The entire area at the top of the mountain was made up of sparkling bridges and walkways, covered by a rainbow fog, that led to the various temples of the gods.

The halls of Mount Olympus were opulent and massive. Perfect homes for the egos of the gods who lived inside them.

Artemis’s was made of gold, with a domed top and white, marble columns. The view of the sky and world below was breathtaking from her throne room.

Or so he had thought in his youth.

But that was before time and experience had jaundiced his appreciation. To him there was nothing spectacular or beautiful here now. He saw only the selfish vanity and coldness of the Olympians.

These new gods were very different from the gods Acheron had been reared with. All but one of the Atlantean gods had been full of compassion. Love. Kindness. Forgiveness.

There was only one time when the Atlanteans had let their fear lead them — that mistake had cost all of them their immortal lives and had allowed the Olympian gods to replace them.

It had been a sad day for the human world in more ways than one.

Acheron forced himself across the bridge that led to Artemis’s temple. Two thousand years ago, he had left this place and sworn that he would never return to it.

He should have known that sooner or later she would devise a scheme to bring him back.

His gut tight with anger, Acheron used his telekinesis to open the oversized, gilded doors. He was instantly assailed with the sound of ear-piercing screams from Artemis’s female attendants. They were wholly unaccustomed to a man entering their goddess’ private domain.

Artemis hissed at the shrill sound, then zapped every one of the women around her.

“Did you just kill all eight of them?” Acheron asked.

Artemis rubbed her ears. “I should have, but no, I merely tossed them into river outside.”

Surprised, he stared at her. How unusual for the goddess he remembered. Perhaps she’d learned a degree of compassion and mercy over the last two thousand years.