Persephone’s gaze touched every part of him. Hades could feel it tracing over his body, burning his soul. It would make this harder for her, worse for him. He could already see uncertainty moving behind her eyes. She did not know what to make of his flat affect. He had never been indifferent to her, but they had entered a space where teaching her meant showing her a harsher power—the terrible truth of the gods.
She was afraid to hurt people.
She could not be afraid to hurt the Divine.
“I will not watch you bleed again,” he said. It was an oath to her, a promise to himself.
“Teach me.”
She thought she knew what she was asking, just as she had the night they’d met in his club.
“I haven’t taught you how to play,” he’d said.
“Then teach me,” she’d replied.
Those words had sealed their fate.
They were responsible for every high and every low he had experienced in his life.
But not even Hades could have guessed that it would lead to this very moment, when he stood opposite his lover, his future wife and queen, with the intention of becoming her enemy.
He hated it, how it made him feel wrong and lent a darkness to his magic he might not use otherwise, but that was what Persephone needed to experience.
Whatever Persephone saw in his expression made her frown.
“You love me,” she said, though he could not tell if she was asking or reminding herself.
“I do,” he said, his guilt as heavy as his magic, which blanketed the air, silencing the Underworld.
Persephone looked around warily, her anxiety spiking her own power. Yet it was not enough, and he mourned that she had not put up enough of a barrier to withstand the wraiths he had summoned.
They formed from shadow, starved for souls, and hunted anything with one—even goddesses. They barreled toward Persephone, nearly imperceptible until they hit, jolting her. It was hard to watch her take the blow, her body moving unnaturally as the wraiths passed through. She fell to the ground, gasping for air.
“Shadow-wraiths are death and shadow magic,” he said. “They are attempting to reap your soul.”
Persephone met his gaze. “Are you…trying to kill me?”
He gave a hollow laugh. There was a part of him that could not believe he was doing this and that she was asking him to.
“Shadow-wraiths cannot claim your soul unless your thread has been cut, but they can make you violently ill.”
Slowly, she rose to her feet.
“If you were fighting any other Olympian—any enemy—they would have never let you up.”
“How do I fight when I do not know what power you will use against me?”
“You will never know,” he said.
It was how they would have to fight the demigods—blindly.
The point was to be prepared for anything.
The hand of a corpse burst from the ground beneath her. Persephone screamed as it took hold of her ankle, yanking her to the ground, dragging her down into its pit, intent on burying her alive.
“Hades!”
He hated how she screamed, hated more how she cried for him, how he had to watch her fingers dig into the dirt as she tried to escape his magic.
He was also frustrated.
She relied on him because he was present when she needed to rely on herself. She was intelligent and capable; she had power raging inside her, power that had turned his own magic against him, and yet she acted like a mortal caught in a spiderweb.
Finally she did something.
She twisted onto her back and tried to claw at the hand, but Hades’s magic was defensive, and as soon as she touched it, spikes shot from the shadowy skin. A cry tore from her mouth, but she swallowed it, and he felt her anger rising.
Yes, darling. That’s it.
Her magic flared, and a thorn burst from her palm. She shoved it into the hand, and it released her. Though she was free of one challenge, he sent another her way. Another wraith flew toward her.
Her body bent back as it passed through her, and Hades felt like her screams were stealing his soul, piece by piece.
He swallowed the bile that had risen in the back of his throat as he approached her, chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.
“Better,” he said. “But you gave me your back.”
He stood over, wanting so badly to take her into his arms, to tell her he would protect her from all this, but the truth was, he couldn’t. He had already proven that, so she had to learn.
Her hands shook and she curled them both into fists. He vanished as her magic roared to life and brambles sprouted from the earth around her. It was her attempt at fighting him back, and it had failed.
She got to her hands and knees, glaring at him, her cheeks tearstained.
“Your hand gave away your intentions. Summon your magic with your mind—without movement.”
