He was ready to be back in the Underworld with Persephone. It was where he should have been this entire night, curled around her warm body in the aftermath of their lovemaking. It made him irate that he had not been able to remain at her side. Even on the night of their engagement, he had been away while she slept, gathering intel on the ophiotaurus and attempting to discover where Demeter had taken refuge.
He tried not to think of this as an omen for what was to come, but he knew a battle lay ahead. He had always known it would not be easy to make Persephone his wife, given that her mother was one of his most vocal critics. And while the snow swirling outside in the middle of summer concerned him, he was more worried about Zeus.
His brother liked control, especially where other gods were concerned, and that included a say in who they married.
Hades clenched his fist at the thought.
He would marry Persephone no matter the consequences, because in the end, a life without her was not a life at all.
CHAPTER II
DIONYSUS
Dionysus left Nevernight and returned to Bakkheia, to the suite where he usually stayed despite having an estate of his own on the outskirts of Thebes. It was not that he found one place more comfortable than the other—he found no place particularly comfortable—it was that he could not handle the quiet of his home. Peace did not calm him; it only gave rise to louder, more incessant thoughts.
Even now, he was not completely free of them—of the endless voice in his mind that told him he had not done enough, that he was not enough. But at least here he could drown it out with the noise, the revelry, the madness.
He looked on it all now from the quiet of his suite, which had been abandoned by the usual carousers while he had answered the summons to Nevernight. Despite the early morning hour, his club teemed. Music vibrated his very soul and made his heart stutter in his chest. Laser lights cut through the darkness, highlighting sweaty and flushed faces, illuminating acquaintances and lovers locked in carnal embraces.
The musty scent of sweat mixed with the noxious odor of drugs seeped through the vents and burned his nose.
He was used to it—the sounds, the smells, the sex. It was part of the culture that had formed around his cult, one he had led with his maenads from town to town, leaving a trail of blood in his wake, and while he had long abandoned that life, he would never quite be free of the madness Hera had stricken him with.
Now and then, he could still feel it. It was a subtle tremor that consumed his body, and as it spread, it was warm and made him feel pierced through with pins and needles. It made it impossible to sit still, impossible to rest.
Just the thought made his fingers shake. He curled them into fists and held his breath, hoping to quell the feeling before it moved up his spine and into his veins, before it consumed him again, but as he focused, he became aware of a sound coming from somewhere inside his suite.
It was a panting moan.
He turned from the window overlooking the floor of this club and peered into the darkness but saw no one.
The sound grew in rhythm and was accompanied now by a knock.
Dionysus crossed the room toward a storage closet behind the bar. He pressed his ear to the door, which was soft, covered in the same black velvet that lined the walls. When he was certain the sounds came from there, he opened it.
Inside were Silenus and a woman he did not recognize. The satyr leaned against one side of the closet while the woman rode him, her legs wrapped around his waist.
“Fuck!” Silenus said, and they froze.
“Gods-dammit, Dad,” Dionysus snapped.
Silenus laughed, breathless. “Oh, Dionysus. It’s just you.”
It was not as if this was the first time he had caught Silenus engaging in sexual acts. The satyr had become part of his cult after he was cursed to wander the earth. They’d spent days at the center of orgies, giving and receiving pleasure, as was his way of worship. Still, over the years, it had become something Dionysus wished to see less and less from a man he’d come to view as his father figure.
He closed the door with a sharp snap and then plucked a bottle of wine from the selection at the bar and poured a glass. As he took his first sip, the door opened again, and the woman stumbled out.
She cleared her throat and pushed her hair behind her ear.
“I am so sorry, Lord Dionysus. I did not mean—”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” he said quickly, not looking at her. He took another sip of wine. “Go.”
She bowed her head and stumbled away. A slice of bright light from the hallway cut through the dark as she left.
Behind him, Silenus emerged. “I was not aware you had returned,” he said. Though Dionysus was not turned toward him, he could hear the clink of his belt as he secured it.
“How long have you been in that closet?” he asked.
The satyr paused. “I don’t actually know.”
Dionysus lifted a brow and glanced at his foster father. “Then how did you know I left at all?”
