Like a graceful black panther coming out of its deadly crouch, Hunter rose to his feet with Vanessa cradled gently in his arms. "I'm honored to meet you, Grace."
"Thank you," Grace said. "I have to say the same about you. Julian's talked about you so much that I feel like I know you."
Hunter narrowed his eyes on Julian. "Considering how often he censured my behavior, I shudder to think what he's told you about me."
Grace laughed. "Nothing too bad. Is it true you once incited an entire bordello into-"
"Julian!" Hunter snapped. "I can't believe you told her that."
Completely unabashed, Julian shrugged Hunter's irritability off. "Ingenuity under pressure was always your forte."
Grace gasped, then put her hand against her distended stomach. Julian reached out and took her arm, watching her worriedly.
Taking deep breaths, Grace rubbed her stomach and offered them a tentative smile. "Sorry, the baby kicks like a mule."
Hunter stared at Grace's belly, and a strange light came into his eyes. For an instant, Amanda could swear they glowed.
"It's another boy," he said quietly, his voice distant.
"How did you know?" Grace asked in surprise as she continued to run her hand over her stomach. "I just found out yesterday."
"He can feel the baby's soul," Julian said quietly. "It's one of the protective powers of a Dark-Hunter."
Hunter looked to Julian. "This one is going to be strong-willed. He's loving and giving, but completely reckless."
"Reminds me of someone else I once knew," Julian said.
The words seemed to haunt Hunter.
"C'mon," Julian said, taking Vanessa from Hunter and setting her down even though she squealed in protest. "I need to get you upstairs and tend that wound."
Amanda stood in the hallway, unsure of what she should do. She had a million questions she wanted answered, and if not for Hunter's wound, she'd be on her way upstairs right now asking them all. But Julian was right. That vicious-looking wound needed tending.
With a wistful glance to the stairs, she turned back to Grace. "You're amazingly calm given all this chaos. Gods poofing out, people coming in wearing bloody clothes, and getting blasted in your foyer. I would think by now you'd be freaking out, especially given your condition."
Grace laughed as she herded the crying Vanessa back into the living room. "Well, over the last few years, I've gotten rather used to Greek gods poofing in and out. As well as other things I don't want to think about. Being married to Julian has definitely been an education in staying calm."
Amanda laughed halfheartedly as she glanced toward the stairs and again wondered about her enigmatic Dark-Hunter. "Is Hunter-or Kyrian-a god, too?"
"I don't know. From the things Julian has said, I always assumed Kyrian was a man, but I'm as much in the dark as you are."
As Grace sat down, Amanda heard the men talking through the baby monitor.
Grace reached to turn it off.
"Please, wait."
Amanda took a seat and played with Niklos while she listened to the men above.
"Damn, Kyrian," Julian said as soon as Kyrian handed him his shirt. "You've got more scars on you than my father had."
Kyrian let out a deep breath while he gently probed the burn on his shoulder from Aphrodite's blast.
The two of them were alone in the twins' nursery at the end of the upstairs hallway. Kyrian squinted against the bright yellow teddy-bear wallpaper that hurt his light-sensitive eyes and reached for his sunglasses.
Julian must have remembered his ancient Greek mythology because he turned out the overhead lights and turned on the small nursery lamp that bathed the room in a soothing dull glow.
Weak from his pain, Kyrian noticed that his reflection in the mirror was only barely there. An inability to cast reflections was one of the camouflage benefits bestowed on all Dark-Hunters. The only way for them to have a reflection was to force it from within their own mind. Something that was hard to do when they were wounded or excessively tired.
He stepped back from the white-painted dresser and met Julian's curious gaze. "Two thousand years of combat tend to take a toll on the body."
"You always had more balls than brains."
An eerie chill went up Kyrian's spine at those familiar words. He couldn't count the times Julian had said that to him in Classical Greek.
How he had missed his friend and mentor over the centuries. Julian had been the only man he'd ever listened to. One of the few men he'd actually respected.
Kyrian rubbed his arm. "I know, but the funny thing is I can always hear your voice in my head begging me for patience." He deepened his tone and adopted Julian's rougher-edged Spartan accent. " 'Damn, Kyrian, can't you ever think before you react?'"
Julian fell silent.
Kyrian knew what was going through Julian's mind. The same bittersweet memories that tugged at him at night whenever he paused long enough to dwell on the past.
They were images of a world that had long ago ceased to exist. Of people and family who were nothing more than vague memories and lost feelings.
Their world had been a special one. Its primitive grace a warmth in their hearts. Even now, Kyrian could smell the oil from the lamps that had once lit his home. Feel the cool, fragrant Mediterranean breeze blowing through his villa.
In an odd contrast to Kyrian's thoughts, Julian dug around the small first-aid kit for a modern ice pack.
Finding it, Julian popped the seal to release the cooling gel, then held it against Kyrian's shoulder.
Kyrian hissed as the ice touched his throbbing skin.
"I'm sorry about that blast," Julian said. "Had I known..."
"It's not your fault. You had no way of knowing I'd traded my soul. It's not exactly how I start out conversations. Hi, I'm Kyrian. I have no soul. What about you?"
"You're not funny."
"Sure I am, you just never appreciated my sense of humor."
"That's because you would only let it out when we were one step away from death."
