“This is a dangerous weapon,” Hades said, but when he looked at Hephaestus, he knew something else was on the god’s mind. His eyes were steely and menacing. Hades stiffened; he knew this look, he had seen it in the eyes of every mortal and immortal who had wished death upon him.
“Have you fucked my wife?” The question did not match Hephaestus’ cool composure or dispassionate tone, but Hades recognized himself in the God of Fire and knew that beneath his calm exterior, he was raging inside.
“No.”
“Eleftherose ton,” Hephaestus said, turning his scarred back to Hades as he was released from the restraints, the chains returning to the black box. Hades rubbed his wrists as the full weight of Hephaestus’ question settled upon him. He had thought Hades was sleeping with Aphrodite, and he had believed it so thoroughly, he felt he needed magic to get the truth.
Hades scooped up the box and straightened, staring at Hephaestus’ back.
“Why ask me about Aphrodite?” He could not help the frustration in his voice. He knew why Hephaestus had asked—because, despite his feigned indifference, he cared about his wife and who she chose to sleep with. He loved her, and yet he chose to be miserable, chose to be passive.
“Have I not revealed enough of my shame?” Hephaestus asked.
“It is not shameful to love your wife.”
Hephaestus said nothing.
“If you feared her infidelity, why did you release her from the bonds of marriage to begin with?”
The god tensed. Clearly, he did not know what Aphrodite had shared with him. That on the eve of his marriage to the Goddess of Love, Hephaestus had released her from all obligations of that marriage.
“She was forced to marry me,” Hephaestus said, as if that explained everything. Though, it was true. Zeus had arranged their marriage to keep peace among those who wanted Aphrodite for a wife.
“You didn’t have to agree,” Hades said.
Hephaestus’ muscles rippled, and the God of the Dead knew he had angered him. Yet when he spoke, his voice was calm, void of emotion.
“Who am I to reject a gift from Zeus?”
It was a simple comment, but it spoke volumes about how Hephaestus viewed himself—unworthy of happiness, of favor, of love.
Hades sighed. In truth, it was not his place to get involved in Hephaestus and Aphrodite’s relationship. He had enough to worry about as it was with the Fates, Sisyphus, and Persephone.
“Thank you, Hephaestus,” Hades said, lifting the box. “For your time.”
He teleported from the cavernous lab, appearing in the sky over the ocean, and let himself fall through billowing clouds. Hades landed on Earth, on the island of Atlantis. The impact shook the ground and marred the marble at his feet. Around him, Poseidon’s people—mortals who called themselves Atlanteans—screamed. It took seconds for his brother to appear, bare chested and wearing a pteruges, a decorative skirt made of leather strips. Gold cuffed his forearms, his wavy and blond hair was crowned with gold spears, and two large spiral markahor horns jutted from the top of his head.
The God of the Sea looked like he was prepared for battle, which was fair. Hades only ever visited when he had a score to settle, and this time was no different.
“Brother.” Poseidon offered a curt nod.
“Poseidon,” Hades said.
There was a moment of tense silence before Hades asked, “Where is Sisyphus?”
Poseidon smirked. “Not one for pleasantries, are you, Hades?”
Hades tilted his head to the side, and as he did, a great marble statue of Poseidon cracked and split. As the pieces crashed to the ground, more of Poseidon’s cult, who had stopped to stare, ran for cover, screaming.
“Stop destroying my island!” Poseidon commanded.
“Where is Sisyphus?” Hades demanded again.
His brother’s eyes narrowed, and he chuckled. “What did he do? Tell me it was good.”
Hades’ anger was acute, and for the first time since he had asked Hephaestus for a weapon to contain Poseidon’s fury, he realized it was just as much meant for him as it was his brother. Tired of wasting time, Hades tossed the box at Poseidon’s feet. In the next second, the God of the Sea found himself ensnared in chains. For a few seconds, Poseidon blinked in shock at the metal around his wrists. He pulled at them, trying to snap them with his strength, muscles bulging, veins popping, but no matter how hard he tried, they remained.
“What the fuck, Hades?” he snarled.
“Tell me where Sisyphus is hiding!” Hades’ voice was brutal and rough.
“I don’t know where your fucking mortal is,” Poseidon spat. “Release me!”
Hades could sense Poseidon’s power rising with his rage. The sea around the island churned violently, lapping at the edges of the landmass. Hades only hoped he could get the answers he was looking for before his brother’s violence was unleashed. Poseidon would not grieve the loss of his people if it meant revenge against him.
