Styxx

His mother didn't show even the tiniest bit of remorse for what she'd done to her family. "If the sight of them bothers you, there is a room below the throne room where you can store them. While I'm locked in Kalosis, my powers won't let me put them there, but you shouldn't have that problem."

Closing his eyes, he wished the statues gone. In an instant, they were. He had no desire to see the images of people who'd wanted him dead.

His mother smiled approvingly. "You should have the ability to come and go from the human realm to this one at will. You'll find that Katateros is a large place with areas unexplored. The mountaintops are windy ... and it's on the northernmost point that you can hear the sound of your grandmother, the North Wind. Zenobi will whisper to you and succor you in my absence. Any time you need to be comforted, go there and let her hold you."

"Thank you, Matera."

"I will leave now and give you time to adjust. If you need me, call and I will appear."

He inclined his head to her as she faded away and left him alone in this unfamiliar place.

It was so strange to be here and it would take some getting used to. Closing his eyes, he could see the gods as they'd been. Hear their voices echoing in the faintest of whispers. And when he opened them, they were all gone and he heard nothing.

As he moved around the room, he realized he wore some kind of leather leggings.

Pants.

How very odd to know the names of everything and everyone without even trying. Whatever information he needed was there instantly.

Crossing the room, he approached the single black and gold throne ... Archon's. An image of his own dead human body in it appeared in his mind. And in the next, Acheron was sitting in it, looking out on the gleaming, empty room. Though ornate and gilded, it was sterile.

There was no life to the palace. No comfort here.

He stood and as he did so a large staff appeared by his side. Over seven feet tall, it held his emblem in gold and silver on the top. Atlantean words were inscribed down the smooth wood.

By this the Talimosin will be known. He will fight for himself and for others. Be strong.

Be strong. Acheron flinched as the demon Xiamara's words whispered through his mind. He teleported himself to the top of the northernmost mountain. The sun was just beginning to set as the winds whipped his formesta out behind him. He gripped his staff tight, looking back over his shoulder to see where the palace stood below.

Then he heard it.

Apostolos ... feel my strength. It will be yours when you need it.

He smiled sinisterly as he felt his grandmother's caress against his skin. Closing his eyes, he took comfort and strength.

And when he opened his eyes, he could tell they glowed red now. His vision saw so much more than it had as a human. He felt the pulse of the universe in his veins. Felt the power of the primal source, and for the first time he realized his place in the cosmos.

I am the god Apostolos. I am death, destruction, and suffering. And I will be the one who brings forth Telikos-the end of the world.

That was if he could ever figure out how to use his powers. Acheron laughed at the truth of it.

Turning, he headed down the mountain and back to the throne room in Archon's palace. No ... it was his now. Sadness hung deep inside him as he realized that though he had his grandmother and mother with him in spirit, he was still alone in the world.

Completely alone.

He froze as he heard something moving behind his throne. It was a soft scurrying sound ... like a large rodent. Frowning, he teleported toward it, prepared to kill whatever dared defile his new home.

What he found there stunned him completely.

It was a small demon with marbled red and white skin and long black hair. Small red horns poked through the tangles of her curls as she looked up at him with red eyes that were rimmed in orange.

"Are you my akri?" she asked in a childish lilt.

"I'm no one's akri."

"Oh..." She looked about. "But akra sent me here. She said my akri would be waiting. The Simi is confused. I lost my mama and now the Simi needs her akri." She sat down and started crying.

Acheron laid down the staff to pick up the toddler. "Don't cry. It'll be all right. We'll find your mother."

She shook her head. "Akra said the Simi's matera is dead. Them evil Greek people killed the Simi's mama. Now the Simi needs her akri to love her."

Acheron rocked her gently in his arms as his mother's shade appeared before him.

Simi stopped crying. "Akra, he says the Simi's akri isn't here."

His mother smiled at them. "He is your akri, Simi."

Acheron scowled at her declaration. "What?"

"Her mother was your protector, Xiamara. Like you, Simi is all alone in the world with no one to care for her. She needs you, Apostolos."

He looked down at those large eyes that swallowed the demon's small round face. Blinking, she stared up at him with the same trust and innocence of Apollodorus. And he was lost to that loving gaze that didn't judge or condemn him.

"Bond with him, Simi, protect my son as your mother protected me."

The thought of tying someone to him terrified Acheron. He didn't want anyone enslaved to him. "I don't want a demon."

