Hades wasn’t sure what disturbed him more, Apollo’s moodiness or the knowledge that whatever had aided in taking Adonis’s life was a curved blade.
It made him think of one blade in particular—his father’s scythe.
“What’s wrong?” Hades asked.
“What’s wrong?” Apollo repeated, whipping around to face the God of the Dead. “I don’t know, Hades. Perhaps I am angry because I was waterboarded awake.”
Hades rolled his eyes and sighed, but Apollo wasn’t finished.
“Or maybe it’s because I spent most of my day elbows-deep in a fucking body after being summoned to a fucking crime scene at four in the gods-damned morning.”
Hades watched the god as he started to pace.
“Or maybe it’s because I haven’t fucked anyone in a month, but you would know nothing about that because you get fucked every night, multiple times a night.”
“I…do not know what we’re talking about anymore, Apollo, but I think you need therapy.”
“What I need is everyone to leave me the fuck alone!”
There was silence, and then Hades asked, “Apollo…are you in love?”
“What? No!”
“Who is it this time?”
“Don’t make it sound like it means nothing,” Apollo said.
That was not Hades’s intention, though he had known Apollo for a very long time. He’d had a revolving door of lovers, some willing, most unwilling, and he’d claimed to love them all.
“All right then,” Hades said. “What makes this one different?”
“I don’t know,” Apollo said, frustrated. “That’s the problem. I just want him.”
“And what? He doesn’t want you?”
The god was silent.
“Apollo?”
“I don’t want to find out,” he muttered.
“What?”
“I don’t want to find out!” he shouted, and his eyes were glassy. “You don’t know what this is like, but I have loved so many, and they have never loved me back.”
“Apollo—”
“I don’t want to want this man,” he said. “It would be better for both of us.”
All Hades had wanted was to know what had killed Adonis. Why was this his life?
“The problem is that you do want him,” said Hades. “So what are you going to do about it?”
Apollo blinked. “What do you mean?”
“You want this man, whoever he is—”
“Ajax. His name is…Ajax.”
“You want Ajax. So you can either tell him your feelings or you can do nothing, but if you do nothing, you will have to accept that he will eventually find someone else.”
“Who is to say that isn’t for the best?”
“You cannot compare every lover to Hyacinth, Apollo. That is not fair to you or the lover.”
“Would you not compare every lover to Persephone?” he countered.
Hades’s jaw tightened, and he glared at Apollo. He wouldn’t indulge his temper.
“I remember an Apollo who was willing to lose just to win the love of his life,” said Hades. “And here you are, not even willing to take a risk.”
“That Apollo died a long time ago,” Apollo said. “To think, you could have been rid of me if you’d just thrown me into Tartarus.”
Hades had rejected Apollo’s plea to die in the aftermath of Hyacinth’s death, and he’d had many reasons for it, one being that granting such a wish would have been seen as taking a life, and the Fates would have demanded a soul, a give-and-take, and there was no telling what they’d have done with a sacrifice as great as Apollo.
“While it is true you annoy the ever living fuck out of me,” Hades said, “and I could murder you for the bargain you struck with Persephone…I would miss this.”
“Miss what?” Apollo asked, confused.
“This,” Hades said, waving a hand at the whole of Apollo, “pathetic…”
“Pathetic?”
“…pitiable…”
“Pitiable?”
“…miserable…”
“Miserable?”
“…thing you have going on. It really exudes God of Light.”
“Fuck you,” Apollo said.
Hades chuckled darkly.
“You’re the one who asked what was wrong,” Apollo muttered.
“I also asked how Adonis died,” said Hades. “And all you told me was that he was stabbed with a curved blade.”
“Did you miss the part where I said multiple times?” Apollo snapped.
“Show me the body,” Hades said. “Show me the wounds.”
Apollo offered a sigh that sounded more like a growl, a single word slipping between gritted teeth.
“Fine.”
