Once again, Hephaestus met Hades’s gaze, and his fingers closed over the end of the knife. The god had not yet been born when the Titanomachy took place, but he was well aware of the implication.
“Have you found it?” he asked.
“No.”
“When you do, let me kill it,” he said.
Hades could not help how he bristled, and the instinct made guilt bleed into his stomach.
“If I kill it,” Hephaestus explained, “I can make a weapon from the ashes.”
Hades stared. This conversation had taken a sudden turn, and it felt almost treasonous—not to Zeus but to themselves. He already knew the god was experimenting. He’d caught him fashioning a trident out of adamant—an attempt to recreate Poseidon’s most powerful weapon.
“It’s too dangerous, Hephaestus,” Hades said.
“It is no more dangerous than your helm,” Hephaestus said. “Or Poseidon’s trident or Zeus’s lightning bolts.”
“Except that those weapons are not prophesied to kill gods,” Hades countered.
“I will not pressure you,” Hephaestus said. “But the offer stands should it be needed.”
Hephaestus extended his hand in an attempt to return the tip of Cronos’s scythe. Hades’s eyes fell to it. Despite only being a small piece of a whole, it was just as deadly and still contained his father’s magic.
His eyes returned to Hephaestus.
“Can you make a blade from that piece?” Hades asked.
“I can,” Hephaestus said. “If you wish.”
It was not as if Hephaestus had not already begun forging weapons. The scythe was powerful, and it could wound a god severely, enough to trap them in Tartarus if needed.
“I wish it,” Hades said.
Hades thought after his visit to Hephaestus he would feel like he had some control over the violent thing that lived within him, but he didn’t. It still raged beneath his skin, threatening to explode.
He felt a lot like he imagined Hephaestus had tonight—completely helpless.
He did not know how to keep it in, how to quell it, but he couldn’t let Persephone see this. He couldn’t allow her to bear witness to his horror when she had seen so much of her own.
So he did the only thing he knew to do—find Hecate. But when he appeared in her meadow, he could tell she was not home. Her cottage was dark and everything was too still. Normally he would have attempted to sense whether she still remained in the Underworld as she often left for the mortal world to carry out whatever she pleased in the night, but it had not really mattered.
This took him away from the castle.
He paced outside her cottage, attempting to expend some of the electric energy that raced through his veins, and started to consider other options.
Should he go to Tartarus and take his rage out on Pirithous who was partly responsible?
Usually, that would seem like the right thing to do, but for some reason, it did not seem so now.
This anger was different. It was not destructive, but it was terrifying.
And perhaps that was what worried him the most—he usually knew what to do with this feeling, but not this time.
This time, it was different, and he needed Hecate.
“Let me get my calendar,” she said. “For I must mark this occasion.”
Hades turned toward her as she came out of the darkness surrounding them in the meadow. She wore a cloak and pushed back the hood so he could see her face, though shadowed.
“Hecate,” he said. “I—”
“Need me?” she asked, smiling and arching a brow.
Hades opened his mouth, but he wasn’t sure what to say.
“I don’t suppose you have to say it out loud,” she said. “I have already heard your thoughts.”
Hades slammed his lips together, but after a moment, he spoke. “I do not know who else to ask.”
“Well, I am wise beyond my years,” she said. “What troubles you?”
“I thought you could read my mind?”
“Do not be cheeky,” she admonished.
Hades narrowed his eyes. He knew she was well aware of how he felt. She only wanted to hear him say it, and if he didn’t, there would be no moving past this. After a moment, he sighed heavily and scrubbed his hand over his face.
“I’m angry,” he said.
“What’s new?”
“This is different,” he said and paused as he tried to seek words to make her understand. “I…I can’t…make it go away, and nothing I usually do is working.”
“What made you feel this way?”
He explained what had occurred tonight—Harmonia’s brutal attack and how he suspected it was connected to Adonis, how he feared it would encourage other Impious to start attacking gods publicly, as had happened with Persephone while she worked at the Coffee House.
