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His whole demeanor had changed again. His face was a mask of pure hatred, and icy bitterness laced his tone.
“How did your killing those women appease you and Gaia?”
“Gaia didn’t need appeasement. She has the kindest and most forgiving heart in the world. But I needed it for her. And for me. I was young—but not that young. I understood a lot more than what I was told. He was an unfeeling, immoral son of a bitch. With all his bravado, he was a weakling. He devastated us, and died without suffering a single consequence. My only prayer is that he’s facedown in the River Styx, relegated to the dark realm of Hades.”
Sloane listened, then asked, “Are you talking about your father?”
“Did you know that the River Styx means the River of Hatred?” Luke asked inanely, as if he hadn’t heard Sloane’s question.
“No, I didn’t. How old were you when your father died?”
“Twelve.” A hollow laugh. “And, true, he was half responsible for my creation. But my father? No. So don’t refer to him as such.”
“Fair enough. I can see that you hate him. There’s obviously a reason for that. Did he abuse you?”
“If you mean, did he crawl into bed with me and commit perverted sexual acts, the answer is no. He saved his sexual perversions for Gaia.”
Sloane drew a sharp breath. “He sexually abused your mother?”
“When he was with her. The rest of the time, he humiliated her, reduced her to nothing.” Violent enmity glittered in Luke’s eyes. “Conventional marriage was an inconvenience to my father.” He spat out the word. “He had a sick fixation for whores. Particularly Asian whores. He spent half his life with them, catching and spreading their diseases, becoming addicted to their depravity, and then bringing it all home to Gaia.”
A vein was pulsing at his temple. “She’s a loving, pure-hearted woman. And he turned her into a receptacle for his filth. What do you think caused her cancer? HPV. A viral infection she was far too embarrassed to have checked. A lady like my mother, confiding in anyone that her cheating husband had contaminated her? Never. By the time she could no longer ignore how ill she was—or hide it from me knowing I would force her to see a doctor—the cancer had spread to the rest of her body. All her pain, her suffering—it was because of him.”
Poor Lillian, Sloane mused silently as the truth struck home. A psychologically disturbed son and a sexually abusive husband, whose deviant behavior resulted in her developing cervical cancer that was now fatal. Luke’s warped actions now had an explanation.
“I’m very, very sorry,” Sloane said sincerely. “You and your mother deserved better.”
“He didn’t even have the painful, drawn-out death he deserved,” Luke added, his hands balling into fists. “The bastard just died of a heart attack. Instantly. He never felt a thing. Worse, he was in bed with one of his Asian whores when it happened. Talk about irony. He should have suffered. The way she’s suffering now. He should have suffered!” Luke leaped to his feet, picking up the wooden chair and crashing it against the wall.
It splintered into pieces.
Luke stared down at the slices of wood, his chest heaving with emotion. Slowly, he brought himself under control.
“Forgive me,” he said, turning to Sloane as if he hadn’t just lost it entirely not two minutes ago. “I hope I didn’t scare you.”
“You didn’t,” she lied. “You helped me understand you better.”
Luke gazed steadily at her. “I’ve never told that to another soul.”
“I’m honored.” Sloane gave him a reassuring look. “But then, Apollo and Artemis are siblings. Twins. It’s only natural that we share confidences.”
A tight nod. “As I said, I knew you were different from the start. I truly believed that all women, other than Gaia, were sluts. But you were everything that was good, strong, decent, and beautiful. I knew right from then that our futures were meant to intertwine in some sacred capacity.”
Sloane heard his words, felt their fervor, and she knew her opportunity had arrived.
“May I share a secret with you in return?” she asked.
“Please do.”
“Ever since what happened to my hand, I’m terrified of knives. I can barely slice a tomato without starting to tremble. I know it’s irrational, but I can’t help it.” She leaned forward, as if sealing the bond between them. “When we get to Mount Olympus, I’m hoping that phobia will be gone.”
“It will,” Luke assured her. “There is no fear there.”
Sloane hesitated, then rushed on, as if what she was asking was a very difficult thing for her to do. “I have a request. If you could grant it, I’d be grateful beyond words.”
Only a flicker of wariness this time. “Go ahead.”
“The ceremonial ascension you described is beautiful. I wouldn’t change a single aspect of it. Unfortunately, it also means I have to face my greatest phobia. Would it be possible for you to sedate me enough so I don’t feel the pain of the blade? That would go a long way toward easing my fear.”
