But Hades did not fear Helios’ wrath, not when it came to a mortal who dared to cheat death and not when it came to facing the unraveling of his fate with Persephone.
“You ask for blood, Hades.”
“If you are asking me if I will slaughter a few heads of cattle to get what I want, then yes, I ask for blood,” Hades replied. “I will revel in the thought of your agony as I sit upon my throne with fifty of your cattle in the Underworld.”
Tense silence followed Hades’ threat, and he could see and sense Helios’ anger. It burned his eyes and raged between them, as hot as the sun’s rays.
“The man you seek is being protected by your brother.”
Hades already knew that was not Zeus; the God of Thunder would never protect a mortal who had broken one of his most coveted laws.
“Poseidon,” Hades hissed.
He did not get along with either of his brothers, but if he had to choose one to sacrifice, it would be Poseidon. The God of the Sea was jealous, power-hungry, and violent. He did not like sharing power over the Upperworld with Hades or Zeus and had tried more than once to overthrow the King of the Gods, but all attempts had failed.
“You will not disturb my cattle,” Helios said. “Are we clear, Hades?”
Hades narrowed his eyes but said nothing. As he turned on his heels and left the Tower of the Sun, he heard Helios called.
“Hades!”
***
Hades returned to his office at Nevernight. He considered going straight to Atlantis, his brother’s island and home, and demanding to know where he was hiding Sisyphus, but he knew his brother, knew the violence that swirled inside him was greater than the anger Hades attempted to keep at bay. Any accusation leveled at his brother, even if it held truth, would infuriate the god. By the end of the encounter, thousands would be dead.
Hades could not help thinking of Alexander’s soul, broken beyond repair. One soul taken before its time was too many, and the god knew there would be more like him if he did not act fast. He had to come up with an alternative plan, something that would gain Hades the truth he needed and prevent destruction. His eyes fell to the white bundle he had left on his desk—Atropos’ sheers.
Perhaps Hephaestus would have a solution. He gathered the bundle in his hands and started to teleport, when Minthe knocked at his door and threw it open, strolling into his office.
“Entering before being invited defeats the purpose of knocking,” Hades said tightly, frustrated by the interruption. “I’m busy.”
“Tell your side piece,” Minthe countered. “She’s downstairs.”
Hades brows furrowed. “Persephone is here?”
She was not due to arrive until this evening for her tour of the Underworld. A strange feeling unfurled within his chest. It felt exciting, almost like hope, but as he moved to the windows that overlooked the floor of Nevernight, those feelings darkened. Persephone had brought a companion, a man he recognized immediately as Adonis, Aphrodite’s favored mortal.
His eyes darkened.
“I told you this would happen,” Minthe was saying. “You encouraged her, and now she thinks she can demand an audience with you. I will tell her you are…indisposed.”
“You will do no such thing,” Hades stopped her. “Bring her to me.”
Minthe raised a brow. “The man, too?”
She was trying to goad him, and it worked because Hades could not help answering with a bitter hiss.
“Yes.”
Minthe made a strange sound in the back of her throat, something akin to a laugh, and then left. Hades’ gaze returned to the floor below.
Persephone stood apart from Adonis, arms folded over her chest. Despite her audacity, he wanted to see her, especially on the heels of the Fates’ threat. He would just be punishing himself if he sent her away. Besides, he wanted to know why she had come and brought a mortal with her.
When Minthe walked into view below, he turned away from the window, sat Lachesis’ bundle aside, and poured himself a drink. If he did not have something to distract him, he would pace, and he’d rather not illustrate the chaos of his mind right now.
By the time Minthe returned with Persephone and Adonis in tow, Hades had positioned himself near the windows again. He barely registered Minthe’s approach, because his eyes had locked on his goddess the moment she entered the room.
“Persephone, my lord,” Minthe said.
She was determined. He could see it in her expression—the way her head was tilted, her lips pressed into a hard line. She had come here for something, and Hades found himself eager for a time when she would approach him with a smile, with no reservations or hesitations because she wanted him and nothing else.
