“Shh,” he said, and when she pressed her lips together in firm frustration, he touched the spatula to her mouth. When she started to lick at it, he pressed it against her lips as if it were a finger to hush her. “Stop. That’s for me.”
She held his gaze, and he felt her uncertainty and her curiosity. Her lips parted and she waited.
He continued. “Never have I ever wanted anyone but you.”
“Never?” she questioned. He didn’t think she even realized how skeptical she sounded. “Even before you knew I existed?”
“Yes.”
His answer sounded more like a hiss as it slipped between his teeth, but he was closing the distance between them, drawing his tongue over her mouth, sucking her bottom lip between his teeth. She tasted so good, so sweet, so right.
He let his body rest against hers as she found purchase against the counter, his lips teasing along her jaw as he whispered truths against her skin.
“Before you, I only knew loneliness, even in a room full of people—it was an ache, sharp and cold and constant, and I was desperate to fill it.”
“And now?” The question was almost a demand, as if she did not care about before anymore, just now, just this moment.
Hades smiled as he continued his exploration of her body, making his way to her chest.
“Now I ache to fill you,” he said and licked the batter he’d used to mark her skin. His hands moved to cup her breasts, and he teased her nipples, which strained against the silky fabric of her gown. She took that as an invitation to try to undress him, but he wanted control because he still had questions.
He let his hands fall to her ass again, and he lifted her onto the edge of the counter, spreading her legs wide as he stepped between them.
“Tell me about tonight.”
It wasn’t a question, and his hands smoothed over her thighs, beneath the hem of her dress. Persephone squirmed beneath his touch. He imagined if he were not wedged between her thighs, she would have them closed and rubbing together just to create some kind of friction to ease her suffering.
“I don’t want to talk about tonight,” she said in a breathy moan.
She reached for his hand and drew him closer to her entrance, and while he would not give her exactly what she wanted just yet, he would take pleasure in teasing her until she answered his questions.
He circled a finger along her opening, around her clit, but he did not touch it, though he could feel it straining and swollen.
“I do,” he said. “You were upset.”
Persephone didn’t look at him. Her eyes were closed, her brows furrowed in concentration even as she admitted, “I feel…stupid.”
Well, that was something at least, even if he did not like that she felt that way.
“Never,” he said as he slipped an arm around her shoulders, his finger dipping into her sweet heat. “Tell me.”
Her fingers dug into his biceps.
“I was jealous that you had shared so much with so many before me, and I know you cannot help it and that you have lived so long…but I…”
Her breath caught in her throat and her legs tightened around him as he continued to use his fingers and thumb to pleasure her, but it did not matter. He did not need to hear any more.
He leaned closer to her, his mouth hovering over hers. “I’d have had you from the beginning,” he said. “But the Fates are cruel.”
“I was only given to punish,” she said.
Those words were like a knife to his chest. She was referring to the fact that while the Fates had granted Demeter’s wish to have a child, it had come with one consequence—her life would be intertwined with Hades’s, one of the gods Demeter hated most.
As much as it seemed to be an insecurity for her, it also was for him.
Still, he refused to think too long on it—to consider that just as their futures had been woven, they could also be unraveled.
“No,” he soothed. “You are pleasure. My pleasure.”
He pressed his mouth to hers, fingers continuing to move inside her slick heat and tease her clit until her legs were so tight around him, he thought she would burst. That was the point he wished to drive her to over and over so that when she finally came, it would leave her in no doubt of his obsession.
He left her body, and she gave a guttural, angry cry. He liked it. He liked the wetness dripping from his fingers and the way she glared at him as he guided her to her back.
“It is you now, you forever,” he said as she lifted her heels onto the edge of the counter, letting her legs fall open. He braced his hands on her thighs, his eyes falling to her exposed, pink center. It was swollen and wet, and he bent to taste her, licking from the bottom to the top, suckling gently on her clit, which felt thick in his mouth.
He fucking loved it. His mouth watered for it, and she bent to his will beneath him, writhing beautifully as if she had never felt him this way before.