“Careful, brother. Your rage may add worshippers to my realm.”
It was the one thing he could say that would at least give Poseidon pause.
The god glared, his chest rising and falling with his anger, but Hades felt his magic ebb. Given his frustration, Hades had forgotten that the chains drew truth from their captor, which meant that Poseidon truly did not know where Sisyphus was.
He needed to ask a different question.
“How do you know Sisyphus de Ephyra?” Hades asked.
Poseidon roared, clearly trying to fight the words the magic pulled from his throat. “He saved my granddaughter from Zeus.”
Ah. Now they were getting somewhere.
“And did you reward him?”
“Yes,” Poseidon hissed.
“Did you grant him favor?”
“No.”
“What did you grant him?”
“A spindle.”
A spindle—a relic—just as Hades suspected. It explained how Sisyphus had been able to steal lives from another mortal.
“You gave a mortal a fucking spindle?” Hades snarled. “Why?”
For the first time since Hades had begun interrogating Poseidon, he seemed to speak with ease as he said, “To fuck with you, Hades. Why else?”
It was a petty reason, but a very Poseidon reason, nonetheless.
“I tell you what, though. I’ll make a deal with you,” Poseidon said. “A bargain, as you call it.”
“Those are brave words coming from someone who has no power to fight the magic holding them captive,” Hades observed.
“I’ll help you find Sisyphus. Hell, I’ll lure him here myself. If…”
Hades waited, hating how slow Poseidon spoke, how much time he wasted.
“If you release my monsters from Tartarus.”
“No.”
Hades’ did not even need to think. He would not relinquish any of the creatures who lived in the depths of Tartarus. They did not have a place in the modern world and definitely did not have a place in Poseidon’s hands.
The ground began to quake, and the ocean rose up on all sides of the island, welling in the cracks Hades had created in Poseidon’s marble. He had pushed too hard. Hades cast his magic like a net, enveloping the landmass in shadow to keep his brother at bay.
“You lost your monsters because you tried to overthrow Zeus,” Hades said through gritted teeth. Poseidon’s magic was heavy, and he felt like he was being buried alive as it battled against his wall of shadow. “Now you are angry because there were consequences for your actions. How childish.”
The disgust Hades felt for his brother in this moment fueled the strength of his magic, though Poseidon’s display was not surprising. His life had been a sequence of childish outbursts that had dire consequences for those involved.
“You claim to be a king and yet follow the rule of Zeus,” Poseidon spat.
“I follow my own rule,” Hades said. “It just doesn’t align with your will.”
Hades didn’t often agree with Zeus, but at least the God of the Sky believed in the existence of a free society. He believed that all gods had their role in the world, and that they should keep order within their specialty and nothing more.
Poseidon was not of the same mind, and if he could rule supreme, he would.
The problem was he had two equally powerful brothers who could—and would, and had—stopped him.
Hades closed his eyes and reached into his darkness, into the part of himself that had been born to war and chaos and destruction. To the part of himself that was desperate for control and order and power. He drew upon that desperation, that will, that strength, coaxing it to the surface until the power that welled deep in his chest exploded in a stream of shadow. It tore through Poseidon and his wall of water, and the god went to his knees, the ground shaking beneath him.
The two gods breathed hard and glared at one another, and as the water settled around them, Hades spoke.
“I have saved your people and your island. I am due a favor.”
There was a chance Poseidon would not agree, that he would go to the same dark place Hades had to retrieve power, but Hades hoped the God of the Sea would realize what was at stake—more than just monsters. If he fought, it would mean the end of Atlantis, his people, and perhaps his freedom.
Zeus had taken that before. Nothing would stop him from doing it again.
“Think, Poseidon. Do you really want your empire to end over this mortal?”
He could see the indecision warring in Poseidon’s eyes. At this point, it wasn’t about a mortal anymore, it was about Hades and the fact that he had challenged—and overpowered—Poseidon in front of his own people.
“Poseidon.” A musical, feminine voice called the god’s name.
Hades’ gaze shifted to Amphitrite, Poseidon’s wife. Her eyes were large and round and the color of peridot. They were eerie to behold and set in a delicate face. Long ginger hair shrouded her curvy body like a cape. She was beautiful and deeply in love with her husband, despite his infidelity.