"Would you cast her out alone in the world?"

"No."

"Then she's yours."

Before he could protest again, his mother faded away.

Simi snuggled against him and laid her head against his shoulder. "I miss my mama, akri."

Guilt over what had happened with his mother's demon he'd accidentally killed instead of Apollo, slammed into him at her whispered words as he held her close to him. But for him, her mother would still be alive to love her. "Where's your father, Simi?"

"He died before the Simi was born."

"Then I will be your father."

"Really?" she asked hopefully.

He nodded, smiling at her. "And I swear to you that you'll never want for anything."

Her innocent smile warmed his heart. "Then the Simi has the best akri-papa in the world." She hugged him tightly. "Simi loves her akri." As soon as the words were spoken, she faded like his mother had done. But as she faded, his skin just above his heart burned.

Hissing, Acheron jerked up his tunic to find a small colorful dragon emblazoned on his skin. He touched it gingerly, and heard Simi's laughter in his head. The tattoo inched its way up, toward his neck. Her motion on his skin tickled until she settled over his collarbone.

"Simi is a part of you now, Apostolos. While on your body, she won't be able to hear you unless you call for her. But she will be able to monitor your vital signs. Should she sense you're in danger, she will appear to you in demon form to protect you."

"But she's only a baby."

"Even as a baby, she's deadly. Never mistake that. The Charonte are by their very nature killers. She will be hungry and you'll have to feed her often. If you fail to, she'll eat whatever is near her ... even you. Make sure she doesn't get overly hungry. And the last thing you should know is that her kind age very slowly. Roughly one year of a human's development equals a thousand years of theirs."

That did not sound good. "What are you saying?"

"The Simi you have is over three thousand years old."

Acheron gaped at the information. "Shouldn't she be with another demon who can train her?"

"She's the last of her kind. You are all she has in this world, m'gios. Take care of her. As you have said, you are her father now. You'll be the one to teach her everything she knows."

Acheron placed his hand over the tattoo on his shoulder. He was a father....

But then how could he train and protect a demon daughter when he didn't even know how to use his own powers?

June 26, 9527 BC

Styxx hissed as he was jerked off the banks of the River Acheron and slammed back into his body in Didymos. For a full minute, he couldn't move. But once his eyes focused, he realized he was trapped beneath rubble. It felt as if every bone in his body was broken.

After a few more minutes, he was able to crawl out from beneath it and see the devastation that had been done to his homeland.

Just a few inches away from where he'd awakened was his father's body. Frowning, he dug him out and saw the small silver obolos still clutched in his hand.

His father must have been in his room about to give it to him when he'd been killed. Grief choked him. He didn't know why he hadn't seen his father in the Underworld. But it didn't matter.

His father hadn't withheld the coin, after all.

"I'm sorry, Father," he whispered. "I should have been able to do something to stop this." He had no idea what, but still ...

Burning in utter agony, Styxx took the coin and placed it in his father's mouth so that if he was on the banks of the river, he'd be able to cross and find Ryssa and Apollodorus.

"May Hades grant you both a palace in the Elysian Fields." And as he rocked his father, he realized what had happened.

Acheron was alive again.

There was no other explanation. It was the only way he could be returned to life.

I have to bury my father.

And probably Ryssa and Apollodorus, too. He got up to find them and paused as he saw Artemis standing in what was once the hallway.

"What are you doing here?"

"You've done enough harm to Acheron. I will not allow you to hurt him further."

Styxx laughed incredulously. "I have harmed him? Are you out of your mind? Look around you." He gestured to the smoldering remains of his once great city. "Acheron caused the death of my sister, my father, my-"

"Enough! I refuse to allow you to wander the earth, looking for vengeance against him."

Strangely, Styxx felt no desire for vengeance. There was only one thing he wanted. Only one thing left for him. And honestly, he was all right with that. "Fine, let me go to my wife and neither of you will ever have to worry about seeing me again."

"Your wife?"

"The Princess of Thebes. Bethany."

Artemis's face blanched at the name.

Gods, no ... anything but that.

Tears choked Styxx to the point he could no longer breathe. "She's in Egypt," he said firmly.

Artemis slowly shook her head. "Apollymi killed her, too."

A full wave of tears blinded him at the news. "Apollymi!"

She nodded.

Throwing his head back, he roared in agony. His vision swam with the ferocity of his loss. No, no, no! "She's not dead. Not my Beth. Not her. You're lying to me!"