Kyrian shrugged, then wished he hadn't as pain sliced down his arm. "What can I say? I live to tease old Apollyon." Kyrian took the pack out of Julian's hand and stepped back. "So what happened to you? I was told Scipio had you and your family assassinated."
Julian scoffed. "You know better. It was Priapus who killed my family. After I found them dead, I had a 'Kyrian' moment where I went after him."
Kyrian arched a brow at that. To his knowledge, Julian had never had an impulsive moment in his entire life. The man was forever calm and collected, no matter the turmoil. It had been one of the things Kyrian liked best about him. "You did something rash?"
"Yes, and I paid for it." He folded his arms over his chest and he met Kyrian's gaze. "Priapus cursed me into a scroll. I spent two thousand years as a sex slave before my wife freed me."
Kyrian exhaled in disbelief. He had heard of such curses. The pain of them was excruciating and his proud friend must have had a hard time of it. Julian had never been one to let anyone rule his life. Not even the gods.
"And you called me insane," Kyrian said. "At least I only antagonized the Romans. You went after the pantheon."
Julian handed him a tube of burn ointment. When he spoke, his voice was low and thick. "I was wondering, after I left, what happened to..."
Kyrian looked up and saw the agony in Julian's eyes, and he knew what was too painful for his friend to even mention.
Even now, he could feel his own grief over the death of Julian's son and daughter. With blond hair and rosy cheeks, they had been beautiful and vivacious beyond description.
They alone had made Kyrian's heart ache with envy.
Gods, how he'd wanted his own children, his own family. Every time he'd seen Julian at home, he had yearned to have such a life.
It was all he'd ever truly wanted. A peaceful hearth, children to love, and a wife who loved him. Such simple things, really. Yet they had forever eluded his grasp.
Now, as a Dark-Hunter, such wishes were an impossibility.
Kyrian couldn't imagine the horror Julian must still feel every time he thought of his children. He doubted if any man had ever loved his children more than Julian had. Indeed, he remembered the time five-year-old Atolycus had replaced the horsehair in Julian's helm with feathers as a gift for his father before they rode out to battle.
Julian had been one of the most feared commanders of the Macedonian army, yet rather than hurt his son's feelings, he had proudly worn his son's gift in front of all his men.
No one had dared laugh. Not even Kyrian.
He cleared his throat and averted his gaze from Julian's. "I buried Callista and Atolycus in the orchard overlooking the sea where they used to play. Penelope's family took care of her, and I sent Iason's body back to his father."
"Thank you."
Kyrian nodded. "It was the least I could do. You were like a brother to me."
Julian gave a halfhearted laugh. "I guess that explains why you went out of your way to annoy me all the time."
"Someone had to. Even at twenty-three, you were too serious and stern."
"Unlike you."
Kyrian could only vaguely remember being the man Julian had known all those centuries before. He'd been carefree and battle-ready. Hot-blooded and pigheaded.
It was a wonder Julian hadn't killed him. The man's patience knew no limits.
"My glorious days of misspent youth," Kyrian said wistfully.
Looking at his shoulder, Kyrian spread the soothing salve over the burn. It stung, but he was used to physical pain, and he had suffered worse injuries than this tiny ache.
Julian leveled a probing stare at him. "The Romans took you because of me, didn't they?"
Kyrian paused at the remorse in Julian's eyes. Then he returned to spreading the ointment over the burn. "You were always too hard on yourself, Julian. It wasn't your fault. After you were gone, I went on a bloodthirsty crusade against their forces. I made my own destiny in that regard, and it had nothing to do with you."
"But had I been there, I could have kept them from taking you."
Kyrian snorted at that. "You were good at pulling me out of trouble, no doubt about it. But not even you could have saved me from myself. Had you been there, the Romans would have just had another Macedonian commander to crucify.
Trust me. You were much better off in that scroll than meeting the fate Scipio and Valerius had in mind for us."
Still, Kyrian saw his friend's guilt and he wished he could give Julian absolution.
"What happened?" Julian asked. "Historical accounts say Valerius captured you in battle. But I can't believe that. Not the way you fought."
"And history says you were killed by Scipio's assassins. Victors make their own versions of truth."
For the first time in centuries, Kyrian allowed his thoughts to turn to that fateful day in the past.
He clenched his teeth as a wave of rage and agony washed over him anew and he remembered all too well why he had banished those memories to the farthest corner of his mind. "You know, the Fates are treacherous bitches. I wasn't taken by Valerius, I was handed over, gift-wrapped."
Julian frowned. "How?"
"My little Clytemnestra. While you and I were out fighting the Romans, my wife was at home welcoming them into her bed."
Julian's face paled. "I can't believe Theone would do that to you after all you did for her."
"No good deed goes unpunished."
Julian scowled at the bitterness he heard in Kyrian's voice. This wasn't the same man he'd known in Macedonia. Kyrian of Thrace had always been fun-loving and lighthearted.
The man before him now was jaded. Guarded. Suspicious and almost cold.
"Is her betrayal why you became a Dark-Hunter?" Julian asked.
"Yes."
Julian closed his eyes as he felt compassion and anger for his friend. Over and over in his mind, he could see Kyrian the way he'd been all those centuries before. His human eyes had always been laughing, mischievous. Kyrian had loved life in a way very few people ever did.
Generous in spirit, kind in nature, and courageous of heart, Kyrian had even managed to win Julian over and he had truly wanted to hate the spoiled, arrogant brat.