The Dark-Hunters (139 page)

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Hours later, Astrid listened to Zarek’s heavy breathing as he slept fitfully. The house was quiet now, safe from his wrath. The air had lost its evil aura and everything seemed calm, peaceful—except for the man, who seemed to be in the throes of a nightmare.

She was exhausted, but didn’t feel like sleeping. She had too many questions on her mind.

How she wished she could talk to Acheron about Zarek and ask him what it was about the man that he thought worth saving. But Artemis had agreed to this trial only if Acheron stayed completely out of it and did nothing to sway the verdict. If Astrid tried to speak to Acheron, Artemis would end the test and kill Zarek immediately.

There had to be some other way to learn about her guest.

She looked at Sasha who was sleeping in wolf form on her bed. The two of them had known each other for centuries. He had been barely more than a pup when his patria had signed on to fight with the Egyptian goddess Bast against Artemis.

Once the war between the goddesses was over, Artemis had demanded a judging for all of those who had fought against her. Astrid’s half-sister Lera had been sent in and she had found all of them guilty, except for Sasha who had been too young to be held accountable for following the leadership of the others.

His own pack had turned on him instantly, thinking he had betrayed them for absolution, even though he’d only been fourteen. In the Katagaria world, animal instincts and rules reigned supreme. The pack was always a unified whole and anyone who threatened the pack was slaughtered, even if it was one of their own.

They had almost killed him. But luckily, Astrid had found him and nursed him back to health, and though he truly hated the Olympian gods, he was usually tolerant, if not fond, of her.

He could leave her at any time, but he had nowhere else to go. The Arcadian Were-Hunters wanted him dead because he had once run with the Katagaria Slayers who had turned against the Olympian gods, and the Slayers wanted him dead because they thought he had betrayed his patria.

His life was precarious at best, even now.

Back then, he’d been feral and terrified of being ripped apart by his people.

So centuries ago, the two of them had formed an alliance that benefited them both. She had kept the others from killing him while he was a pup and he had helped her whenever she was without her eyesight.

Over time, they had become friends and now Sasha stayed out of loyalty to her.

His magical Katagari powers were far stronger than hers and he often used them at her request.

She considered that now.

The Katagaria could travel through time …

But only with limitations. No, she needed something guaranteed to have her back here before Zarek woke up.

At times like this, she wished she were a full goddess and not a nymph. The gods had powers that could …

She smiled as an idea struck.

“M’Adoc,” she said softly, summoning one of the Oneroi. They were the gods of sleep who held dominion over Phantosis, the shadow realm between the conscious and subconscious.

The air around her flickered with invisible, powerful energy she could feel as the Oneroi appeared.

Standing close to seven feet tall, M’Adoc dwarfed her—something she knew from experience. Even though she couldn’t see him right now, she knew exactly what he looked like. His long black hair would be so dark it barely reflected light and his eyes were so pale a blue they looked almost colorless and appeared to glow.

Like all of his kind, he was so handsome that for those who could see, it was hard to even look at him.

“Little cousin,” he said, his voice electrifying and seductive and yet devoid of emotion—since emotions were banned from the Oneroi. “It’s been a while. At least three or four hundred years.”

She nodded. “I’ve been busy.”

He reached out to touch her arm so that she would know where he was standing. “What do you need?”

“Do you know anything about the Dark-Hunter Zarek?” The Oneroi were often healers of the Dark-Hunters, both physically and mentally. Since Dark-Hunters were created from people who had been horribly wronged or violated, a Dream-Hunter was often assigned to newly created Dark-Hunters to help heal them mentally so that they could function in the world without hurting others.

Once the Dark-Hunter was well mentally, the Dream-Hunter would then follow them through time and help heal them physically whenever they were wounded. That was why Dark-Hunters felt an unearthly need to sleep whenever they were hurt.

Only in dreams were the Oneroi effective.

“I know
of
him.”

She waited for an explanation, but when he didn’t elaborate, she asked, “What do you know?”

“That he is so far beyond help that none of my kind will aid him.”