When he entered her, she practically suctioned to his fingers, her flesh so swollen.
It wouldn’t take long to bring her to release.
She groaned between long bouts of holding her breath, reaching to tangle her fingers in his hair, to hold him tight against her for fear he would stop—and stop he did.
“What are you doing?” she demanded as he pulled her up and off the counter.
She glared up at him as he held her, his fingers biting into her body.
“When I’m finished, the next time we play that damned game, you’ll walk away so drunk, I’ll have to carry you home.”
“So what? You intend to fuck me in all the ways I haven’t been fucked tonight?”
Yes, he thought, his cock straining. He wanted to feel her around him—all that swollen heat coaxing come into her body as if she were starved for it.
“Technically, it’s morning,” he said in a breathless chuckle.
“I have to go to work soon.”
“Pity,” he said and turned her around and pushed her until her cheek met the granite countertop.
She bent to his will, as malleable as ever, and when he sank into her, she gasped, back bowing beneath him as he pumped into her in short, measured thrusts. He moved his hand from the back of her head and cupped it over her mouth, letting his fingers dive past her lips.
She sucked them hard, and his dick grew taut inside her, his head swimming with nothing but her. Then he pulled her up, her back as close to his front as possible, his thrusts more like grinds.
“I haven’t forgotten your earlier claim,” he said, his mouth near her ear.
“I lied,” she said, her words barely audible, she was so lost in the pleasure of this moment.
“I know, and I intend to discourage such lies,” he said, mouth closing over her skin, sucking any part of her that was exposed to him. “I will fuck you to the point that you are desperate for release—over and over again so that when you finally do come, you won’t even remember your name.”
“You think you’ll be able to stop?” she said, breathless, and yet there was a challenge to her voice. “To deprive yourself of the satisfaction of my orgasm?”
He smiled against her. “If it means hearing you beg for me, darling—yes.”
He pushed her head toward his and their mouths collided. He felt completely out of control, and he refused to find it. All he wanted was to lose himself in this, in her.
He pulled away and turned her toward him, hooking her leg over his arm to enter her again, to kiss her again. He didn’t really care which position he took her in so long as he was inside her, so long as she was delirious with pleasure. And when her body began to quiver, he lifted her up and pressed her against the wall for support and continued his hungry exploration of her body.
“I love you. I have only ever loved you.”
The truth of those words tightened his chest.
“I know,” she said, a nearly inaudible reply.
“Do you?”
He was not sure she could ever understand the depth of his feeling, how completely and utterly grateful he was for every moment he had with her.
But then, he also could not pretend to understand her either.
As much as he had hoped, as much as he had wished for a reprieve from this world, a single bright spot in his life, she had too.
“I know,” she said vehemently. “I love you. I just want everything. I want more. I want all of you.”
“You have it,” he said, her declaration urging him on.
His mouth met hers and he held her to him tightly, one hand digging into her flesh, the other pressed to the wall for support as he drove into her, finally ready to make her come, ready to come himself.
But the distinct feel of Hermes’s magic entering the Underworld made him stop.
“Fuck!” he snapped with all the venom in the world.
It was the second time the god had interrupted them, and for that, he would pay.
He left Persephone’s quivering body, her angry and anguished cry making his body ache. She thought he only meant to torture her more before he allowed release, but she would understand soon enough.
He had just managed to adjust Persephone’s dress and himself when Hermes appeared. And while at first Hades had expected some sort of snide comment about the air smelling like sex and brownies or admonishing their fucking in the kitchen where food was made, Hermes looked completely…desolate.
Fuck. Something horrible had happened.
“Hades, Persephone—Aphrodite has asked for your presence. Immediately.”
Hades did not mind going, but Persephone?
He held her closer.
“At this hour?”
“Hades,” Hermes almost begged, his face growing paler by the second. “It’s…not good.”
Hades’s heart stuttered in his chest. Who was it now? he thought. Hephaestus?