“And…her friend, Adonis,” Minthe continued.
At the mention of the mortal’s name, Hades’ mood darkened, and he looked at Adonis, whose eyes widened under his scrutiny. He found it strange that Aphrodite would take this man as a lover, given her attraction to Hephaestus. They were complete opposites—this mortal, untouched by the sufferings of the world. His skin was smooth, his hair glossy and not singed by the forge, his face free of stubble, as if growing a beard would be a hardship for him. And then there was his soul.
Manipulative, deceptive, and abusive.
Hades glanced at Minthe, nodding. “You are dismissed, Minthe. Thank you.”
With her exit, Hades downed the remainder of his drink and crossed the room for a refill. He did not offer a glass to either of his two visitors or invite them to sit. It was not polite, but he was not interested appearing pleasant.
He spoke once his glass was full, leaning against his desk.
“To what do I owe this…intrusion?”
Persephone’s eyes narrowed at his words and tone, and she lifted her head. He was not the only one fighting to be amicable.
“Lord Hades,” she said, taking a notebook out of her purse. “Adonis and I are from New Athens News. We have been investigating several complaints about you and wondered if you might comment.”
Another thing he did not know about his future bride—her occupation.
A journalist.
Hades hated the media. He had spent a lot of money to ensure he was never photographed and denied all interview requests. He did not refuse because he had things to hide, though there was plenty he preferred to keep to himself. He simply felt that they focused on the wrong things—like his relationship status—when Hades would rather give the spotlight to organizations that helped dogs and children and the homeless.
He lifted the glass to his lips and sipped; it was drink or show his anger in a worse way.
“Persephone is investigating,” Adonis said with a nervous laugh. “I’m just…here for moral support.”
Coward, Hades thought before focusing on the notebook Persephone had pulled from her purse. He nodded to it.
“Is that a list of my offenses?”
He would be lying if he said he had not expected this. She was the daughter of Demeter; she had been told only the worst about him. He knew because she had looked at him with such loathing when she had discovered who he was the night of their card game.
She read a few of the names on the list—Cicero Sava, Damen Elias, Tyrone Liakos, Chloe Bella. She couldn’t know what hearing these names meant to him or how it made him feel. It reminded him of his failures. Each one was a mortal who had entered into a bargain with him, each one had been given terms in hopes that they would overcome the vice that burden their soul, and each one had been unsuccessful, resulting in their death.
He was relieved when she stopped reading from the list, but then she looked up and asked, “Do you remember these people?”
Every detail of their face and every worry on their soul.
Again, he sipped his drink.
“I remember every soul.”
“And every bargain?”
This was not a conversation he wanted to revisit, and he could not help the frustration in his voice as he spoke, angry that she was bringing this up.
“The point, Persephone. Get to the point. You’ve had no trouble of it in the past, why now?”
Her cheeks flushed, the tension between them building—a solid thing he would destroy if he could. It made his lungs hurt and his chest feel tight.
“You agree to offer mortals whatever they desire if they gamble with you and win.”
She made it sound like he was the aggressor, as if mortals did not beg him for the chance to play.
“Not all mortals and not all desires,” he said.
“Oh, forgive me, you are selective in the lives you destroy.”
“I do not destroy lives,” he said tightly. He offered a way for mortals to better their lives, once they left his office, he had no control over their choices.
“You only make the terms of your contract known after you’ve won! That is deception.”
“The terms are clear; the details are mine to determine. It is not deception, as you call it. It is a gamble.”
“You challenge their vice. You lay their darkest secrets bare—”
“I challenge what is destroying their life,” he corrected her. “It is their choice to conquer or succumb.”
“And how to do you know their vice?” she asked.
A wicked smile crossed Hades’ face, and suddenly, he thought he understood why she was here, why she was leveling these accusations at him—because she was now one of his gamblers.
“I see to the soul,” he said. “What burdens it, what corrupts it, what destroys it, and I challenge it.”
