He took that with remarkable dignity, but then he'd had a long time to get used to the idea. She, herself, would still be pissed off that Acheron had screwed her up. "I'm really sorry, Alexion."
"It's okay. At least he cared enough to save me. If he hadn't..." He glanced over to where Marco had been.
Crap. She didn't like the thought of him dying like that at all. She supposed he was right. What he had now was much better than the alternative.
Danger tilted her head to indicate the direction of the car. "Why don't we go get something to eat? I'm really hungry."
"Sure."
The car unlocked by itself the instant they drew near it. Danger shook her head at his powers. He was every bit as scary at times as Acheron.
She got into the car on the driver's side while he entered on the passenger's side.
"So what name would you rather I call you?" she asked as she headed out of the parking lot. "Ias or Alexion?"
He gave her a devilish grin that set fire to her hormones. "I would rather you call me 'lover.'" He wagged his brows playfully at her.
Danger rolled her eyes. Like all men with a one-track mind, he was incorrigible.
"Don't blame me," Alexion said in an almost offended tone. "I can't help it. You should see the way you fight. It really turned me on."
"Could you tell me how to turn you off?"
He snorted. "Go two hundred years without sex and then ask that question. There's not a shower cold enough." His gaze trailed over to the tennis courts they were passing where a handful of college students were playing. "Aren't co-eds supposed to be women of loose-"
She made a sound of disgust in the back of her throat. "Don't you even go there."
"Well, if you don't want me..."
She cut him a mischievous look of her own. "I never said that, now did I?"
Kyros entered his house, his hands still shaking. He couldn't believe what he'd seen tonight. What he'd heard. Marco had been slain.
And Ias was alive.
Ias had been alive for all these centuries.
Rage and grief battled relief and happiness. He was so confused by his emotions that he didn't know what to feel or think. Part of him wanted to embrace his old friend.
As men, they had been closer than mere brothers. There was a special bond that came from entrusting your life to another man's hands, a bond that came from him entrusting you with his. It was communal and unbreakable. They had shared that.
How many times had they fought together? Starved on the long marches to and from battle? When one had fallen from wounds, the other had stood over him and battled the attackers off until the fight ended. Then the one standing had rendered medical aid to the other.
Back to back, they had fought countless times, keeping one another safe.
He owed Ias more than could ever be repaid by coin or by deed. It was that part of himself that was ecstatic that Ias was alive.
But the other part of him was so betrayed, so hurt. How could Ias have survived and not told him?
How?
Why hadn't Acheron ever mentioned it? He more than any other knew just how much Ias's death had torn him apart. In the beginning, the loss of Ias had been more than he could bear. He'd felt so responsible. If he had told Ias about his wife, then his friend wouldn't have made the tragic mistake of thinking she loved him. But he'd known that knowledge would have destroyed Ias, who loved Liora more than anything else.
Even his own life had been forfeit because he'd kept silent. He'd died protecting Ias from Lycantes, who'd been Liora's lover, the first time Lycantes had gone for Ias.
Why didn't I ever tell him?
For centuries he had carried that guilt and second-guessing on his shoulders like Atlas. There had been very few nights over the last nine thousand years when remorse hadn't gnawed at him.