“Where?”
“Her home.”
CHAPTER XI
HADES
Hades brought Persephone to Aphrodite’s home on Lemnos. He was never sure where he might appear when he teleported there—the locations had varied over time, but it all depended on where she or Hephaestus decided to grant access.
Today, it was the God of Fire’s study, which surprised him, given that Hephaestus did not even allow Hades direct access to his workshop, but he understood why as soon as they manifested.
Aphrodite sat at the base of a chaise positioned in the center of the room, bent over a woman who lay in an unnatural position. Hades recognized her as Harmonia, though it took him a moment because of how badly she was beaten.
She was the Goddess of Harmony, Aphrodite’s sister.
This was exactly what he had feared.
Every inch of her exposed skin was covered in dirt or blood or bruises, and at the top of her head were two blunt bones. They were her horns, and they had been cut from her head.
“Oh my gods.” Persephone’s voice shook, and she left Hades’s side to go to Aphrodite. He squeezed his hands into fists to keep from pulling her back to him, to keep from shielding her from this. In some ways, she needed to know the reality of the world and how it preyed on them just as it did on mortals.
But this was worrying. A second attack and this time a goddess, both connected to Aphrodite.
Hades looked up and into the shadowed room, finding Hephaestus nearby. He was not surprised. He was never far behind when Aphrodite was in trouble, her constant shadow, even if she did not realize it.
“What happened?” he asked.
Hephaestus’s eyes gleamed in the dark, a hint of the anger Hades could feel roiling inside him.
“We don’t know for certain. We believe she was walking her dog, Opal, when she was attacked and had just enough strength to teleport here. When she arrived, she was not conscious, and we have not been able to rouse her.”
It sounded similar to what had happened to Adonis. They’d both been alone when attacked and at night.
“Whoever did this will suffer,” Hermes said, his voice shaking with anger.
The problem with what happened here was twofold. Not only was Harmonia a goddess—someone of divine blood—but she was also kind.
Persephone’s gaze moved from Hermes to Hades.
“Who is she?” she asked.
“My sister,” Aphrodite said, her voice was thick with emotion. She sniffed and then took a breath as she whispered her name. “Harmonia.”
“Can you heal her?” Persephone asked him, and her question made his chest ache. She asked because he healed her often, but this was beyond what he could do. Harmonia’s injuries were far too numerous.
“No,” he said, feeling as though he was disappointing her somehow. Despite all his power, he was not all-powerful. “For this, we will need Apollo.”
“I never thought those words would come out of your mouth,” said Apollo, who appeared at Hades’s summons.
The God of Music had changed. Now he was dressed in armor, as if he were preparing for practicing or training, which wasn’t outside the realm of possibility considering the Panhellenic Games were approaching and Apollo oversaw training at the Palaestra of Delphi.
His smug expression soon fell when he caught sight of Harmonia.
“What happened?” he asked, striding forward and wedging himself between Aphrodite and Persephone.
“We do not know,” said Hermes.
“That’s why we summoned you,” Hades said.
Persephone’s brows lowered. “I…don’t understand. How would Apollo know what happened to Harmonia?”
It was an indication of how little Persephone knew about the gods and their power, and though not completely surprising, it worried Hades. He had years to study their many and varied powers, to learn what to anticipate if they battled—but not Persephone. She took their titles as an indication of their abilities, like many mortals.
“As I heal, I can view memories,” Apollo said. “I should be able to tap into her injuries and discover how she received them…and from who.”
Despite the pride with which Apollo spoke, the power of viewing memories could be dangerous. There was always the possibility that he would not be able to tell the difference in what he was seeing versus his reality, and if he believed he was being attacked, he could face the same outcome as Harmonia.
Persephone rose to her feet and took a step away. Hades wished she would come to his side. He wanted her near, if only for his own comfort, but she remained, watching Apollo as he placed his hands on Harmonia, gently brushing her hair from her face.
“Sweet Harmonia. Who did this to you?”