“Perhaps you are not so much angry as you are afraid,” she said. “It is not unusual to not know the difference.”
Fear seemed…ridiculous. It was much easier to be angry.
“Easier because it is familiar,” said Hecate, once again responding to his thoughts.
Hades curled his fingers into fists.
“If I am afraid, it means…I am…helpless.”
It took him a moment to meet Hecate’s gaze after his admission. He did not like this…whatever this was.
“It’s called being vulnerable,” she said. “And of course you hate it. You don’t like to feel out of control, though you often are, especially where Persephone is concerned.”
“You’re not helping,” Hades said.
“Give me time,” she said. “We’ve only just begun.”
He groaned. What more could he possibly need to say?
“I…don’t know what to do,” he said.
If he could, he would lock Persephone in the Underworld and risk her wrath to protect her. There was so much above working against them. If she never ventured out, at least she would be safe.
“And she would grow to resent you as she resents her mother,” Hecate said.
“I know,” he said. “I do not wish to hold her prisoner, but it is the only thing that makes me feel…at peace.”
That wasn’t completely true. While it took one emotion away, it gave birth to several others—dread and anxiety, mostly.
“Perhaps you just need to feel it,” said Hecate. “It is all right to honor fear, to acknowledge that it has a place inside you, even if you are a brooding alpha male.”
Hades glared.
“It is not as if you do not have a plan to protect Persephone or to find those responsible for Adonis’s and Harmonia’s attacks. As far as action is concerned, you have done everything possible.”
“But will it be enough?”
“Enough for what?” she asked. “To protect Persephone from further harm or trauma? The only world where that is possible is here in the Underworld, and if she is here, it means she is dead.”
Hades felt like he was being suffocated.
“If you are to live life with her, all you can do is be the person she needs in those hard moments, no matter how much it hurts you, and she will do the same for you.”
He couldn’t look at Hecate, so instead, he stared into the dark wood surrounding her meadow. He knew what she was saying, and after all that he and Persephone had been through, it should be easy to lay his burdens at her feet, but it wasn’t.
It felt…unfair. What if he gave her too much?
“Has she ever given you too much?” Hecate asked.
“No,” Hades said. “She could never…”
“She feels no different about you, Hades. You must cease thinking that your love is somehow greater than hers just because you have lived longer, yearned longer.”
He held his breath as she spoke, feeling as though she were attacking him in some way, and yet he knew what she said was right. He did think that way and often.
A sudden gnawing guilt overtook the fear.
“Persephone has chosen you, and she accepts you in whatever way you choose to offer yourself, but is it fair that she cannot see you struggle when so often you must bear witness to hers?”
“I am protecting her,” he said.
“Are you protecting her or yourself?”
Hades was quiet.
“Persephone has grown because at some point, you made her feel safe enough to be vulnerable with you. As a result, she has come to see your side of things and respect your decisions. If you do not offer her the same, can you truly respect her?”
Hades’s teeth ground so hard, his jaw hurt, and the pain was spreading to the back of his head.
“If you expect the world to tear you apart, it will.”
“Then what do you want me to do?”
“I want you to stop being an idiot,” said Hecate, though her voice held no scorn. “I want you to recognize the importance of being vulnerable with Persephone, because apart, you are both powerful, to be sure, but together, you are unstoppable.”
Hades returned to his chambers and found Persephone fast asleep. He stared at her for a long moment, watching the soft rise and fall of her chest, the way her lashes fanned across the high points of her cheeks, the slight part of her lips. She was beautiful, and while there was a part of him that wished to wake her, to apologize for how he left earlier, he did not wish to disturb her. She had managed to find peace despite the events of this night, unlike him, and it wasn’t fair that they both should suffer.
He drank, sipping slowly, turning over Hecate’s words in his mind. He considered how he felt now—exhausted, frustrated, still afraid, the friction in his body surging to the very tip of his cock.
Fuck.