“You are the worst sort of god!”
Hades flinched.
“Persephone—” Adonis spoke her name, but his warning was lost over Hades’ reaction.
“I am helping these mortals,” he argued, taking a deliberate step toward her. It was not his fault she did not like his answer.
She leaned toward him, demanding. “How? By offering an impossible bargain? Abstain from addiction or lose your life? That’s absolutely ridiculous, Hades!”
Her eyes had brightened, and he noted that her hold on her mother’s glamour had faltered the angrier she became.
“I have had success.”
She would know that if she was not so eager to only see the bad in him. Wasn’t that the mark of a good journalist? Understand and interview both sides?
“Oh? And what is your success? I suppose it doesn’t matter to you as you win either way, right? All souls come to you at some point.”
He moved to close the distance between them, his frustration boiling over. As he did, Adonis stepped between him and Persephone, and Hades did what he had wanted to do since the mortal stepped into his office—he paralyzed him, sending him to the floor, unconscious.
“What did you do?” Persephone demanded and started to reach for him, but Hades took her wrists and drew her flush against him. His words were rough and rushed.
“I’m assuming you don’t want him to hear what I have to say to you. Don’t worry, I won’t request a favor when I erase his memory.”
She scowled at him.
“Oh, how kind of you,” she mocked, her chest rising and falling with each angry breath. It made him aware of their proximity, reminded him of the kiss he had pressed to her skin the day before. Heat curled in the bottom of his stomach, and his eyes dropped to her lips.
“What liberties you take with my favor, Lady Persephone.” His voice was controlled, but he felt anything but composed on the inside. Inside, he felt raw and primal.
“You never specified how I had to use your favor.”
“I didn’t, though I expected you to know better than to drag this mortal into my realm,” Hades glanced at Adonis.
Her eyes widened slightly. “Do you know him?”
Hades ignored that question; he would come back to it later. For now, he would challenge her reason for coming to Nevernight to begin with.
“You plan to write a story about me?” He felt himself leaning in, bending her backward and holding her tighter, sealing their bodies together. He was certain the only way he could get closer to her was if he was inside her, a thought that made his stomach feel hollow and his cock hard. “Tell me, Lady Persephone, will you detail your experiences with me? How you recklessly invited me to your table, begged me to teach you cards—”
“I did not beg!”
“Will you speak of how you flush from your pretty head to your toes in my presence and how I make you lose your breath—”
“Shut up!”
It amused him that she did not want to hear this—all the ways she communicated her desire for him, all the ways her body betrayed the words that came out of her mouth. Her body was supple beneath his hands, and he knew if he trailed his hand between her thighs, she would be hot and wet.
“Will you speak of the favor I have given you, or are you too ashamed?”
“Stop!”
She pulled away, and he released her. She stumbled back, breathing hard, her pretty skin flushed. Though he did not show it, he felt the same.
“You may blame me for the choices you made, but it changes nothing,” Hades said, and felt he was challenging the real reason she came here—to tell him his bargain with her was unfair, for retribution. “You are mine for six months, and that means if you write about me, I will ensure there are consequences.”
“It is true what they say about you,” she said. “You heed no prayer. You offer no mercy.”
Yes, darling, he thought, angrily. Believe what everyone says about me.
“No one prays to the God of the Dead, my lady, and when they do, it is already too late.”
He was finished with this conversation. He had things to do, and she had wasted his time with her accusations.
Hades waved his hand, and Adonis woke with a sharp inhale. He sat up quickly, looking dumbfounded. Hades found everything about him annoying, and when the mortal met his gaze, he scrambled to his feet, apologizing as he did and hanging his head.
“I will answer no more of your questions,” Hades said, looking at Persephone. “Minthe will show you out.”
He knew the nymph waited in the shadows. She had never truly left them alone, and he hated the smug look on her face as she came into his office from the Underworld entrance. Perhaps that was what made him call out to his goddess before she left.
