you bring me back here? Why? I was with them and we were happy! I was with them.…”