In her presence, Poseidon’s anger evaporated and his body slumped. Hades watched as Amphitrite hurried to him, and the God of the Sea grasped her, chains rattling as he did. They held one another close before pulling apart and staring into each other’s eyes. Something passed between them, a wordless communication born from years of partnership. After a moment, Poseidon looked at Hades.
“A favor, then,” he agreed.
“You will help me capture Sisyphus,” Hades said. “Since you are responsible for this blight upon the world.”
It was like asking for Poseidon’s help and Hades hated it, but it was probably the easiest way to get Sisyphus off the streets and the spindle out of circulation.
“Iniquity,” Hades said. “Tomorrow at midnight.”
“Sisyphus will not come within a mile of your territory,” Poseidon said. “And not that quickly, especially after your…gross display of power. It will be a few days, and it will be in my territory.”
Hades did not like the idea of meeting on Poseidon’s turf. It meant that he had more at his disposal, both in power and people, but the God of the Sea was right. It was best to meet in a place that would not draw suspicion from Sisyphus.
“Fine,” Hades said. “Eleftherose ton.”
As Hades spoke the words, Poseidon was released from his chains. Amphitrite helped the burly god to his feet, which was almost comical, considering she was half his size. Poseidon drew her close, his large hands nearly spanning her waist, and kissed her. Hades averted his eyes, confused by their display of affection. If his brother loved his wife so much, why did he pursue other women? They seemed lost in one another for a moment, Poseidon’s anger toward his brother momentarily forgotten.
Hades used his magic to reclaim the small, black box Hephaestus had given him. There was no way he would let something so useful and so powerful slip through his hands. As the box came to land in Hades’ palm, Amphitrite looked at him. She might be his sister-in-law, but he knew very little about her, save that she could calm the seas and Poseidon.
But right now, Hades felt her fury.
“I think it is time you left, Lord Hades,” she said.
The corner of his mouth tipped, and he nodded before vanishing.
CHAPTER XII – A GAME WITH A GODDESS
Hades returned to the Underworld and summoned Ilias. He was exhausted after expending so much energy keeping Poseidon’s magic at bay, but he had a plan to locate Sisyphus. It was the first time he had felt any kind of success since the beginning of this ordeal.
He poured a glass of whiskey and drank quickly, approaching the window to look out upon his realm, spotting Hecate walking with Persephone. The two goddesses talked and smiled and laughed, and Hades could not help thinking how perfect Persephone looked in his realm, like she belonged there, like she should have always been there.
“My lord?” Ilias asked.
Hades turned his head and found the satyr beside him, brow raised.
“Enjoying the view?” he asked, amused.
Hades would have liked it better if he had realized Ilias had arrived.
“I have a job for you,” he said. “Poseidon gave Sisyphus a relic. A spindle, to be exact.”
The satyr’s eyes widened. “A spindle? Where did he get that?”
“That is your job,” Hades said. “Trace it.”
“And what would you like me to do when I find it?”
Usually, Hades gave Ilias free rein over how he dealt with illegal dealers. The satyr would organize raids, burn shops, destroy merchandise. On rare occasions, he found someone worthy of joining Iniquity.
“I want their name,” he replied. He would be visiting them personally.
“Consider it done,” Ilias bowed, but he did not leave Hades’ side. Looking outside, nodding toward Persephone and Hecate.
“She is curious about you,” he said.
“She is eager to examine my flaws,” Hades corrected.
The satyr chuckled. “I like her.”
“I am not seeking your approval, Ilias.”
“Of course not, my lord.”
With that, the satyr departed, and Hades watched until Persephone was no longer in view, but he could feel her presence in his realm, a torch that scorched a path across his skin. He considered seeking her out but thought against it. As much as he hoped to change Persephone’s opinion of himself, he also needed her to find solace and friendship in his realm.
Not needed.
Wanted.
He wanted her to find solace in his gardens, to walk the paths of the Underworld with Hecate, to celebrate with the souls. He wanted her to, one day, think of the Underworld as her home.
A strange feeling overcame him, one he was familiar with and hated—embarrassment. If anyone could hear his thoughts, they would laugh. The God of the Dead, hopeful for love, and yet he could not help it. When he had taken Persephone into his arms in the garden, when he had kissed her, he had suddenly understood what their life could be—passionate and powerful. He wanted that desperately.
And despite her dislike for him and his bargains, she could not deny her desire. He had felt it in the pull of her fingers through his hair, the mold of her soft body to his, and the desperation in her kiss.
