CHAPTER XXIV
THESEUS
“So,” Theseus said, looking over a plume of yellow flowers at the woman who sat across from him. “You wish to learn about Triad?”
She had introduced herself as Cassandra, but he knew her real name was Helen. She was an aspiring journalist, a student at New Athens University, and she worked for Persephone Rossi.
She was still unaware that he knew everything about her, still pretending to be interested in joining his organization, just as she had last week when she’d arrived at a rally.
Normally, he would not indulge this behavior, but he was an opportunist and he saw her potential.
He knew what she truly wanted.
She was ambitious and constantly on the hunt for the pathway that would propel her to the top. She was no more interested in him than he was in her, beyond what they could do for each other, only at this point, she still believed she had the upper hand, that she would be solely responsible for breaking a story about the greatest threat to Olympian rule.
He admired her confidence, but he hated her ignorance.
She was holding a knife and fork, cutting into a steak she had ordered. Her movements were careful, graceful even—she was trying to impress him.
She hadn’t yet.
“I think I’m more interested in how you view it,” she said. Her voice took on a heady note, and as she stared at him, her eyes dropped to his lips.
He found her seduction boring and predictable. Her fatal flaw was thinking that her beauty was enough to sway him. Phaedra was beautiful, and so was her sister. He could fuck beauty all day. It changed nothing, gave him nothing.
It was only pleasurable if he could hurt them, and it made his cock hard just thinking about it.
“I do not wish to sway your opinion,” he said. “Let our actions speak.”
“Your actions seem terroristic.”
“That is a matter of perspective,” he said. “I would argue that Olympus is responsible for terrorism.”
She glanced to her left and right, likely anxious about what he’d said.
He smirked. “Does that make you uncomfortable?”
“Well, it is blasphemy,” she said.
“I suppose it is,” he replied. “If you worship the gods.”
“Worship or not, they are real,” she argued. “The consequences of heresy are dire.”
“No more dire than a deadly snowstorm,” he replied. “If I die spouting truths about the gods, then so be it.”
She was silent as she reached for her glass and then sat back in her chair. It was an action he had not expected. It exuded comfort.
“Do you want to know what I think?” she asked, sipping her wine.
He didn’t, but he had to admit, he was curious about the sudden change in her posture and her strange and sudden confidence.
He waited. He would not implore her.
“I don’t think you care what happens to the people of New Greece, but I think you need their worship.”
His gaze did not waver from her face.
“And what do you think of that?” he asked, his eyes darkening.
“Everyone wants to be worshipped.”
“Do you?” he asked.
He was eager for her answer. He expected something generic—a comment along the lines of what woman doesn’t wish to be worshipped?
Instead, she said, “I could be feared for all I care. I just want power.”
There was a glint in her eyes he had not seen before, a darkness he wanted to prod.
After a moment, he stood.
“Come with me,” he said, and though she stiffened, she took his extended hand.
Once his fingers closed around hers, he teleported.
When they appeared, it was in the shadows of a large warehouse, on a balcony that overlooked a crowded floor.
Theseus called this the Forum.
Those in attendance were there by invitation only and chosen based on their grievances with the gods—those whose prayers had been rejected.
“Where are we?” Helen asked.
“You are safe,” he said.
She turned her head but did not look at him. “I was not asking if I was safe.”
“That’s all you need to know.”
Theseus placed his hand on the small of Helen’s back and guided her toward the rail. He caged her within his arms, pressing her against it, his erection settling against her ass. Her back ached, her shoulder blades biting into his chest.
A man stood at the head of the crowd facing six demigods who sat, half shrouded in darkness.
“I have begged Apollo,” he said as he made his case. “I have laid golden honey and hyacinths at his altar, but my prayers have gone unheard.”
“Unheard or unanswered?” The question was posed by Okeanos. He was the twin brother of Sandros, both sons of Zeus.
“Unanswered!” someone shouted. Others roared in agreement.
That was the beauty of a crowd of followers—it took one leader to incense them, to shift the energy and inspire anger.
“Who are they?” Helen asked, her voice quiet, nearly inaudible over the noise below, which echoed all around them.
“They are agents of their people,” he said, speaking near her ear. “Within Triad, they are called high lords, demigods, descendants of the gods.”
The man who had at first spoken with a quiet disposition was now riled. His voice rose to a shout.
“Listen,” Theseus said, directing her attention below again.
“I have lit candles and picked laurel leaves, I have carved symbols into stones that have basked in the sun, all in the name of a god who ignores my pleas!”
The crowd roared in anger and began to chant, “Death to Apollo!”
“Have mercy on me, my lords!” the man petitioned. “I only wish to be well so that I may continue to support my wife and daughter.”
A demigod stood and took two soft steps into the light, and the room grew quiet. He was large and warriorlike. Despite this, he had the gift of healing.
Theseus felt Helen take a breath.
“Who is that?” she asked.
“Machaon,” he said. “Technically the second. He is a descendant of the demigod Asclepius.”
“Apollo’s son?”
“The very one,” he said.
As Machaon approached, the man began to shake.