"I would never lie about that. I'm sorry, Styxx."

But she wasn't. She didn't care. Why should she?

Raking his hands through his hair, Styxx did want blood, after all. He wanted to bathe in the blood of every god on Olympus. But none more than Acheron's.

His fury overtaking him, Styxx ran at Artemis, intending to carve out her heart. But before he could reach her, he was snatched away by angry, shredding winds.

Everything went dark.

The next thing he knew, he was slammed against the white sands of a foreign beach. Stunned, Styxx turned around in the sand on his knees.

What the fuck is this?

Artemis appeared before him. "You're on a Vanishing Isle in the Elysian Fields. I can't afford for anyone to know about you or Acheron. You have everything you need here and people will come with food for you from time to time." She dropped the chest from his room in front of him. "That should comfort you."

Then she was gone.

Aghast, Styxx stared at that stupid chest. That was supposed to comfort him for the loss of his entire family and country?

For the loss of Bethany and their son?

Styxx bellowed with rage until his throat was raw and could produce no more sounds. He hadn't screamed out like this since they'd tortured him in the Dionysion. And honestly, he'd rather go back to that than to live through this.

How could they take everything from him?

"I should have let the fucking Atlanteans beat you and the rest of the Olympians into the ground!"

He cursed the day he'd ever fought for Greece and her gods. Most of all, he cursed the day he'd been born twin to Acheron Parthenopaeus. That bastard ...

Styxx stared out onto the horizon as he made a solemn vow. "You better pray, brother, that I never get off this island. If do ... you will bleed for every tear you've given me. And I will rip out your heart and shove it down your throat for your mother taking my wife and son from me. Damn every single one of you!"

In all his life, he'd only ever wanted one thing.

Bethany.

And now all he wanted was death so that he could be with her in the next lifetime. But there was nothing left for him except eternity in isolated hell.

Eleven Thousand, Five Hundred and Thirty-One Years Later...

AD January 3, 2004

Exhausted and sweating, Styxx sighed as he dug in the wet sand to uncover his lunch. He'd already found two clams. One more and he'd be done for the meal. As he tried to lift the heavy sand, the wooden handle on his handmade shovel broke. He knelt down to finish digging it out with the rock blade then added the clam to the small handmade leather pouch where he'd placed the other two.

He washed the sand off his hands in the surf then headed back to the thatched hut he'd built centuries ago for shelter from the winds and harsh, unforgiving sunlight.

Tossing the shovel pieces by the door so that he could repair it later, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and went in and grabbed his last coconut. He'd need to gather more after he finished eating.

Styxx returned outside to start a fire for his meager meal.

But just as he reached his cooking pit, something bright flashed. With reflexes honed by thousands of years of unexpected and extremely vicious animal attacks, Styxx grabbed his spear and readied it for the fight.

Only it wasn't a fur-covered predator.

This one walked on two legs.

Dionysus. Though he was a bit different from the last time Styxx had seen him, he remembered the bastard well from his brief imprisonment in Apollo's temple on Olympus. The god of wine and excess had cut his long brown hair short and put streaks of blond through it. Dressed in clothes the likes of which Styxx had never seen before, Dionysus wore a well-trimmed goatee.

Styxx scowled at the god's sudden and unexpected appearance. Was he hallucinating? Had something poisoned him while he'd been clamming? He hadn't been bitten in a while, but ...

It'd been thousands and thousands of years since anyone had come to his island for any reason.

Dionysus spoke, but he couldn't understand him. The god stepped closer.

Suspicious as hell, Styxx backed up and angled the spear for the god's heart.

The Olympian stopped moving and held his hands up. "Sorry. I forgot to use ancient Greek. I'm a little rusty with it. Can you understand me now?"

Ironically, it took Styxx a few heartbeats to remember it, too. He'd long stopped thinking with words. With no one to talk to and no more voices in his head, only pictures had kept him company for countless centuries.

He nodded.

Again the Olympian said something Styxx didn't understand. He took a step.

Styxx pressed the point of the spear against his chest in warning.

Frustrated, Dionysus flung his hands out and sent a blast through him. Styxx dropped the electrified spear as he was lifted off his feet and thrown against the ground so hard it jarred every bone in his body.

His ears rang to the point of pain.

"Now can you comprehend what I'm saying?" the god growled.

"I hear you."