She had never heard of such a thing before. “Never?”

“Sometimes a Skotos will go to him while he sleeps, but they only go so that they can take some of his fury for their own. It is so intense that none of them can stand it for long before they have to leave, too.”

Astrid was stunned. The Skoti were barely more than demons. Brothers and sisters to the Oneroi, they preyed upon human emotion and used it so that they could feel emotions again. Left unchecked, the Skoti were extremely dangerous and could kill the person they “treated.”

Instead of soothing Zarek, a visit from one would only escalate his madness.

“Why is he like this? What fuels his rage?”

“What does it matter?” M’Adoc asked. “I am told he has been marked for death.”

“I promised Acheron that I would judge him first. He will only die if I say so.”

“Then you should save yourself the trouble and order his death.”

Why did everyone want Zarek to die? She couldn’t understand such animosity toward him. No wonder the man acted the way he did.

Did anyone even
like
him?

Not once in all eternity had M’Adoc ever spoken so harshly about anyone. “This isn’t like you.”

She heard him take a deep breath as he tensed the hand on her shoulder. “A rabid dog cannot be saved, Astrid. It is best for everyone, including the dog, for it to be put down.”

“Shadedom would be preferable to living? Are
you
insane?”

“In Zarek’s case, it would be.”

She was aghast. “If that were true, Acheron would be merciful to him and wouldn’t have asked me to judge him.”

“Acheron doesn’t kill him because it would be too much like killing himself.”

She thought about that for a minute. “What do you mean? I see nothing similar in them at all.”

She had the impression M’Adoc was probing her mind with his. “They have a lot in common, Acheron and Zarek. Things that most people can’t see or understand. I think Acheron feels that if Zarek can’t be saved, then neither can he.”

“Saved from what?”

“Himself. Both men have a tendency to choose their own pain. They just don’t choose it wisely.”

Astrid felt something odd on hearing those words. A tiny stabbing ache in her stomach. Something she hadn’t felt in a long time. She actually hurt for both men.

Most of all, she hurt for Zarek.

“How do they choose their own pain?”

M’Adoc refused to elaborate. But then, he did that a lot. Dealing with the gods of sleep was only one step less frustrating than dealing with an oracle.

“M’Adoc, show me why Zarek has been abandoned by everyone.”

“I don’t think you want—”

“Show me,” she insisted. She had to know, and deep down she suspected it didn’t have as much to do with her job as she wanted to think. Her need to know felt more personal than professional.

His voice was totally emotionless. “It’s against the rules.”

“Whatever the repercussion, I will bear it. Now show me. Please.”

M’Adoc had her sit on the bed.

Astrid lay back and allowed the Dream-Hunter to seduce her to sleep. There were several serums they could use to make someone drowsy or they could use mist from Wink, who was a minor sleep god.

The Oneroi as well as other gods of sleep had long used Wink and his mist to control humans.

No matter what method they chose, the effects of it were almost immediate to whomever they tended.

Astrid wasn’t sure which method M’Adoc used on her, but no sooner had she closed her eyes than she found herself floating to the realm of Morpheus.

Here she had her eyesight even while she was judging. It was why she’d always loved to dream during her assignments.

M’Adoc appeared beside her. His masculine beauty was even more striking in this realm. “Are you sure about this?”

She nodded.

M’Adoc led her through a series of doors in the hall of Phantosis. Here a
kallitechnis,
or dream master, could move through anyone’s dreams. They could go into the past, the future, or journey to realms beyond human understanding.

M’Adoc reached a door and paused. “He dreams of his past.”

“I want to see it.”

He hesitated as if debating with himself. Finally, he opened the door.

Astrid led the way in. She and M’Adoc stood back from the scene, far away from any who could see or sense them. Not that they really needed to, but she wanted to make certain she didn’t interfere with Zarek’s dream.

People who were dreaming could only see the Oneroi or Skoti in their dreams when the sleep gods allowed them to. She wasn’t sure if she, as a nymph, was invisible to Zarek or not.

She looked about in the dream.