“Do not be uneasy,” said Machaon, and he placed his hand on the man’s head. “I will heal you of this blight.”
The man shook more, and then his knees gave out.
It was not evident what exactly the demigod was doing, but Theseus could feel his power just as he felt all divine influence. Machaon’s power was gentle, like the soft caress of a wave against the shore.
The man collapsed forward, but Machaon caught him and held him upright. The man’s head fell back, eyes closed.
Theseus felt Helen lean forward, her body tight with anticipation.
“Is he alive?” she whispered.
Then the man’s eyes blinked open, and the room broke out into cheers.
“Rise, my friend,” Machaon said. “You are healed.”
He helped the man to his feet, and he was consumed by the crowd as he was celebrated and Machaon’s name was chanted in worship, feeding his power.
Theseus could feel it too.
“The gods withhold,” he said, his lips grazing her ear as he spoke. “We give. The gods hinder,” he said, hiking her skirt up. “We assist. The gods destroy,” he said, touching her between her legs. “We mend.”
She moaned as his fingers slid through her heat. It was all he needed to know, that she was wet enough for his cock.
He pushed her forward, pulling one hand behind her back.
He let his hand smooth over her ass and then spanked her before kicking her feet apart and shoving inside her.
“Yes, fuck!”
She gasped and met him thrust for thrust, as if she yearned for something harder and darker.
He twisted her hair around his hand and pulled. She cried out but followed his command, arching her back as he moved, keeping one hand planted on the rail. She did not move to kiss him, did not try to be anything more than a vessel, and when he felt his balls tighten and a rush surge up his cock, he pulled out, his come spraying across her ass and down the backs of her thighs.
He restored his appearance as she turned to face him, her eyes darkened with lust.
“I’ll write the story you wish to tell,” said Helen. “But I want a ride to the top.”
“Your boss is the future wife of Hades,” he said.
She raised a brow. “If Persephone will not agree to publish my story, I will go elsewhere.”
He took a step closer, letting his thumb brush over her lips. He licked his own as he did.
“Next time, I will come in this mouth,” he said and then took a step away. Before he left her, he paused. “Be sure your words sow the seeds of war…Helen.”
The Forum was empty, save for him and six high lords.
He was waiting for the arrival of a group of Impious who had taken to calling themselves god killers. Normally, he was not opposed to isolated acts of violence by the Impious, but he drew the line when they became boastful. And these particular men could not stop talking about how they had dehorned a goddess.
“Where are they?” Theseus asked no one in particular, certain one of them would answer.
“On their way,” Damian answered. He was the son of Thetis, a goddess of water.
Theseus bit back his frustration.
A tension had been building in his body since Helen’s departure, and it had nothing to do with lust or a desire to fuck.
This was a different need—a violent one.
The doors opened, and five men entered.
The one in the middle, who was large and bearded, carried in each of his hands a long, white horn.
“My lord,” he said and bowed low for Theseus. “I have come to lay offerings at your feet.”
The man set the horns on the ground, and Theseus stared at them.
“Well, are you not pleased?” the man asked, his voice booming. “Are they not what you asked for?”
Theseus did not speak, but he bent to take one of the horns in his hand, testing it. They were rough and light.
Then he slammed it into the man’s chest.
“I am pleased,” Theseus said as blood burst from the man’s mouth.
“What the fuck!” one of the men shouted.
Another man vomited.
Theseus jerked the horn free, and the man groaned and then fell to his knees.
The other four men scrambled, screaming as they sought an exit from the warehouse. Two were struck with bolts of electricity by the twins. Another began to convulse and turned to ash as if he were burning from the inside out. The last began to gurgle and spewed water before he spun and fell onto his back, drowning.
“But unfortunately, I cannot have you live to tell the tale,” Theseus said when they were all dead.
CHAPTER XXV
HADES
Hades teleported to his office at Alexandria Tower.
He was anxious, and given that he planned to meet with Zeus today about his future with Persephone, it was no surprise. His hope was that he could convince his brother to agree to the marriage without his usual demands. Perhaps he would even agree that it was best that they marry in secret given Demeter’s obvious disapproval.
It was a lot to hope for, but when it came to Persephone, he preferred to dream.
He hadn’t expected to find her in his office when he arrived. She stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows, eyes focused on the street below. He thought perhaps she was worrying over the weather—over her mother, which meant she was likely thinking about all the lives she had taken.
His chest felt tight.
In the aftermath of that horrific crash, he had felt certain Persephone would leave, and it would not be because she wanted to but because she felt like she had to. But instead, she’d remained by his side and greeted souls as they entered the Underworld as if she were already his wife—as if she were already queen.
He closed in behind her and placed his palms flat on the glass, trapping her between him and the window. He let his nose drift up the column of her neck, lips trailing along, leaving light kisses. He recalled the first time she had visited here, the first time he had seen her in this room and how much he had wanted to fuck her on his desk.
“It will be the most productive thing that happens here,” he had said, and that remained true.
“Careful,” Persephone said, though her voice was quiet and a little breathless. “Ivy will scold you for smudging the glass.”