“Persephone.” He waited until she faced him. “I shall add your name to my guest list this evening.”
Her brows came together in confusion. She probably thought her invitation to tour his realm would be revoked after her behavior, but it was important, now more than ever. It was the only way she would see him for who he was.
A god desperate for peace.
CHAPTER VIII– AT THE ISLAND OF LEMNOS
Hades found Aphrodite waiting for him on the steps of her mansion on the island of Lemnos. It was a beautiful home, built by Hephaestus himself, a mix of modern lines, intricate filigree, and walls of windows that offered a view of each glorious sunrise and enchanting sunset.
This island was a sacred place for Hephaestus. It was where he landed when Hera cast him off Olympus. As a result of the fall, he’d broken his leg, and the people of Lemnos cared for him. Even after he was invited to return, the god preferred to stay, as he had built a forge, taught the people ironwork, and gained worshippers. Hades always considered the fact that the God of Fire was willing to share this island with Aphrodite a sign of his love for her, but he had never told her his thoughts—she probably would not listen, anyway.
“Come to surrender?” Aphrodite asked. She wore a dress that looked like the inside of a seashell and a seafoam robe rimmed with flowing feathers. Her golden hair gleamed, cresting like waves down her back.
“I have come to speak to your husband,” Hades replied.
“Do not call him that,” she snapped, her eyes flashed with anger.
“Why? Has Zeus granted your divorce?”
“He refused,” she said, and looked away toward the ocean, where the sun hung low in the sky. She paused a moment, and Hades recognized the silence for what it was—time for her to compose herself. Whatever she was about to share was difficult for her. “Even after Hephaestus agreed it was best.”
Fucking Hephaestus, Hades thought to himself. The God of Fire was worse than him at saying the wrong things.
“He expressed not a shred of anger when I told him what I’d done,” Aphrodite continued, looking at Hades again. “He works a forge all day and has not an ounce of fire within.”
“Have you considered that he wasn’t angry because he expected it?”
Aphrodite glared, and Hades explained.
“You admitted yourself you’ve never had a marriage, Aphrodite. Why would you expect Hephaestus to mourn what he never had?”
“What do you know, Hades? You’ve never had a marriage, either.”
Hades suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. All of his conversations with Aphrodite ended with her flippantly rejecting his opinion or advice and throwing his own loneliness back in his face.
Why did I try?
“Hephaestus is in his lab,” Aphrodite said. She turned, bare feet moving over the marble steps.
Hades trailed behind her. She did not enter her home, but instead, turned down a walkway that cut through a garden full of bright, tropical flowers and swaths of ornamental grasses. The path lead to a glass bridge that connected the mansion to a volcanic island where Hephaestus kept his shop, carved from the largest mountain.
The workshop contained a forge on the lower level and a lab on the upper level, where he experimented with technology and enchantments. Over the years, the God of Fire had created armor and weapons, palaces and thrones, chains and chariots—and people, among the most famous being Pandora, who he molded and sculpted from clay. She would later be used as a scapegoat, a way for Zeus to punish mankind. Hades had never asked Hephaestus about her fate, but he had a feeling it haunted the god to this day.
“He’s been working on a project. Bees,” Aphrodite said as she walked, and there was a note of admiration in her voice. “They are mechanical, disease resistant.”
Bees were dying at an alarming rate for various reasons—parasites and pesticides, poor nutrition, and environment. The latter had more to do with Demeter than anything, as the Earth tended to suffer when her mood was dark. Hades felt it was a strategic move on the part of the goddess, as a loss of bees meant less food production, which resulted in a reliance on the Goddess of Harvest for healthy crops.
Hephaestus’ creations would ensure mortals—and bees—were not at the mercy of a goddess. Conversely, his creations could be seen as an act of war against the goddess.
“Did Hephaestus tell you this?” Hades asked, curious, because if so, that meant they were communicating.
“No,” Aphrodite said, hesitating for a moment, as if she wanted to say something but stayed quiet.
