"With me."
Her silver eyes flashed in the dim light. But he saw the pain that she hid so elegantly. "I didn't say that."
"Your tone did."
She let out an aggravated breath. "You are so blind. Everything is black or white. I either hate you or love you. But that's not how it goes. Life is never that clear-cut. Emotions aren't that clear-cut." She touched him softly on the cheek. "Think, Strykerius. You and I were an allied force for thousands of years. Us against your father and Artemis. Against her army of Dark-Hunters and the humans we both hate. The only one I ever forbade you to touch was Apostolos, and now you know why. He is my son. But even so, I sheltered you and yours. I brought you in and taught you how to steal the humans' souls."
"So that you could hurt my father for killing Acheron."
She inclined her head respectfully. "That is true. Originally, I couldn't see anything more than my own revenge. But I watched as your children grew . . . as you grew, and I watched as they died. Do you really think me so cold that never once did I care?"
"Yes, I do. You killed your own family. All of them."
Her face turned to stone. It betrayed no emotion or passion. "I held the same anger then that you held the night you cut Urian's throat. No, I held even more. Their betrayal against me was far greater than what your son did to you. What Urian did he did out of love for a woman. He wasn't trying to hurt you. He was only trying to find happiness for the two of them and he meant you no slight. What my family did to me was out of selfish fear. They united against me to imprison me and kill my son. That is unforgivable."
She paused as the pain in her eyes flared bright and he saw how much she still ached over what had happened. "But just like you, after they were all gone and I was alone, I grieved for what I'd done. I missed that family, sorry though it was, and I wanted to see them again."
She looked over her shoulder to where her demons were still standing at attention. "While I cherish my Charonte army, it wasn't the same as my family." She turned her attention to him and her gaze softened. "And then this goldenhaired youth called out to me as he begged the powers that be for some way to save his small children from an unfair fate. He reminded me of my own son and so I offered to him what I'd never offered to another." The tenderness vanished under the cold countenance that was so familiar. "I bound my life to you in order to save you. The only time you and I were ever at odds was when I ordered you to leave Apostolos alone and you refused to do so."
"You failed to tell me he was your son."
"Because I knew it would hurt you," she said between clenched teeth. "Why else would I have kept that a secret?"
"You were trying to control me."
"I never," she snarled. "I turned you loose to wreak revenge against your father. I opened my entire realm to your kind and allowed you to take refuge here. Every Dark-Hunter you killed, every human life you destroyed, I took pride in it as any mother would."
Still, he refused to believe her. She'd been using him . . .
And yet he remembered the way they'd been over the centuries. She'd always welcomed him into her private chambers. Always welcomed his company.
He missed that more than he wanted to admit to himself.
"Why haven't you told me this before now?"
She sighed. "Because I would rather you hate me for Urian's death than hate yourself. No parent should ever know such grief."
"I don't believe you."
"Then don't. We both know compassion isn't my strong suit. I barely understand it." She raked him with a cool glance. "I barely understand you." She gathered the skirts of her black gown and walked past him.
Stryker watched her as her words echoed in his ears. She might not understand compassion, but she did know how to love. Her uncompromising protection and sacrifice for Acheron was beyond reproach. It was what had set Stryker's jealousy off and made him turn against her.
He'd wanted her to love him like that.
Stryker winced at the undeniable truth. He'd been taken out of his mother's womb before he was born and given over to Apollo's priestesses to raise. While they'd never been cruel where he was concerned, they'd all been afraid of him. He'd never known a real mother.
Not until Apollymi.
Even so, he wasn't sure if he could trust her. Did he dare? But for all her malice, he'd never known her to lie. She might omit things, but she didn't come straight out and lie. . . .
Closing his eyes, he ground his teeth as pain assailed him. It was hard to be responsible for so many and to have no one he could fully trust.
Gods, how tired he was of being alone in the universe. Of standing strong all the time.
Not wanting to dwell on that, he left the garden to return to where his men were still tending to the wounded and killing those who were converting.
"Are we at war, my lord?"