What struck her most was how vivid everything was. Most people dreamed in sketchy details. But this, this was crystal clear and as real as the world she had left behind.

She saw three little boys gathered in an ancient Roman atrium.

Ranging in age from what appeared to be four to eight, they held sticks in their hands and were laughing and shouting. “Taste it, taste it, taste it.”

A fourth boy around the age of twelve ran past her. His black hair and blue eyes were striking, and he bore a remarkable resemblance to the man she had seen through Sasha’s eyes.

“Is that Zarek?”

M’Adoc shook his head. “That is his half-brother, Marius.”

Marius ran to the others.

“He won’t do it, Marius,” another boy said before he struck whatever was on the ground with his stick.

Marius took the stick from his brother’s hand and poked at the lump on the ground. “What’s the matter, slave? You too good to eat scraps?”

Astrid gasped as she realized it was another child on the ground. One who was dressed in rags that they were trying to force to eat rotten cabbage. The boy was curled into a fetal position, covering his head to the point that he barely looked human.

The ones with sticks kept poking and hitting him. Kicking him when he didn’t respond to their blows or insults.

“Who are all these boys?” she asked.

“Zarek’s half-brothers.” M’Adoc pointed them out. “Marius, you know. Marcus is the one dressed in blue with brown eyes. He is nine, I believe. Lucius is the baby, who just turned five and is dressed in red. The eight-year-old is Aesculus.”

“Where is Zarek?”

“He’s the one on the ground with his head covered.”

She flinched, even though she had suspected as much. To be honest, she couldn’t take her gaze off him. He still hadn’t moved. No matter how hard they struck him, no matter what they said. He lay there like an unmovable rock.

“Why do they torture him?”

M’Adoc’s eyes were sad, letting her know that he was siphoning some of Zarek’s emotions as he watched the boys. “Because they can. Their father was Gaius Magnus. He ruled everyone, including his family, with a harsh fist. He was so evil that he killed their mother one night because she dared smile at another man.”

Astrid was horrified by the news.

“Magnus used his slaves to help train his sons for cruelty. Zarek had the misfortune of being one of their whipping boys and, unlike the others, he wasn’t lucky enough to die.”

She could barely understand what M’Adoc was telling her. She had seen plenty of cruelty in her time, but never anything like this.

It was unimaginable that they would be allowed to treat him this way, especially since he was family.

“You said they are Zarek’s half-brothers. How is it he is a slave when they are not? Was he related through their dead mother?”

“No. Their father brutally sired Zarek on one of their uncle’s Greek slaves. When Zarek was born, his mother bribed one of the servants to take Zarek out and expose him so that he would die. The servant took pity on the infant, and instead of killing him, she made sure the baby went to his father.”

Astrid looked back at the boy on the ground. “His father didn’t want him, either.” It was a statement of fact.

There was no doubt that no one in this place wanted the child.

“No. To him Zarek was tainted. Weaker. Zarek might have his blood in him, but he also bore the blood of a worthless slave. So Gaius turned Zarek over to his slaves, who took their hatred for his father out on him. Every time one of the slaves or servants was angry at Zarek’s father or brothers, the boy suffered for it. He grew up as everyone’s scapegoat.”

She watched as Marius grabbed Zarek by the hair and pulled him up. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the condition of his beautiful face. No older than ten himself, he was scarred so badly that he barely looked human.

“What’s the matter, slave? Not hungry?”

Zarek didn’t answer. He pulled at Marius’s hand, trying to get away. But he didn’t utter a single word of protest. It was as if he either knew better or was so accustomed to the abuse that he didn’t bother.

“Let him go!”

She turned to see another boy close to Zarek’s age. Like Zarek, he had black hair and blue eyes, and bore a strong resemblance to his brothers.

The newcomer rushed Marius and forced him to release Zarek. He twisted the older boy’s hand behind his back.

“That is Valerius,” M’Adoc supplied for her. “Another of Zarek’s brothers.”

“What is the matter with you, Marius?” Valerius demanded. “You shouldn’t prey on those weaker. Look at him. He can barely stand.”