His head started to rush, and a warmth spread through him that went straight to his cock. He groaned; he was going to have to expel some of this energy.
He shed his jacket and shirt and headed for the Asphodel Fields.
“Cerberus, Typhon, Orthrus, come!” he called, and turned in the direction of his approaching Dobermans. They charged through the grass, determined in their stride.
“Halt,” Hades commanded when they drew near, and the three obeyed and sat. Cerberus sat in the middle, Typhon on the right and Orthrus on the left. They were handsome dogs with glistening black coats, pointed ears, and wedge-shaped heads.
The three were never apart, always traveling in a pack, guarding the Underworld from intruders or unwelcomed deities who lived outside the gates of his realm. Sometimes, Hecate recruited them for various punishments, commanding them to feast upon innards or maul a deserving soul.
Hades preferred playtime.
“How are my boys, huh?” he asked, roughing up their ears. Their demeanor changed from fierce to playful. The dogs’ tails wagged, and their tongues lolled out of their mouths. “Punished a lot of souls today?”
He took some time to scratch behind their ears.
“Good boys, good, good boys.”
He summoned a red ball from thin air. When the dogs saw it, they sat straight, panting with anticipation. Hades grinned, tossing the ball into the air, once, twice, the dogs eyes following with rapt attention.
“Which one of you is fastest, huh? Cerberus? Typhon? Orthrus?”
As he called each Doberman’s name, they offered a growling bark, impatient for the chase.
Hades smirked, feeling a little devilish.
“Stay,” he commanded, and then threw the ball.
Fetch with Cerberus, Typhon, and Orthrus was not like fetch with normal dogs. Hades’ strength was great, and when he threw the ball, it went on for miles, but his Dobermans were unnaturally fast, able to travel across the Underworld in minutes.
Hades waited until the ball disappeared, before turning to the dogs. “Fetch.”
At his order, the dogs took off, muscles working powerfully. Hades laughed as the three raced to find the ball. They returned in no time, running in sync, the red ball clutched in Cerberus’ mouth, who brought it obediently to Hades and dropped it at his feet. He continued playing with his dogs, running in circles through the meadow, working off his frustration and lust until he felt breathless and sweaty.
He tossed the ball once more, free from the burden of his feelings, when he turned and found Persephone standing in the clearing, watching him with wide eyes.
Fuck.
She was beautiful, and his eyes traveled the length of her, unashamed. She had flowers in her hair—camellia, if he had to guess—and they threaded through long strands of curly blonde locks. She wore a blue tank that was cut in a low V at the neck, drawing attention to her breasts. Her shorts were white, revealing her long legs—legs he had fastened around his waist just days ago. As his eyes traveled back up her body, he found that her gaze had made the same descent, and he smirked.
He might have challenged her to deny her attraction, except the Goddess of Witchcraft was here and marching straight for him.
“You know they never behave for me after you spoil them!” she was saying, casting her arms out in the direction where Cerberus, Typhon, and Orthrus had disappeared. Her complaint was playful, mostly because the three were quick to listen, especially if instructed to return to their work.
He grinned. “They grow lazy under your care, Hecate.”
And fat. She liked to feed them.
Hades’ eyes slid to Persephone. “I see you have met the Goddess of Spring.”
He did not miss how she stiffened at the title.
“Yes, and she is quite lucky I did,” Hecate said, eyes flashing. “How dare you not warn her to stay away from the Lethe!”
His eyes snapped to Persephone, who was trying hard not to smile. It seemed she enjoyed hearing Hecate scold him, but Hecate was right, he should have warned her not to approach any of the rivers in the Underworld. The Lethe, in particular, was powerful, drawing memories from souls like air.
What would he have done if she had touched it? Drank from it? He shoved the thoughts away.
“It seems I owe you an apology, Lady Persephone.”
She was surprised. Perhaps she had not expected him to apologize, but she stared at him with those fiery emerald eyes and parted lips, and he found his desire for her renewed.
Then, the Horn of Tartarus sounded, and he and Hecate turned in its direction.
“I am being summoned,” Hecate said.
“Summoned?” Persephone asked.
“The judges are in need of my advice.”
The Judges, Minos, Rhadamanthus, and Aeacus, often summoned Hecate to sentence certain souls to eternal punishment, mostly those who had committed crimes against women.
“My dear,” Hecate said to Persephone, “call the next time you are in the Underworld. We’ll return to Asphodel.”