Apollo began to glow and so did Harmonia, and it wasn’t long before the god began to shake, his body convulsing as he viewed Harmonia’s memories.
Persephone couldn’t handle it, and she surged forward, pushing him away from the goddess.
“Apollo, stop!”
He fell back, catching himself before he splayed on the floor.
“Are you okay?” Persephone asked.
Apollo’s hand was under this nose, stained with crimson, but he looked at her and smiled. “Aw, Seph. You really do care.”
Despite the fact that Hades did not like Apollo having a nickname for his lover, he was glad for the comfort he attempted to offer.
Persephone was far too caring for her own good.
“Why isn’t she waking up?” Aphrodite’s voice was high-pitched and desperate, her fear radiating through everyone present.
No one wanted Harmonia to die.
“I don’t know. I healed her as much as I could,” Apollo said. “The rest…is up to her.”
Once again, Hades felt Persephone turn to him.
How often would she look to him for guidance? How often would he fail her?
“Hades?”
His name fell off her tongue, an unspoken question hanging in the air between them—would she survive this?
“I do not see her lifeline ending,” he said. “The more pressing question is what you saw as you healed her, Apollo.”
He was frustrated that the god had yet to tell them what he’d seen in Harmonia’s memories, though he knew his anger was misplaced. The god was still recovering from whatever he’d witnessed.
“Nothing,” Apollo admitted, rubbing circles over his temple. Then he added in a low and defeated voice, “Nothing that will help us anyway.”
“So you couldn’t view her memories?” Hermes asked.
“Not much. They were dark and hazy, a trauma response, I think. She’s probably trying to suppress them, which means we may not have any more clarity when she wakes. Her attackers wore masks—white ones with gaping mouths.”
“But how did they manage to harm her at all?” Aphrodite asked. “Harmonia is the Goddess of Harmony. She should have been able to influence these…vagrants and calm them.”
“They must have found a way to subdue her power,” Hermes said.
Hades swallowed something thick in his throat as they all exchanged uneasy looks.
“But how?” asked Persephone.
“Anything is possible,” Apollo replied. “Relics cause problems all the time.”
Hades was well aware of the problems they caused.
“Hades?”
Once again, Persephone called to him.
“It could be a relic or perhaps a god eager for power,” he said.
What he didn’t say was that it could be both. He thought of Poseidon, who had handed a spindle over to the mortal Sisyphus. He could have used it to manipulate the lifelines of mortals, but instead, he chose to kill them.
And now there was a chance Poseidon had given over a scythe.
“Any ideas, Hephaestus?” Hades asked.
Despite shaking his head, Hades thought the god knew otherwise.
“I would need to know more.”
“Let her rest, and when she wakes, give her ambrosia and honey,” Apollo advised as he rose to his feet.
Persephone also stood, and when Apollo stumbled, she caught his arm to steady him.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked.
Her concern for him was misplaced, Hades thought—a point that was driven home when he opened his mouth again.
“Yeah.” Apollo smirked. “Stay alert, Seph. I’ll summon you soon,” he said and vanished.
Hades glared at the space where Apollo had been, still uncomfortable with the bargain he and Persephone continued to maintain. He did not like the idea that Apollo could summon his fiancée when he pleased, especially in this environment, where goddesses were openly being attacked.
He met Persephone’s gaze briefly before shifting his attention to Aphrodite.
“Why summon us?”
It was probably obvious to Persephone, but it wasn’t obvious to Hades. Aphrodite knew he could not heal or view memories.
Aphrodite straightened and looked at him. He wasn’t really prepared to see her face—eyes rimmed in red and swollen. He’d never seen her so distraught, and it made him uncomfortable.
“I summoned Persephone, not you,” she said.
They both glared at Hermes.
“What?” he demanded. “You know Hades wouldn’t let her come alone!”
“Me?” Persephone asked. “Why?”
Why indeed, Hades thought.
“I would like you to investigate Adonis’s and Harmonia’s attacks.”
