Emotions don’t have brains.Ash knew that better than anyone. He’d said it to every Dark-Hunter he’d ever trained.
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 be beaten for it. But Styxx hadn’t cared. He’d come to Acheron regardless.
Brothers. Forever and always.
Styxx had tried to make amends so many times. 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 shook his head 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 ground his teeth, wishing 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 he 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.