Hades manifested inside one of Apollo’s dark, cold temples. This particular one was no longer in use and was located in what was now known as the old agora in New Athens. In ancient times, this had been a lively public space where citizens gathered to celebrate, worship, play games, and demonstrate the arts. Now, in the aftermath of battles and deadly weather, it was mostly in ruins.
Apollo appeared and pushed Hades aside, striding to the corner of the room where a metal table was positioned against the wall.
“Don’t you think you should change?” Hades asked, as the god was still wearing his prized kimono. If he had thought water had ruined it, wasn’t blood worse?
But Apollo did not seem to care. He latched on to the white, bloodied cloth that covered Adonis’s body and pulled it off with a flourish.
Hades had seen a lot of dead bodies—a lot—so he was surprised that he was not quite prepared for this.
He approached the body slowly. Now that Adonis was clean, Hades could make out the wide wounds down his torso and along his legs and arms, even his face. Around each laceration, reddish-brown bruises had blossomed, as if he’d been stabbed to the hilt with more force than necessary. It was damage beyond anything Hades could imagine with a normal knife.
Then Hades noticed one wound on his side that did not seem to have stopped bleeding.
Strange.
“Apollo,” Hades said. “You are certain there’s nothing left in those wounds?”
“I dug in each of them,” Apollo said.
“Why is this one bleeding?”
“Dead bodies don’t bleed, Hades—” Apollo went silent as he came around the body and stood beside Hades. “I don’t think that’s blood,” said Apollo. The god stepped forward and stuck his finger into the leaking wound.
“Don’t you want gloves or something?” Hades asked, cringing at the squishy sound it made.
Apollo said nothing as he fished around. “Ouch! Motherfucker!” he said, pulling out his finger. As he did, he shook his hand, sending a spray of bodily fluids across the room.
Hades shielded his face. “What is it?” he demanded.
Still Apollo did not answer and grabbed a long pair of tweezers. This time, he shoved them into the wound, and after a few seconds, something clanked onto the metal table.
Apollo picked it up and rubbed his thumb over it. “What is it?” he asked.
“It’s the tip of a scythe,” Hades said. “The tip of Cronos’s scythe.”
CHAPTER X
HADES
Hades kept the tip of Cronos’s scythe.
He hated the feel of it—heavy and hot, as if the metal might burn through the fabric of his pocket and brand his chest. When he returned to his chambers, he reached inside to check it but found the metal was cool to the touch.
He was going to need it when he confronted Poseidon about how it had found its way inside a mortal man and far from his shores.
The blade itself was forged partly from adamant and had been given to his father by Gaia. It had the ability to wound the divine. Cronos had used it to castrate his father, and the blood that had dripped to the earth birthed the Furies, the Goddesses of Vengeance and Retribution.
Once Zeus had rescued Hades and Poseidon from Cronos’s bowels, they had taken his scythe, the weapon that had come to symbolize his power and struck fear in other gods, and tossed it deep into the ocean.
Then, Poseidon had been a different person, as they all had been, but it was never too late for regret, especially seeing the chaos his brother was so willing to cause.
Being mortal, Adonis would not have survived a single stab wound, much less the fourteen that had punctured his body. Equally as worrying was the fact that someone was still in possession of the rest of the blade. Being broken did not make it any less powerful.
What if these attackers went after a god? Even a minor one?
What things might spring from their blood?
Mortals likely did not understand the consequences of god killing, but Poseidon was well aware.
A shocking wave of hatred twisted his gut. He could not figure out who exactly he felt it for more—Cronos or Poseidon. Whatever game his brother was playing was dangerous. Something was happening, moving beneath the surface of the world. There were too many weapons that could cause harm to gods—first the ophiotaurus, now the scythe, and Demeter’s fucking snowstorm did not help mortal opinion of the gods. What was next?
The more he learned, the more he feared for Persephone.
He looked up, expecting to find Persephone sleeping or even awake and waiting for him, but the bed was empty. He panicked for only a second before managing to relax. He could feel her here in the Underworld, her presence skating across his skin as if she were beside him.