“No,” Hades said immediately. He would not even entertain the idea. Persephone did not need to be involved. He was taking care of it. “You are asking my fiancée to put herself in the path of these mortals who hurt your sister. Why would I say yes?”
“She asked me, not you,” Persephone snapped, her gaze just as frustrated. There was a brief pause, and then she turned back to Aphrodite. “Still, why me? Why not ask Helios for assistance?”
Hades was already shaking his head.
“Helios is an asshole,” Aphrodite said. “He feels he owes us nothing because he fought for us during the Titanomachy. I’d rather fuck his cows than ask for his assistance. No, he would not give me what I want.”
“And what do you want?” Persephone asked.
“Names, Persephone,” Aphrodite said. “I want the name of every person who laid a hand on my sister.”
But not Adonis? Hades glanced at Hephaestus, wondering if she censored herself because of him.
“I cannot promise you names, Aphrodite. You know I can’t.”
“You can,” she insisted. “But you won’t because of him.”
Hades ground his teeth. “You are not the Goddess of Divine Retribution, Aphrodite.”
“Then promise me you will send Nemesis to enact my revenge.”
“I will make no such promise.”
If Aphrodite decided to kill someone whose fate did not involve her, she would be punished. How, he could not say, but the Fates would come for her eventually.
“Whoever hurt the mortal and Harmonia has an agenda,” Hephaestus said. “Harming those who assaulted them will not lead us to the greater purpose. You might also, inadvertently, prove their cause.”
Aphrodite did not like what her husband was saying, but then again, Hades liked it less as he continued to speak.
“If that’s the case, I can see the value of Persephone investigating Harmonia’s assault. She fits in—as a mortal and a journalist. Given her record of slander against gods, they may even think they can trust her, or at least turn her to their cause. In either case, it would be a better way to understand our enemy, make a plan, and act.”
“I would do nothing without your knowledge,” Persephone said, holding Hades’s gaze. “And I will have Zofie.”
“We will discuss the terms.”
It wasn’t a no, but it wasn’t a yes either. Still, he was rewarded with her soft smile, and that felt like conquering the world.
“But for now, you need rest,” he said, and then he looked at Hephaestus because he did not trust Aphrodite or Hermes for that matter. “Summon us once Harmonia wakes.”
Hades took them to their chambers.
When they arrived, they stood apart but faced each other. Neither of them moved.
He was attempting to process what it meant to involve her in discovering Adonis and Harmonia’s attackers. If it was something she could do from the safety of Alexandria Tower, her investigative work could help, but was she ready for this? Because right now, he feared she was about to break, and he wasn’t even sure she knew it.
“You will keep me informed of every step you take, every bit of information you glean on this case,” he said. “You will teleport to work. If you leave for any reason, I have to know. You will take Zofie everywhere.” He shifted closer to her, bending over her. “And, Persephone, if I say no…”
He meant it. He could not even verbalize what consequences he would enact if she disobeyed, but they would be dire, and she would hate him.
“Okay,” she said, and there was a sincerity in her tone and in her gaze he believed so deeply it hurt his chest.
He exhaled and then brought her forehead to his, hands braced at the base of her head.
“If anything happened to you—”
He couldn’t let himself imagine it—her in place of Harmonia.
“Hades, I’m here. I am safe. You will not let anything happen to me.”
“But I did,” he said.
He’d let Pirithous take her, and he had not known. He’d let him violate her.
What good is being God of the Dead if you can’t do anything?she had asked him once in the face of Lexa’s death, but he asked himself that now. What good were his powers if he couldn’t even protect Persephone?
“Hades—”
“I do not wish to discuss it,” he said, releasing her. He took a step back. “You need rest.”
He rarely put distance between them, but he needed it right now. He hated how it seemed to stun Persephone. She watched him for a moment as if she thought he would call her back, but instead, he turned to pour a drink and she retreated to the bathroom to shower.
She must think he was rejecting her, but she did not want him right now. At least she wouldn’t, not if she knew what he was thinking.