“I would love that,” Persephone said with a smile, and it made Hades’ heart beat harder.
She enjoyed her time with the souls. Good.
When they were alone, Persephone turned to Hades. “Why would the judges need Hecate’s advice?”
He cocked his head to the side, curious at her demanding tone, and answered, “Hecate is the Lady of Tartarus and particularly good at deciding punishments for the wicked.”
“Where is Tartarus?”
“I would tell you if I thought you would use the knowledge to avoid it.”
But given her history, he did not trust her.
“You think I want to visit your torture chamber?”
“I think you are curious and eager to prove I am as the world assumes—a deity to be feared.”
All things that would probably be confirmed if she found her way to his eternal torture chamber.
She gave him a challenging stare. “You’re afraid I’ll write about what I see.”
That made him laugh. “Fear is not the word, darling.”
He feared for her safety. He dreaded her assumptions.
She rolled her eyes. “Of course you fear nothing.”
Oh darling, you know nothing, he thought as he reached to pluck a flower from her hair. He twirled the stem between his fingers and asked, “Did you enjoy Asphodel?”
She smiled, and the honesty of it left him breathless. “I did. Your souls… They seem so happy.”
“You are surprised?”
“Well, you aren’t exactly known for your kindness.”
Hades lips flattened. “I’m not known for my kindness to mortals. There is a difference.”
“Is that why you play games with their lives?”
He studied her, frustrated by her question and the way she asked it—like she forgot that mortals came to him to bargain, not the other way around.
“I seem to recall advising that I would answer no more of your questions.”
Persephone’s inviting lips parted. “You can’t be serious.”
“As the dead.”
“But…how will I get to know you?”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “You want to get to know me?”
She looked away, glaring. “I’m being forced to spend time here, right? Shouldn’t I get to know my jailer better?”
“So dramatic,” he muttered, and fell quiet, considering. He wanted to answer her questions because he wanted her to understand his perspective, but he wanted control. He wanted the ability to limit, to explain until understanding was achieved, he wanted to be able to ask her questions, too.
“Oh, no.”
Persephone’s voice drew his attention, and he raised a brow. “What?”
“I know that look.”
“What look?”
“You get this…look,” she explained, and paused, like she did not quite know how to explain. He liked watching her search for the right words, brows knitted together over her pretty eyes. “When you know what you want.”
“Do I?” he asked, and couldn’t help teasing her. “Can you guess what I want?”
“I’m not a mind reader!” His question flustered her, her cheeks turning crimson. She might be more of a mind reader than she thought.
“Pity,” he said. “If you would like to ask questions, then I propose a game.”
“No,” she said flatly. “I’m not falling for that again.”
“No contract,” he promised. “No favors owed, just questions answered. Like you want.”
She lifted her chin and narrowed those lovely eyes, and he had the fleeting thought that he would like for her to look at him like that while she rode his cock, hard and fast.
Fuck me, he thought.
“Fine,” she agreed at last. “But I get to pick the game.”
His instinct was to reject her offer, and the words were on the tip of his tongue. No, I hold the cards. But as he considered the consequences, he thought it might be a chance to show her he could be flexible.
Finally, he grinned. “Very well, goddess.”
He led Persephone to his office, where he had watched her walk with Hecate earlier. He left her alone for a few minutes, long enough to change, and when he returned, she was standing near the windows. At his appearance, she looked at him over her shoulder.
His steps faltered, and he paused in the doorway, staring.
She was beautiful, wreathed in the landscape of the Underworld.
“This is a beautiful view,” she said.
“Very,” he breathed, and then cleared his throat. “Tell me about this game.”
She grinned and turned fully toward him. “It’s called rock, paper, scissors.”
She explained the game, demonstrating the various shapes—rock, paper, and scissors—with her hands. Despite her enthusiasm, Hades was not impressed.
“This game sounds horrible.”
“You’re just mad because you haven’t played,” she countered. “What’s wrong? Afraid you’ll lose?”
Hades laughed the question off. “No. It sounds simple enough. Rock beats scissors, scissors beats paper, and paper beats rock. How exactly does paper beat rock?”
“Paper covers rock,” Persephone said.
“That doesn’t make sense. Rock is clearly stronger.”
Persephone shrugged. “Why is an ace a wild card?”
“Because it’s the rules.”
“Well, it’s a rule that paper covers rock,” she said.