She was near.
He left their room and started his search of the castle, finding her rather quickly in the kitchen. She stood behind the island mixing some kind of batter in a bowl. She was completely oblivious to his presence, and he liked it that way for now. He could observe her freely, without any sort of mask she might put in place to hide herself.
He should not be surprised to find her baking—she did this often when she could not sleep. She hummed quietly as she sprinkled flour into the bowl and paused now and then to sip from a bottle of his whiskey, which was almost gone.
His brows rose at how easily she seemed to be consuming it, recalling that the last time she’d tried it, she hated it.
He wondered just how drunk she was.
When Persephone finished mixing, she poured her mixture into a pan, and he watched as she smoothed the spatula over the top and then brought it to her lips to lick away what remained.
She hummed her approval, which was Hades’s sign to make himself known, because he too wanted to know how it tasted—but on her tongue.
“How does it taste?”
He manifested behind her, so close his cock pressed into her ass. He leaned forward as she turned her head toward his voice and answered.
“Divine.”
She turned in the small space he had given her and gathered some of the batter onto her finger.
“Taste,” she implored.
Hades took her hand to lick at the batter, and then he closed his mouth over her finger and sucked hard and slow, holding her gaze until he was finished. The way she watched him made him groan, and his hips settled against hers, his gaze dropping to her mouth.
“Exquisite,” he said, his voice quiet. “But I have tasted divinity and there is nothing sweeter.”
He was trying to decide how to continue what they had started at Sybil’s when she turned away from him abruptly. She returned the spatula to the bowl and picked up the brownies. He took a step back as she shifted to the oven. He could feel and see the heat as she opened the door. It seemed to melt the very air.
“Where were you?” she asked as she slid them onto a rack.
“I had business,” he said, which he realized was not the best reply, especially when she slammed the oven door.
She turned to him, her gaze more of a glare. “Business? At this hour?”
His business was always at this hour, which was anywhere from the middle of the night to early morning.
“I make bargains with monsters, Persephone,” he said. “And you, apparently, bake.”
She did not like his answer because she did not come to him like he wanted. He thought of how he’d left her in the limo, desperate and wanting. Perhaps he was stupid to hope that when he came home, she would be waiting to rekindle that same wild desire.
Or perhaps she’d taken care of herself and did not need him, but she did not seem so much sated as she was tired.
“You couldn’t sleep?”
“I didn’t try,” she said.
Hades frowned and then nodded to the bottle on the counter. “Is that my whiskey?”
Hades wasn’t sure why she needed to look—she was well aware of what he was pointing out—but when she did not look at him again, he felt like perhaps it was an excuse to avoid him altogether.
“Was,” she answered, and he moved closer, coaxing her gaze to return to his and pressing his mouth to hers. She tasted like chocolate and whiskey, and it truly was divine. Her hands fisted into his jacket, and she pulled him closer, sealing their bodies together.
“I ache for you,” he growled against her mouth. He let his hands smooth down her back to her ass, squeezing her with one and moving the other between them to tease her hot center. Her breath caught in her throat, and he knew she was already wet for him. Perhaps her desire had not ceased since he’d left, and when he entered her body, she would be drenched and dripping.
Fuck.
His cock tightened at the thought, and he felt like his whole head was going to explode.
He continued to kiss her while he touched her, and though he’d have liked to lift her onto the counter then and taste her, he also recognized that the way this had begun was in the aftermath of that fucking game, and he needed to make a few things clear before they continued.
He moved his hand from between her legs and instead rolled his hips into hers.
“Let’s play a game.”
“I think I am done with games for the night,” she said.
“Just one,” he said—urged, really.
He kissed along her jaw and then reached for the batter-covered spatula she’d used earlier.
She looked at it and then at him.
“Never have I ever,” he murmured as he smoothed the batter over her chest.
Persephone shivered against him. “Hades—”