“So, you were spying?” Hades questioned, raising a knowing brow.
Aphrodite pursed her lips. “How else am I supposed to learn what my husband is up to?”
“You could…ask,” Hades suggested.
“And receive a one-word reply? No, thank you.”
“What did you expect to learn while spying?” Hades asked.
A heavy silence followed his question. Finally, she answered, “I guess I thought he might be cheating.”
Hades could not help it, he paused to laugh. Aphrodite whirled to face him.
“It isn’t funny!” she snapped. “If he isn’t fucking me, he’s fucking someone.”
Hades raised a brow. “Is that what you discovered while you spied?”
Aphrodite’s shoulders fell, and she looked away. “No.”
She seemed disappointed. Like she might have felt better if Hephaestus was distracted by women rather than things.
“Hmm,” Hades hummed, and Aphrodite gave him a bruising look before they continued to the entrance of Hephaestus’ lab.
“The cyborgs will take you to him,” she said.
Hades narrowed his eyes, suspicious of her quick exit. “You’re not going to leave just to spy, are you?”
Aphrodite rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “I have better things to do, Hades.”
He considered challenging her reply, but decided against it, stepping around her and entering Hephaestus’ lab alone.
Inside, he found a cavernous room full of Hephaestus’ inventions—shields, spears, armor, helms, pieces of detailed ironwork, unfinished thrones, robotic humans and horses. At the center of it all, working with his back bent over a wooden table, was the God of Fire. Despite Hephaestus’ modern inventions, his work area and overall aesthetic paid homage to his ancient roots. His blond beard was long, his matching hair pulled back with a leather strap. He worked shirtless, exposing the scars on his skin, and wore a set of trousers that came to mid-calf.
“Lord Hades,” Hephaestus said as he approached, though the god continued to work, soldering a circuit board. Hephaestus was probably the only god who used titles with other gods out of respect instead of disdain.
After a few more minutes of work, Hephaestus put his tools down and pushed a set of clear glasses back on his head. He stood and looked at Hades with a pair of deep-set grey eyes. Hephaestus was huge, his physique chiseled like a marble statue. After landing on Lemnos and breaking his leg, it had been amputated. In its place was a prosthetic of his own design. It was gold but minimalistic, made of geometric shapes. Even not being able-bodied, he was probably the strongest physically, and definitely the smartest, of the gods.
“Hephaestus,” Hades nodded, looking at the metal and wires scattered across his table. Despite already knowing what these pieces were for, he asked, “What are you working on?”
“Nothing,” the god said quickly.
It did not surprise Hades that Hephaestus would keep quiet about his work. He had never been chatty, but after his exile and the scrutiny he had faced from other gods due to his scarred face and disability, he had become even more quiet.
“It cannot be nothing,” Hades said. “It does not look like nothing.”
Hephaestus blinked at the god and then answered, “A project.” He cleared his throat. “What can I do for you?”
Hades averted his eyes, looking around the room as he spoke. “I need your expertise. I need a weapon. One that will subdue violence and encourage truth.”
Hephaestus offered a hint of a smile. “Sounds like a riddle,” he said.
“You haven’t heard the last part,” Hades said. “It’s for an Olympian.”
Hephaestus raised a brow, but just as Hades suspected, the God of Fire did not ask questions.
“I can create something,” he said. “Come back in a day.”
There was silence for a moment, and then Hades said, “You know Aphrodite spies on you.”
Hades felt like a gossip. He was not sure why he was telling Hephaestus about Aphrodite’s secret. Maybe he felt like it was revenge for her bargain. Maybe he was hopeful it would encourage conversation between them, except that Hephaestus did not react to the news, his expression passive, disinterested.
“She is suspicious,” he said.
“Or curious,” Hades countered, because it was true.
“I suppose she can be both,” he replied, turning his back on Hades and focusing again on his work. Hades waited despite the silence, and finally, Hephaestus spoke in a quiet, coarse voice.
“She asked Zeus for a divorce. He will not grant it.”