Dionysus closed the distance between them.

"Don't come near me!" Styxx snarled, shooting away from him. He was done with all of them.

Dionysus's eyes turned a dark, sinister red. "I'm trying to help you."

Styxx snorted. "No god has ever helped me. Go fuck yourself."

He arched an arrogant brow at that. "Wow ... that's mighty brave of you. But you know, rather than fuck myself, I could tell Apollo where you are. He thinks you're long dead. After all this time, you'd be like a new toy to him again. And I'm sure he'd love that loincloth look on you, especially combined with those incredibly defined muscles. Damn, you were hot before. Now..." He bit his lip as he raked a lecherous smile over Styxx's body. "You grew up well, boy."

Styxx's blood ran cold at the threat.

"Or," Dionysus continued, "you could hear me out, and put an end to your hell completely. Which would you rather?"

"I'm listening."

Dionysus folded his arms over his chest. "The world has changed a great deal since you were last in it. One of the things that peeves me most is that the Greek pantheon has basically fallen into absolute obscurity. We're such a joke that even Disney makes cartoons about us. We have a few believers left, but by and large, we are forgotten. And I'm a bit nostalgic for the old days when people made sacrifices and fed my powers.... A little over a month from now, the portal between the human world and Kalosis will be thin enough to breach."

Styxx was well aware of a prophecy he'd been hoping would come to pass. It was the only hope he had of ever leaving this repulsive prison. "The Destroyer can be freed from captivity."

If Apollymi was free again, she'd end the world and Styxx with it. Or better yet, he could drive his Atlantean dagger straight into that bitch's black heart for what she'd done to his wife and child. He always knew there'd been a reason he'd hung on to the one he'd taken during his war there. As a human, it'd been his paranoia of Archon or one of the others coming after him that had prompted him to keep it.

Now it was the promise of revenge. An Atlantean dagger was the only weapon he knew that could kill one of their gods.

But he didn't understand why Dionysus was here. For him. "What's that got to do with me?"

"To open the portal, we need the blood of a true Atlantean. Not an Apollite, but one born of Apollymi's people and her blood. And there's only one left on the planet."

"Acheron." It was the only explanation.

Dionysus inclined his head to him. "See why I need you?"

Yeah, no one else could fight or defeat Acheron. Only his twin had that ability.

"I still don't see how any of this helps me."

"What's the one thing you want more than any other, prince?"

"My wife."

Dionysus rolled his eyes. "Okay, what's the second thing you want?"

"My son."

This time the god expelled a long exasperated breath. "Third? And if you name another family member, I will leave you here with Apollo, so help me, Zeus."

Sadly, Styxx had no other family to name and only one other thing he craved. "To die."

"Ah, you can be taught. Yah! And yeah, death. You kill Acheron and you die. I get to rule the world of man and everyone's happy." Hands on hips, Dionysus arched a brow. "So what do you say?"

"I say get me the fuck out of here."

Styxx flinched as Dionysus wrenched him from his island to a ... room of some kind. One that held chairs and tables unlike any he'd ever seen before. There were numerous other items in it he couldn't even begin to identify or name.

"And before you do something stupid and embarrass us all with your backward, barbarian ways..." Dionysus placed his hand on Styxx's shoulder.

Pain exploded through his skull as the god planted eleven thousand years of history into his head. It was so foul, his nose bled for everything it was worth.

Dionysus pulled away from him as Styxx pressed his hand to his nostrils. And the gods wondered why he hated them.

Great to be back in the mortal world. Bastards.

"Bathroom?" he asked Dionysus.

"Door behind you."

Styxx went to it and grabbed a handful of toilet paper. As he held it to his nose, he frowned at all the new things around him that he'd never even dreamed of. He closed the lid on the toilet and sat down as his head reeled from sensory overload. Sounds, sights, smells ...

Those damned voices that screamed in his head.

It was so overwhelming.

While he'd known he'd been isolated for a long time, he'd never have guessed this many centuries had passed.

Eleven thousand years.

It was mind-boggling. But what really, really hurt was the fact that Acheron had known he was alive, and had completely ignored him the entire time.

His brother had walked away from him and never looked back.

Not once.

Don't I feel like the complete asshole? Styxx had never fully abandoned his brother. As a boy, he'd risked everything to help him. Meanwhile, Acheron had gone on with his life and with Artemis, and acted as if Styxx was dead and buried.