“I thought you said you would teach me,” she seethed, and it almost felt like she was saying I thought you loved me.
Hades took a painful breath. “I am teaching you. This is what will become of you if you face a god in battle. You must be prepared for anything, for everything.”
She looked miserable, and he felt responsible as she stared down at her hands.
“Up, Persephone. No other god would have waited.”
Her eyes met his, different this time—different even from the night she’d nearly destroyed his realm. That look was the pain of betrayal. This was fury.
As she got to her feet, the ground began to shake, and the earth rose. Hades dispatched his shadows, and he watched both shocked and amazed as they bent to her will, slowing and sliding up her arm, seeping into her skin.
She shuddered for only a moment before her palm uncurled, and her fingers were tipped with black claws.
“Good,” he said.
Persephone’s eyes shifted to him, and she smiled, but it was short-lived before her knees hit the ground. She threw back her head, convulsing as Hades fed her illusions he had crafted from her greatest fears.
This was torture.
He knew that, but it was also warfare, and he was not the only god capable of it. She would have to learn how to perceive the difference, but as he watched her fears unfold, he knew she was already lost—she believed this was reality.
Perhaps he should not have started with Demeter, whose harsh expression filled even him with dread.
“Mother—” Persephone choked, her panic so real, Hades could feel it gripping his lungs, stealing his own breath.
“Kore,” Demeter said, the name Persephone hated most coming out like a curse. She tried to rise, but Demeter was on her, yanking her from the ground. “I knew this day would come. You will be mine. Forever.”
“But the Fates—”
“Have unraveled your destiny.”
Hades’s stomach twisted. It was one of his greatest fears too.
Demeter teleported with Persephone, which only added legitimacy to the illusion, because the scent of her magic permeated the air. Hades watched as Persephone found herself back in the glass greenhouse—her first prison.
She raged inside, kicking and screaming, spewing hatred at her mother, who only regarded her in mocking amusement.
She went silent when everything went dark as she was forced to watch the lives of her friends play out in her absence. The worst of the visions was when Leuce returned to him as a lover. He could barely watch as Persephone’s expression turned to horror. Her fingers curled into fists, her chest heaved, her eyes watered—and then she screamed.
She screamed so loud, she shook.
“Persephone,” he said, but her reality had already shifted, and when Hades witnessed it, he could taste something metallic in the back of his throat.
They were on a burning battlefield, and he lay at Persephone’s feet, speared by her magic.
It reminded him of Katerina’s vision, the one that would come true if the ophiotaurus was slain.
“Hades,” Persephone said, her voice shaking. She fell to her knees beside him as if she had been struck.
“I thought…I thought I’d never see you again,” he whispered, and he lifted a trembling hand to her face.
She pressed his palm flat against her cheek. “I’m here,” she whispered and closed her eyes against his touch, until his hand fell away. “Hades!”
“Hmm?”
“Stay with me,” she begged through her tears, taking his face between her hands.
“I cannot,” he said.
“What do you mean you can’t? You can heal yourself. Heal!”
“Persephone,” he whispered. “It’s over.”
“No,” she said, her mouth quivering.
“Persephone, look at me,” he said, desperate for her to see, to hear his final words. “You were my only love—my heart and my soul. My world began and ended with you, my sun, stars, and sky. I will never forget you but I will forgive you.”
“Forgive me?”
It was then she realized what Hades already knew—that she had raged against him and destroyed the Underworld. She had destroyed him.
Was this why she refused to harness her magic? Because she feared this potential? This reality?
Hades had to be honest. He feared this too, and it only got worse as Persephone tried to undo her magic, as she begged Hades to stay.
“No, please. Hades, I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” he said slowly. “I love you.”
“Don’t,” she begged. “You said you wouldn’t leave. You promised.”
Persephone’s screams rang in his ears as her visions went dark. Her body went still and then she fell.
Hades hurried to catch her and held her close. She was not out long when her eyes blinked open and met his, glistening as they filled with tears.