“Is that what you want?” Hades asked. “A divorce?”
He watched the god’s profile—the way his jaw clenched and his fingers curled at the sound of the word. The God of Fire looked at Hades then, his brows drawn together, and there was a sincerity within his eyes Hades had never perceived before.
“I want her to be happy.”
***
Hades appeared at the center of a perfectly green meadow on the island of Sicily, where fifty pure-white cows grazed. A few feet away, Helios’s daughters, Phaethusa and Lampetie, slept beneath a fig tree, their wheezing breaths disrupting the silence of the night.
Hades had to admit, he felt a little guilty that these two would incur Helios’ wrath come morning, but not enough to leave their father unpunished for his vitriol.
Just as Hades began to select the best of Helios’ cattle to take with him to the Underworld, his phone rang.
It never rang.
Something is wrong.
“Yes?” he answered quickly, despite the chance he would wake the two sisters.
It was Ilias.
“My lord,” he said. “Lady Persephone is missing.”
He had never felt such a terrifying sense of dread. A thousand emotions converged upon him at once—rage and fear and alarm. He wanted to demand to know why Ilias had not watched her better, wanted to know where he had looked, wanted to threaten to end his life if he found her in any condition other than pristine.
But he knew Ilias, and by now, he knew Persephone.
Beautiful, defiant Persephone.
She was not one to obey, especially when told.
“I will be there in seconds,” Hades replied and hung up.
There was a beat of silence where Hades wrestled with every demon inside him. This fear was irrational, but it told him something important.
If the Fates did take her away, the world would not survive.
After a moment, he looked up, observing the white cows and spoke.
“I had hoped to take my time selecting only the best of you to join me in my realm, but it seems I am out of time.”
When Hades vanished, so did every cow in the meadow.
CHAPTER IX – A GAME OF FEAR & FURY
As soon as Hades’ feet touched Underworld soil, he could sense Persephone. Her presence in his realm was like an extension of himself. It weighted on his chest just as heavily as the thread that connected them.
He teleported again and appeared in the Fields of Mourning, where shoots of white gladioli and orchids grew. The Fields were once reserved for those who had wasted their lives on unrequited love. It had been one of the decisions Hades had made early in his reign and was born from his anger toward the Fates. If he was not destined to love, then he would punish those who had died because of it. He had since sent the souls who once resided here to other parts of the Underworld, letting the field remain beautifully landscaped, as it was the view the souls were treated to on their way to the Field of Judgement.
A few feet from where he had appeared, lying on the bank of the Styx, was Persephone. He attempted to absorb the scene through his rage—Persephone was on her back, her hair was wet, and she was covered with Hermes’ gold cloak, the thin, metallic material clinging to her damp body. Hermes knelt over her; his lips curled in a smile. He was clearly interested in Persephone, and he watched as the god tapped his lips, spoke, and made Persephone laugh.
That was when Hades decided to separate them.
He sent a burst of power barreling toward the god, who went flying halfway across the Underworld. Still, Hades frowned when Hermes did not land as far away as he had hoped, but the impact of his body hitting the ground was satisfying enough.
Hades strolled toward Persephone, who rose and turned, craning her neck to meet his gaze. She shifted Hermes’ cloak so that it draped over her shoulders, revealing the dress she had worn to his club—a thin, silver number with a neckline that teased the curve of her breasts. Now that it was wet, it clung to them, accentuating the peaks of her hard nipples.
Fucking Fates, Hades thought as a fire burned a path down his chest straight to his groin.
“Why did you do that?” Persephone demanded.
The god frowned, clenching his jaw. He could not tell if it was to suppress his reaction to her body or the fact that she was angry about Hermes.
“Your try my patience, goddess, and my favor,” he replied.
“So you are a goddess!” Hermes shouted enthusiastically, despite crawling from the pit his body had made upon impact.
Persephone narrowed her eyes, and Hades realized that he had only succeeded in making her more frustrated by outing her.