“Do you think she will have an opinion if I fuck you against it?” he asked, letting his teeth graze her ear. She turned to face him, and he was troubled by her expression. He’d expected to see her eyes ignited with a dark passion, but instead, she looked…distressed.
Perhaps Demeter had done something more.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, letting his hands fall to his sides.
“I had Helen escorted off the property today,” she explained, her voice quaking. “I…” She paused, letting her gaze break from his. “She wanted to write an article about Triad, which I supported if she could find actual sources, but I guess in the process, they managed to bring her to their side.”
“What do you mean?”
“She met with me today and explained what she wanted to write about. She told me that Triad was…good. That they are like the gods, but they protect their people, as if we do not.”
Hades was not surprised. He knew how Triad recruited members, and he knew their use of magic always seemed to override fate, so it was not surprising that they had managed to snare Helen in that web.
“They can be very convincing,” Hades said. “It is unfortunate. Mortals who fall into their trap only see an isolated event—a moment of healing where these demigods have seemingly defied fate. They do not see the fallout.”
“What is the fallout?” she asked.
He shrugged. “It depends on the anger of the Fates, but usually, they face an end worse than the one that was chosen for them.”
She was quiet for a moment. “I feel like this is my fault. If I’d never—”
“You could not have known, Persephone,” Hades said. “If Helen was so easily swayed to join Triad, her loyalties were never very strong.”
Persephone frowned.
Hades touched her chin, tilting her head back so she would meet his gaze.
“She threatened you,” she said. Her fists clenched, and there was a shift in her power. It was angry and seething. “Do you think Triad will…target you?”
“I imagine so,” he said.
She blanched, and he was a little surprised by her shock. He frowned.
“Are you afraid for me?”
She glared at him. “Yes. Yes, you idiot. Look at what those people did to Harmonia!”
“Persephone—”
She was quick to stop him.
“Hades. Do not diminish my fear of losing you. It’s just as valid.”
Something warm invaded his chest at her words, and his features softened. “I’m sorry.”
He had never thought twice about whether Triad would target him. He knew they would. He was one of the three most powerful gods among the Olympians. If they wished to come into power, they would have to defeat him. Up until the resurrection of the ophiotaurus, he had not considered it a possibility, though things were very different now, especially in the aftermath of Katerina’s dream.
“I know you are powerful, but…I cannot help thinking that Triad is trying to bring about another Titanomachy.”
Hades’s gut twisted. He had known this for a while, but to hear Persephone speak it was another thing entirely. It made him think again of Katerina’s vision.
Hades did not wish to give power to this dream, but he could not help wondering how much of it was true. If the ophiotaurus was slain, would they face a hundred-year war? Hades was not certain he could bear the burden of that future, not when his past had been fraught with the same horror.
It wasn’t what he wanted—not for him and not for Persephone.
Hades cupped Persephone’s face between his hands.
“I cannot promise we will not have war a thousand times over during our lifetime, but I will promise that I will never leave you willingly.”
“Can you promise to never leave at all?”
He gave her a soft smile. It was all he could really offer, because in the back of his mind, he was imagining that burning battlefield and his corpse among the flames. He held her gaze, and when she started to frown, he kissed her, pulling her against him. She was warm and her hands eager as they closed over his cock, which was hard between them.
Hades pressed into her, a groan escaping his mouth as his lips left hers to explore her skin. He wanted to take her against the window, the desk, on every surface of this room, and while he’d once promised to shield them from prying eyes, he considered that perhaps he should allow the world to watch their passion unfold.
It was never-ending. It was fire in his veins.
He gripped her ass, ready to lift her when she pushed against his chest. Reluctantly, he pulled away.
“Let me have this,” she said.
He lifted his brows, curious. “What do you want?”
Her hands slid down his arms and she laced her fingers through his, leading him to his desk, where she guided him to sit. His eyes darkened as she used his thighs for support to lower herself to the floor before him, as if she were about to pray.
To worship.
Fuck.
His muscles tightened instinctively, and he held his breath as she unbuttoned his pants, seeking his arousal, which ached for her soft touch, her wet mouth. She said nothing as she took him into her hand, jerking him from root to tip. She held his gaze, eyes like emeralds, their light dancing with a lust he could feel in the bottom of his stomach.
He could not help watching her mouth as she moved her hand up and down his shaft, and he dug his fingers into the arms of his chair to keep from taking control. He wanted to feel her tongue on him, wanted the warmth of her mouth to close in around him, wanted to hit the back of her throat as he thrust into her.
She must have sensed his turmoil because she smiled and then drew her tongue over the head of his cock. His body clenched under her control, and when he sighed, it sounded more like a groan.
“Yes,” he whispered. “This. I dream of this.”
He liked her control because he had none. He had no thoughts save for the awareness that his cock was in her wet and warm mouth, that he was vibrating with pleasure, that his body was throbbing.
He could not figure out which part he liked more—the feel of her or watching this intimate worship.
She was glorious.
He made an effort to breathe through the pleasure, wanting to see how far she was willing to let him go.
“Lord Hades.”