“You did well.”
She covered her mouth and then her eyes as she sobbed, her body shaking in his arms.
“It’s okay,” he soothed. “I’m here.”
But she only seemed to cry harder. He hated that he could not calm her, and he felt worse when she pulled away and got to her feet.
“Persephone—”
“That was cruel,” she said, standing over him. “Whatever that was, it was cruel.”
“It was necessary. You must learn—”
“You could have warned me. Do you even know what I saw?”
She acted as if it was easy for him to witness too.
“What if the roles had been reversed?”
“They have been reversed,” he snapped. They’d been real for him.
She blanched, looking horrified. “Was that some kind of punishment?”
“Persephone—” That had not been his intention. Fuck. He reached for her, but she took a step away.
“Don’t.” She put her hands up. “I need time. Alone.”
“I don’t want you to go,” he said.
“I don’t think it’s your choice,” she said.
She took a deep, shaky breath, as if she were gathering the courage to go, and when she did, Hades let out his own frustrated cry.
CHAPTER XXXIII
DIONYSUS
Dionysus found himself walking up the fucking mountain again, and though he was faster without Ariadne, he’d have much rather had her slowing him down.
Gods fucking dammit.
He was angry, but worst of all, he was worried.
Dionysus did not know much about cyclopes beyond their role in ancient times. Then they’d been great craftsmen and had helped the Olympians in the battle against the Titans. While he knew some remained in their employ, they did not all appear to have evolved the same, as evident by this one, which roamed this island eating sheep. And if it ate sheep, it surely ate humans.
As Dionysus came to the top of the mountain, he looked out on the island, which was far vaster than he expected; the terrain varied from deep canyons to rolling hills. Despite how huge the cyclops was, Dionysus caught no sight or sound of the monster. It was as if it’d disappeared.
That only served to make his anxiety worse, and he felt a familiar and dreadful shuddering deep in his bones. He ground his teeth and fisted his hands against it, unwilling to let the madness take root. If it did, he would be useless, and it was likely that more than just the cyclops would die in his quest to rescue Ariadne.
He took deep breaths until the feeling subsided, though the fact that it had come about so quickly unnerved him. But for now, at least he was in control.
He tore down the mountain, retracing his steps to the cottage where he’d healed Ariadne, then to the shore where he’d met the old man.
“Hello!” he bellowed. “I need you, old man! The cyclops has taken her!”
He paced the shore, catching a glimpse of something in his periphery. He startled and turned to find the strange god standing on the rocks, the same as he had been before.
“Where the fuck do you come from?” Dionysus demanded.
“I saved your life once,” the old man said. “What more could you want from me?”
“The cyclops has taken my—” Dionysus hesitated, uncertain of what he intended to say. “The cyclops has taken Ariadne, and I do not know where. I have climbed that gods-forsaken mountain. I have looked across this fucking island. Where has he taken her?”
“To his lair, I imagine.”
Dionysus took a step, his hands shaking.
“Where?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“Across the way,” replied the man. “On the other side of the strait.”
Dionysus turned to where the old man had nodded, and far in the distance, with an ocean between, was something that resembled a set of islands, but they were barely visible on the horizon.
Dionysus whirled. “Did you not think this information valuable enough to share when you asked me to kill him to begin with?”
“Nothing is as valuable as your life,” replied the man.
Dionysus took another seething step. “And I am this close to taking yours!” He turned toward the shore and started toward the sea.
“I would not do that if I were you,” the old man warned.
Dionysus glared. “How else am I supposed to get to the fucking island?”
“It would be better if you waited for the cyclops to return.”
“Did you miss the part where he has her?”
The old man stared, and then he looked off toward the island again. “There are only two ways to the island—through the wandering rocks between which the sea is violent, or through the strait where Charybdis and Scylla reside. Take either and you will surely die.”