“I always know when you leave,” Silenus said. “Because I feel like I can breathe again.”
“Fucking rude,” Dionysus said as Silenus elbowed his way beside him at the bar. The satyr was a head shorter than him but taller than any satyr he had ever met. It was likely because Silenus was not just a nature spirit. He was a nature god. He even looked different from others of his kind. Dionysus had seen satyrs with horse or goat feet and tails, but Silenus had the long ears of a donkey and a tail to match. Though it was a form he kept hidden mostly by his glamour.
“You have never faulted me for honesty before,” said Silenus as he poured a glass of wine, only to down it like water. It was typical of him—he was the God of Drunkenness, which was why they had paired so well for so long, their lives revolving only around revelry.
“Should I start today?”
Silenus finished the last few gulps of wine before setting the glass aside with a clank. “Dionysus, even you know of what I speak,” he said.
“If you are going to spout wisdom, you need to be far more drunk.”
“This isn’t wisdom. It is true. You have become unbearable.”
“Why? Because I don’t party with you anymore?”
“Well that is a reason,” the satyr said. “But it’s more than that. You know it is.”
Dionysus pushed back from the bar, angling toward his foster father. “Enlighten me.”
“You are not having fun,” Silenus said. “At all. How long has it been since you let loose?”
Dionysus ground his teeth. “I am not the same person I once was, Silenus.”
“None of us are,” the satyr said. “But that does not mean we cannot enjoy life if we are to live it.”
“Was it not you who said it is better not to have lived at all, and if we must, then it is best to die soon?”
“Well, you have yet to die, so why not spend a little more time having fun?”
Dionysus rolled his eyes and stepped out from behind the bar.
“You cannot go on like this,” Silenus said. “You have let her have too much power over you.”
Dionysus turned to him. “If we are going to speak about this, say her name.”
Silenus stared, frustration in his gaze. “This quest for vengeance has made you…someone else.”
“Has it occurred to you that perhaps this is who I am?” Dionysus asked. “And the person you met all those years ago, the one you miss so badly, was created by Hera?”
Silenus started to shake his head. “No. I don’t believe that.”
“You don’t believe it because you don’t want to see it.”
“I don’t believe it!”
They spoke in unison, voices raised and vehement, and once the words were out, the silence that stretched between them stung.
It was Silenus who spoke first. “I want to see you find happiness,” he said and sighed, running a hand through his thin, graying hair. “Even if it is just an ounce.”
“Perhaps I am not meant for happiness,” Dionysus said.
“It’s a choice, Dionysus,” Silenus said, clearly frustrated. “You have to choose.”
“Then I choose vengeance,” Dionysus said. “And I will choose it until I have secured it.”
“What about the girl?” the satyr asked.
Dionysus felt his body tense at the mention of Ariadne. “She’s a woman, not a girl. What about her?”
“She’s pretty,” Silenus said.
His observation already irritated Dionysus. She wasn’t just pretty. She was beautiful, and he was reminded of it every time he looked upon her face, felt it every time he entered the same room as her.
“She hates me,” Dionysus said.
“Because she doesn’t have anything to like at the moment,” Silenus said.
“Perhaps I do not want her to like me at all.”
“Your cock tells a different story.”
“Don’t look at my cock,” Dionysus said. “It’s weird.”
“A cock never lies,” his foster father said. “You like her.”
“I want to fuck her. I don’t like her,” Dionysus said.
“Sounds like the perfect start to a relationship.”
“Yes, an unhealthy one.”
“Have you thought about…I don’t know…turning her into more than just another one of your maenads?”
“I can’t turn her into anything.”
“Of course you can. You have already made her an unwilling prisoner.”
“To protect her.”
Whether she realized it or not, though that had initially not been the case. Originally, he’d kidnapped her and brought her to Bakkheia because he’d suspected her of posing as a distraction so Hera and Theseus could abduct the Graeae. While she had done exactly that, she’d also told him she’d only made the decision to do it once she’d met him and found him completely unbearable.
He clenched his teeth.
“So you care about her,” said the satyr.
“She is a means to an end, Silenus.”
And she would be nothing more.
“Well, if she is a means to an end, let us hope she ends up on your cock.”