He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes trained on Persephone. He could sit here in the quiet and attempt to pleasure himself, but he knew he needed something harder, rougher.
He needed her body.
It was the only thing that would sate him, but he would not ask that of her—not tonight.
He downed the last of his drink and then undressed. His cock and balls felt heavy between his legs, even as he sat on the edge of the bed. He could not quite bring himself to lie down beside Persephone, too tempted to wake her from slumber.
If he started, he wouldn’t stop.
But then he felt her hand on his back.
“Are you well?” she asked.
He looked at her for a moment and then leaned over her, lips hovering over hers. He should kiss her. He hadn’t since they’d come home, but he refrained and instead caressed her cheek.
“I am well,” he said, but his eyes were trained on her lips. He wanted to kiss her, and it was probably ridiculous that he refused, but he felt so on edge, so out of control—what if she couldn’t handle that? He pulled away and noted the hurt that flashed in Persephone’s eyes. “Sleep. I will be here when you wake.”
“What if I don’t want to sleep?”
She followed him, rising onto her knees and straddling him, nestling against his arousal. He took in a sharp breath, his fingers digging into her skin as he kept her still, unable to handle the movement of her body against his.
“What’s wrong? You did not kiss me earlier and you will not lie with me now,” she said, searching his eyes. Her arms tightened around him. It was like she was trying to remind him she was here and present, though he was well aware.
“I cannot sleep because I cannot stop my mind.”
“I can help you,” she said.
She could distract him to be sure, but the thoughts would still be there in the aftermath.
“And…why won’t you kiss me?”
He swallowed, dropping his gaze for a moment as he found the words to explain.
“Because there is rage inside my body, and to indulge in you…well, I am not certain what kind of release I would find.”
“Are you angry with me?”
“No,” he said quickly. “But I am afraid that I have agreed to something that will only hurt you, and already I cannot forgive myself.”
“Hades.”
She whispered his name and took his face between her hands, eyes searching. He wanted to demand to know what she was looking for so he could tell her that she would never find it, but he knew he was just being difficult and that she would not believe him anyway.
Her mouth hovered over his, her touch like fire against his skin, the slight movement of her body against his driving him mad. He was on the edge, losing his grip on control, but he thought of his conversation with Hecate and considered that perhaps he did not need control here.
In this space, he could exist authentically, and Persephone…she would take it.
As if she knew his thoughts, she whispered to him, her breath caressing his lips.
“Indulge in me. I can handle you.”
It was the permission he needed.
He kissed her, widening his mouth against hers as his tongue moved against hers. He groaned, his fingers tightening in her hair.
Fuck, she was sweet.
She preened in his arms, pressing into him, opening wider to receive him. Even her legs moved farther apart, his cock tucked between them, rubbing against her bare, slick heat.
“Fuck,” he breathed as he broke from her mouth, drawing her shirt over her head. Naked, he let his hands skim over her body and came back to her breasts, which he held in each hand and lavished with his tongue. He liked the way she moved against him as he took each nipple into his mouth, how she held his head in place until she was ready for him to move on to the next.
With his mouth occupied, he let his hand dive between her legs, fingers teasing her opening. She was so fucking wet. He drew his finger along her opening, using the wetness to stimulate her clit.
He looked up at her just as she threw her head back to moan. Hades kissed her throat, then sucked her skin into his mouth, eliciting a louder cry.
He liked it, wanted more of it.
“Fuck,” she breathed as he slid his fingers inside her, stroking her into a frenzy until all she could do was hold on to him as he worked.
“Please,” she begged, the word a broken cry.
“Please what?”
It wasn’t a question. It was a demand.
Her body answered, vibrating against his as she let him wring come from her body.
He pushed her onto the bed unceremoniously, his cock dripping as he got to his knees.
“Can you handle me?”
She was flushed and deliriously high on pleasure. He imagined she would say yes to anything right now, but it would be enough.
She nodded, her chest rising and falling quickly.
“Yes.”
He jerked her toward him, lifting her so that her ass rested against his thighs, and entered her.