Dionysus was more than familiar with the two sea monsters the old man had mentioned, given that he was in the habit of collecting them. Charybdis was a deadly whirlpool that could destroy ships in an instant. Scylla was a six-headed monster with three rows of deadly, sharp teeth. They lived opposite one another so that any who passed through their realm and attempted to avoid one hit the other.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Dionysus muttered as he waded into the ocean.
He tried in vain to run against the current until he could propel himself forward with his arms and legs. At first, he moved along at a steady pace, but the water felt heavy and his arms burned. It became harder to keep his head above water, and the salt stung his nose and the back of his throat. The more his arms and legs burned, the less certain he was that he was actually moving forward, though nothing was fast enough while Ariadne’s fate was unknown.
He gave a frustrated cry and rolled onto his back, floating atop the surface, and though the sun reddened every inch of his exposed skin, he remained there until he felt like he could move again.
As he neared the strait, he could feel the current of the ocean change and knew that Charybdis was active, churning the sea with all her might. He made a wider arc, hoping to avoid the pull, aware that doing so would bring him closer to Scylla, though if he was going to take on the two monsters, he’d prefer the one he could stab over the one that might drown him.
As he entered the strait, he remained close to the cliff wall, grasping the rocks to keep from slipping away into Charybdis’s whirling depth, which was visible on the surface, a stormy vortex of foaming water and ocean sand. As the water raged, it pulled roughly at his skin. If Charybdis did not take him, she might surely skin him alive.
He was so focused on avoiding the pull of the current, he forgot to look up until a pebble struck his face, and as he turned his gaze skyward, he came face-to-face with six heads racing toward him.
“Fuck!”
He moved at the last second, narrowly missing the teeth of one of the six heads. The heads plunged into the ocean below, and as they pulled back, five of them roared in a high-pitched wail, while one of them clutched a dolphin between its horrible teeth. Jealous, the two heads on either side hissed and nipped, and soon they were fighting, Pieces of dolphin flesh rained down on him as they engaged in combat, while the other three heads were trained on him.
Dionysus summoned his thyrsus just as the heads descended on him again. This time, he shoved the sharp tip of his staff through one head as its mouth came down around him. It reared back screaming and then fell into the water, limp. The other five heads shrieked and came for Dionysus at once.
“Fuck!”
He climbed onto the neck of the head that had gone limp and raced across it, chased by the others, teeth bared. He turned quickly, jumping atop the slippery head of another before quickly scrambling onto another when its whole head was bitten by its partner.
This thing is stupid, Dionysus thought as he shoved the end of his thyrsus into it, ducking when two other heads raced toward him and crashed into each other. The impact jarred him, and he slipped, falling into the ocean below where he was swept into Charybdis’s current, and though he paddled fiercely against it, it drew him under. Water filled his nose and mouth, and he grasped desperately at anything within reach, which was nothing save the solid weight of the water on him. But as Charybdis churned, he was brought closer to the other side of the strait, so close that his body rammed into the rocks, breaking skin.
Before he could try to dig his fingers into the rocks, he was whisked away again. The water fought him, taking him under, but he managed to position his arm so the next time he came closer to the wall, he rammed his thyrsus into it. With it lodged in place, he held on as the water raged around him. Opposite him, the remaining heads of Scylla screamed, though while Charybdis churned, he was safe.
Scylla retreated up the rock to her cave, dragging two of her limp heads behind.
Dionysus was not certain how long he clung to the end of his thyrsus, but he could sense when the current around him slowed, and soon Charybdis ceased her assault. When it was done, he felt weak, and swimming out of the strait felt impossible, though he made it. And when he saw the cyclops’s island ahead, he felt a sense of relief.
He propelled himself forward, thinking only of Ariadne—of the way she tasted and how she kissed, of the feel of her body, inside and out.
He had not had her long enough to lose her forever.
The thought kept him moving, and when he could touch the sea floor, he dug his feet in and tried to run. Staggering to the shore, he fell to his knees, landed facedown on the beach, and lost consciousness.