Out of sight. Out of mind.

Why was he even surprised?

So what if Styxx had put his ass on the line for Acheron when Acheron had been imprisoned in Atlantis and Didymos? I at least brought you fresh food and wine, brother. Even when Acheron had chosen a slow starvation suicide, Styxx had given him something to eat.

And unlike him, Acheron wasn't a mortal boy who had to jockey around a father who hated and threatened him. One who would have beaten the shit out of him if he'd learned what Styxx was doing behind his back. Acheron had enough powers that even their old gods had feared his brother's wrath.

He looked down at his scarred hands. Artemis had left him on that island without so much as a single spoon. Everything he'd had over these countless centuries, he'd been forced to make or find.

How could his twin brother leave him to suffer like this?

I hate you, Acheron.

Styxx brushed aside the leopard skin he wore to see the whore mark Acheron had helped brand on him.

Yeah ...

There was no love lost between them.

He had no reason to be surprised by his brother's total lack of regard where he was concerned. Still, Acheron's neglect and utter absence of humanity for him burned deep in a place that should be used to being kicked by now.

So much for being twins.

But that wasn't true and he knew it. They might share the same features, but Acheron had been shoved into Aara's womb long after Styxx had been conceived. Apollymi had forced her bastard into his life and screwed him over royally in the process.

And maybe this was all part of being a god. A total disregard for what you did to humans. An inability to have even a modicum of compassion for them.

You could have at least come back and killed me. Acheron had that power. Three seconds. Three little heartbeats and Acheron could have put him out of his misery.

Instead, he'd left him to suffer. Eternally. Alone in an isolated hellhole.

Styxx winced as memories tore through him. Endless days of loneliness and self-loathing. Even centuries back, when Artemis had actually sent servants with food for him, they'd been blind, deaf, and mute ... a precaution of hers to make sure they didn't tell anyone of his solitary existence.

Or more to the point, that she had a boy-toy pet who looked just like him.

He'd had no one. Nothing except bittersweet memories of his wife and the son he'd never met. Memories that hurt as much, if not more, than they comforted.

But what did it matter? He couldn't change the past. It was done and he'd somehow survived it. Damned if he knew how.

Rising, he washed the blood off his face, beard, hands, and chest then returned to the room with Dionysus.

"Better?" the god asked sarcastically.

"Not really. However, the bleeding's stopped." Externally, anyway.

Internally, the arterial hemorrhaging never ceased.

"Good gods, he does look like him."

Styxx turned to find a god he couldn't identify approaching them. Nowhere near as tall as they were, he had long black hair pulled back into a ponytail. There was something evil, yet mischievous about him.

"Meet Camulus. Celtic-Gallic war god."

Styxx started to ask what "Celtic-Gallic" meant, but as soon as the question formed, his mind kicked up the answer from the information Dionysus had implanted into his head. They were two races that hadn't existed until long after his country had been destroyed and then rebuilt from the ashes of Apollymi's fury.

Camulus raked him with a snide grin. "He doesn't dress like him though. Or stand like him. Think he can pass?"

Dionysus shrugged. "Dark-Hunters are pretty stupid. They shouldn't be too hard to fool."

Styxx frowned at the unfamiliar term. "Dark-Hunters?"

"Ah, crap. Did I forget to do a full upload?" Dionysus put his hand on Styxx's shoulder again.

In an instant, he saw events unfolding. Apollo had taken credit for the destruction of Atlantis, claiming it as retaliation for what had been done to Ryssa. Since Apollymi wasn't around to contradict him, that was the most retold myth.

Apollo had cursed his Apollite race to feed on nothing except each other's blood. But the worst, they were condemned to die painfully on their twenty-seventh birthday.... The age Ryssa had been on her death.

Kind of. His father had shaved a year off her age to make her more appealing on the marriage market and had never told Apollo the truth. Stupid bastard deserved that lie.

Then Apollymi, angered over Apollo's mutilation and murder of Acheron, had taken in Apollo's heir, Strykerius whom the god had accidentally cursed along with his people.

Ironically, the sun god had never been all that bright. Why the Greeks had ever designated Apollo as the god of prophecy, Styxx couldn't fathom.

Needless to say, Strykerius bore as much love for his father as Styxx did. But Stryker had yet to kill Apollo. Not for lack of effort on his part. He routinely made attacks on his progenitor and humanity.