And he was thinking that he would never let her leave the Underworld. He had threatened as much before, but these attacks were too close, and it wasn’t as if she hadn’t been targeted either. Ilias was still looking for the woman who had poured hot coffee in her lap.
It angered him that his realm was not enough. He could never embody the warm summer sun or the blue skies of the mortal realm, and she would never be content to only rule the dead.
She thrived on purpose, on changing the world.
But she had changed his world, and while there were moments when he felt better for it, there were also moments when he felt more violent than he ever had before, more capable of terrible things.
It was wrong to want to hold her hostage, but he was angry. Aphrodite had drawn her into this world, exposing her to what he had tried so hard to shield her from, and of course she had been willing and ready to help. She took responsibility for everyone.
It was a quality he could usually admire except in this manner, when gods were the victims.
“Are you coming to bed?” Persephone’s voice drew his attention, quiet and apprehensive.
He didn’t like it.
He turned to look at her. She was dressed in a shirt that was too big. It clung to the places on her body that had yet to dry. Her hair was heavy and wet. She had been crying. Her cheeks were a little too pink, her eyes a little too red.
His mouth hardened, and he set his drink on the mantle before crossing to her. He took her face between his hands, letting his fingers brush her skin.
His heart squeezed.
“I will join you shortly,” he said quietly, hoping it would ease her anxiety, but more than that, he needed time to work through his frustration. He knew it would only get worse before it got better, and he did not wish for her to be the recipient of his aggression.
She rose onto the tips of her toes to kiss him, but he avoided her mouth and pressed his lips to her forehead. It was not the kiss she wanted or the one he wished to give, but it was all he could manage at this moment. He knew if he had let her, she would have drawn him in to keep him here, and he would have obliged, but he would have fucked her and he would be hard and unforgiving.
He was not sure she could handle that.
Though as she lowered to her feet, he wasn’t sure if she could handle his rejection either.
She swallowed hard, and as she turned from him, he felt as though she had ripped out his heart and taken it with her to bed.
CHAPTER XII
HADES
Hades returned to the island of Lemnos, to Hephaestus’s forge, which was housed on an adjoining volcanic island. As Hades entered, something crunched beneath his foot. He paused and looked down, finding the floor scattered with pieces of metal and wires. He recognized the guts of what he’d just stepped on.
They were mechanical bees.
Hephaestus had started making the bees in response to Demeter, whose unpredictable mood often affected the earth, which, given the state of the weather, was not presumptuous. It was his way of waging war against ancient magic, and according to Aphrodite, he had been working on it for a while, so why were they now discarded?
Hades proceeded inside, careful of where he stepped. There was more than just the broken bees on the floor. There were chips of wood from shattered shields and broken spears, pieces of armor torn to shreds as if they were nothing more than paper, and a string of animatronic body parts, belonging to both human and animal creations.
Hades rounded the corner and found even more of a mess. Nearly everything in Hephaestus’s shop had been destroyed. Even his desk where he worked was split down the center, each half lying on its side, and at the center of it all sat Hephaestus.
Hades said nothing as he approached the god, who made no acknowledgment of his presence. Like his workshop, he was in shambles. His hair was unbound, wavy from always being pulled back, and his hands sat in his lap, palms up and bleeding.
He hadn’t even tried to heal himself.
“Are you all right?” Hades asked the God of Fire.
Hephaestus did not respond and did not look at Hades. Hades acknowledged it was a stupid question to ask; the answer was obvious. Still, he felt it necessary.
Hades cast another glance around the room and spotted a short wooden stool in the corner, flipped on its head. He swiped it from the floor and used it to sit at Hephaestus’s feet.
It was completely uncomfortable, and yet it was likely the only way he would get the god’s attention tonight.
“Tell me what happened.”
“There is nothing to tell,” said Hephaestus.
“Doesn’t look that way to me,” Hades said.
A long silence followed. Hades did not prompt Hephaestus again and he did not leave. Eventually, the god spoke.