Persephone arched on the bed, her breasts bouncing with each of his thrusts. It made him move faster, fill her deeper. She was so gods-damned beautiful, so fucking erotic, and she likely had no idea, but watching her take him like this was a fucking dream.
“Oh, fuck,” she cried, writhing.
Her hands were everywhere, gripping him and then her breasts, then tangling in her hair, and with each thrust, he felt the pressure build. He chased it, held it longer, determined to make this last.
Their bodies grew slick, and there came a point when Hades could no longer hold on to her. He bent over her, arms braced on either side of her face as he finished. He could feel his cock pulsing inside her, and he could not hold himself up. His whole body shook.
He landed atop her, his head on her breasts. Persephone did not seem to mind as she wrapped her body around him.
After a long moment of silence, she spoke.
“You’re mine,” she said, her fingers trailing through his hair, which had come loose during their intercourse. “Of course I can handle you.”
Hades lifted himself up so he could meet her gaze. He wasn’t sure why he always waited for her to break, to leave, to run when she spoke like this. It didn’t make sense. It would never make sense.
But he was so fucking grateful she loved him.
“I never thought I’d thank the Fates for anything they gave me, but you—you were worth all of it.”
“All of what?”
“The suffering.”
CHAPTER XIII
THESEUS
Theseus stared at a series of photos. They were all pictures of the same man, taken from different angles. His name was Adonis—a famous favored mortal—and he had been beaten to a bloody pulp and stabbed through with Cronos’s scythe outside Aphrodite’s club, La Rose.
While Theseus had not been directly involved in this attack, he’d managed to plant the seeds that saw it through. He wondered how long before Aphrodite’s anger got the best of her, how long before Hades’s sense of honor brought him right to his door. Theseus has lived a long time in the shadow of the gods. He knew their strengths and their weaknesses, but he also knew mortals and how to make them afraid.
The start of snow in summer had been his sign to incite chaos. Amid the backdrop of Demeter’s storm, which would already inspire anger among the mortals and feature heavily in the media, he knew he could further feed the existing doubt and anger against the gods. And while he was aware that it would hardly hurt them, it would cause division, and at the center of it all were two gods: Hades and Persephone.
He had not expected them to feature as they were, but their love worked in his favor, and it would serve to further divide the gods while he continued to build mistrust among the mortals on earth. He would hardly have to lift a finger—the gods always got in their own way.
Theseus just needed to ensure that as the chaos unfolded, mortals had someone to turn to—someone to worship in place of the Olympians who had reigned for so long.
And that person would be him.
Theseus could sense the vibration of his phone before it rang. He snatched it up, answering before the sound could disturb the silence.
He gave no greeting, only waited for the person on the other end to speak.
“I’ve found her,” said the voice—Perseus, the demigod son of Zeus.
Theseus said nothing and waited for him to continue.
“She’s with Dionysus in the pleasure district. They’re on the hunt for Medusa.”
He was not surprised. He’d heard the rumors about the woman—her beauty first and then her supposed power.
She could turn men into stone.
He had suspected Dionysus of searching for her when he’d bought the Graeae’s services, and he’d considered that when he’d had them murdered, he would lose the fastest route to finding her—but there were other ways to locate a scared woman.
Perseus, for example.
A new set of photos came through on his tablet, and he scrolled through him. Ariadne was dressed in a short, black dress and high boots. She looked fuckable. Perhaps she had been fucked.
“Is she fucking him yet?” Theseus asked. He meant to express the question nonchalantly, but a hot blade of jealousy shot through him at the thought. Despite his marriage to her sister, Phaedra, Ariadne belonged to him too. She would always belong to him, even if she found temporary reprieve in the hands of this god.
And when she returned to him—and she would because he had her sister—she would pay for straying, for thinking for an instant that she could defeat him.
“Not sure,” Perseus replied.
“Keep following her,” Theseus said. “She’ll lead us to Medusa eventually, and when the time is right, we’ll take both.”