Stryker and his army of Daimons were still around because Apollymi had taught them how to circumvent Apollo's curse by stealing human souls and living on those-her retribution on humanity for abusing her son. But from the moment an Apollite pulled a human soul into his or her body, it forever changed them physiologically, and many of them mentally. They were no longer Apollites, but so-called Daimons. Evil spirits who lived solely to feed off mankind's souls.

Then two thousand years after Apollo's curse, Artemis had created the Dark-Hunters to chase and kill the Daimons before the human souls within them died and were lost forever in painful limbo.

At least, that was Artemis's public story. Like her brother, she lied. The real purpose of the Dark-Hunters was to give her leverage against Acheron, and a tool she could use to manipulate and control him.

Styxx laughed bitterly at the irony. You're still a whore, little brother. Still enslaved.

Some things never changed.

"Are you caught up?" Dionysus asked.

"Yeah. You want me to run interference with my brother's men and use them against him until the night I finally get to return the favor he once paid me."

Camulus scowled. "What favor?"

Styxx flicked his hand over the scar in the center of his chest. "He drove a dagger through my heart while I slept. Only I'm not the coward Acheron is. I want him to know it's me when I slide the blade in."

Camulus let out a low whistle. "No wonder the Greeks are known best for their tragedies. You bastards wrote the book on dysfunctional families."

Dionysus scoffed. "Really? Do you want me to pull out your pantheon history?"

He held his hands up in surrender. "I cede, but don't get used to that. Not in my nature."

Dionysus conjured a set of modern clothes for Styxx and held them out to him. "Don't forget to bathe first."

Fighting the urge to make an obscene gesture, Styxx took the clothes and headed to the shower. He quickly climbed into it and sighed at how incredible it felt. He hadn't bathed in warm water since the day he'd died. Even though his head was way above the showerhead, the hot water still felt good sliding over his skin. And as he showered, he clenched his teeth at all the scars marring him from head to foot. But the two that still stung most were the one across his heart from Acheron and the one on his stomach from Ryssa. He didn't know why they bothered him more than the ones from his mother, yet they did.

And the scar that always brought tears to his eyes was one he'd carved himself into his left forearm with an obsidian knife he'd made.

Ƣ�ǦȦÁvί¦Á.

¦£¦Á¦Ë¦Çvός.

Bethany above the scar his father had given him. Galen below it. And Galen not just for his mentor, but for the son who'd never been born to them. His permanent tribute to the people who'd meant everything to him.

To the ones he'd never see again. His scar was all he had left of them.

"I miss you," he breathed. Time had not made their deaths any easier to bear. In some ways, it seemed to make it worse.

Blinking back his tears, he shoved those thoughts out of his mind. There was nothing he could do. They were gone, and with luck, he wouldn't have to endure much longer without them.

He kissed their names then turned off the water and stepped out. The moment he touched the towel, his breath caught. It was so incredibly soft. There had been no cloth on the island. No towels of any kind. And the scent ...

Like flowers.

What an incredible luxury. He froze as he caught a look at himself in the huge mirror that was a much higher quality than anything they'd ever possessed in his mortal days. His mother and Ryssa would have gone blind staring at themselves in this.

His gaze dropped to the horrendous scars that marked his flesh. He curled his lip in disgust. He was hideous. Had Bethany not been blind, she would have thrown him aside in a heartbeat had she ever seen these.

Sighing, he dressed quickly, shaved then left the room to find the two gods plotting Acheron's death and their rise to power. He should have guilt for participating, but honestly ...

Screw Acheron. His brother had shown him no mercy, so why should he have any for him?

Styxx frowned as he caught a whiff of ...

"Is that food?"

Camulus nodded. "I ordered steaks from room service. You want one?"

His jaw went slack as he positively salivated. "Beef?"

"Well yeah, ain't no vegetarians here." Camulus flexed his biceps. "Soy don't give you these."

Styxx ignored him as he pulled the silver cover off the plate and bit his lip. He hadn't seen steak in so long that he'd forgotten what it looked like.

Smelled like.

"Damn, Dion. I think the steak just gave your boy a hard-on."

"I imagine everything will give him a hard-on for a few weeks until he gets used to being in the world again."

"Just make sure you don't give him any chocolate cake. He might die from an orgasm."

Styxx's frown deepened as he sat down to eat. "Chocolate cake?"

Camulus snorted. "We'll order some later. Now be quiet and let the gods talk."