“We fought,” Hephaestus said.
“Is Aphrodite all right?” Hades’s voice rose in alarm.
“She’s fine, physically at least,” Hephaestus said quickly. “I didn’t touch her. I’ve never…touched her.”
Hephaestus took a deep breath and then raked his fingers through his hair.
“What happened?” Hades asked again.
“She…accused me of being the reason Harmonia was injured,” Hephaestus said. “She said that whatever had been used against Harmonia had to have been one of my creations.”
So many relics had been stolen and funneled into the black market it wasn’t impossible but that did not make it Hephaestus’s fault.
After a moment, the god continued. “I left after she told me how miserable I made her and came here,” he said. “The rest you can guess.”
Hades had to admit, though he’d always known something seething lingered beneath the surface of Hephaestus’s calm and quiet exterior, seeing it in person was another experience entirely. He understood that the god was not proud. If anything, he seemed even more devastated that he had not been able to control his anger.
“Hephaestus, you don’t really believe—”
“I believe what she says, Hades,” Hephaestus said quickly. “I have nothing else.”
Hades did not know what to say.
These two gods had loved each other for most of their immortal lives, and yet they had never managed to learn how to speak the same language.
“She should have left me long ago.”
“Do you not know the woman you married?” Hades asked. “If she wanted to leave, she would have.”
“Then her only pleasure must be my misery,” Hephaestus said.
For the second time tonight, Hades did not have a response, and the hardest part was that he could not disagree with Hephaestus. It truly did seem that Aphrodite enjoyed misery, but not for the reason her husband thought. She chose to pine after him, to love him from afar.
The irony of the Goddess of Love was not lost on him.
“Does she know your anger?” Hades asked.
“No,” Hephaestus said. “No, I cannot let her know. What if I…what if I…” He could not seem to finish his sentence.
“Do you think you will ever hurt her?”
“I am not good, Hades,” said Hephaestus. “I never have been.”
Hades wasn’t sure what the god was recalling as he spoke, but whatever the memory, it still haunted him.
“Maybe you aren’t,” said Hades. “But neither am I, and tonight, another person close to Aphrodite has been attacked. One is already dead.”
“If you do not think I am aware…” Hephaestus said, he curled his bloodied hands into fists, his knuckles white, though Hades was not certain which thing fueled his anger—the knowledge that the victim of the first attack was Adonis, Aphrodite’s favored and lover, or that it seemed she was being targeted somehow.
“Adonis was stabbed with Cronos’s scythe,” Hades said, and he pulled out the tip he’d kept in the pocket of his jacket.
He handed it to the god, who ran his thumb over the metal. It was not smooth, the surface etched with delicate designs.
“First this and now Harmonia’s horns,” Hades said. “These people have weapons that can wound gods, Hephaestus. It’s only a matter of time before they find something that can truly kill us…and given this pattern, who do you think they will come for first?”
Hephaestus met Hades’s gaze, his eyes stormy.
“You do not have to remind me of the threat to my wife to convince me to help you, Hades,” Hephaestus said and then looked at the adamant tip again. “Who are they? These people you speak of.”
“I suspect they are Impious,” Hades said. “But in truth, I do not know. Perhaps when Harmonia wakes, she can give us clarity. I’m certain now that they have her horns, they will flaunt their victory publicly.”
When favored mortals were killed, it often hit the media, and many Impious were willing to take responsibility for those murders. They saw it as a way to prove that the gods were not as powerful as they claimed and at the very least did not care for their mortal worshippers.
But obtaining a set of horns from the head of Harmonia—the sister of an Olympian—was entirely different. It illustrated just how close an everyday mortal managed to get to a god of relative power.
It demonstrated that the gods had weaknesses.
“And where did this come from?” Hephaestus asked, holding up the end of the blade.
“I suspect Poseidon,” Hades said, relatively certain of the source. “There is one other issue at hand that makes the threat against us even more troublesome,” said Hades. “The ophiotaurus has been resurrected.”