“I just have one more question,” she said, and his heart fell. “When you left Sunday night, where did you go?”
“Persephone—”
This time, when she stepped back, he released her.
“That’s when she returned, wasn’t it?”
As angry as she appeared, she could not hide the hurt that flashed in her bright eyes. It made Hades sick, made him want to heal her somehow, but how did one heal this kind of pain? Especially when it was of his own making.
“You chose her over me.”
He stepped toward her. “It isn’t like that at all, Persephone—”
“Don’t touch me!”
He hated those words—hated that he was the reason they were being said at all, hated that they hurt too.
“You had your chance,” she said. “You fucked it up. Actions speak louder than words, Hades.”
She vanished before she could see him flinch.
Those were his words. He’d used them with her not so long ago.
Action, Lady Persephone. Action holds weight for me.
She was right.
He had fucked up.
Chapter IX
Overprotective
With Persephone gone, Ilias entered the room.
“Tell me Leuce has been detained,” Hades gritted out, and when the satyr nodded, he teleported to her holding room. This time, he did not need to think about how he would approach her. His anger would decide.
When he appeared, she whirled to face him. Whatever warmth was left in her face drained away, and she staggered back until she hit the wall.
He imagined he looked a lot like a monster, because he felt like one.
“Did I not instruct that you were never to contact me again?” Hades seethed.
Despite her fear, Leuce rocked onto the tips of her toes and glared angrily. “I wouldn’t have had to contact you if the people you pawned me off on had listened to my requests!”
“Your requests? What requests could you possibly imagine you are entitled to?”
“An agreeable apartment for one.”
“Are you saying I was not charitable?” Hades asked, his words heavy with barely contained anger.
“Charitable?” Leuce asked. “I spent years as a tree, and the best you can do is a shitty apartment and a serving job?”
He had no idea what sort of lodging Ilias had secured for the nymph, but he doubted it was shitty. Likely it was just nothing compared to the finery of his palace.
“If your accommodations and work are not to your liking, then perhaps you do not need them at all.”
“You would leave me without a home?”
“I have done much worse, would you not agree?”
He knew his words were hateful, but his anger and fear had manifested as an ache in his throat that made him feel like he couldn’t breathe.
Leuce moved to slap him, but Hades caught her hand.
“Looks like I am not the only one who hasn’t changed,” he shot back, and she jerked free.
“This is about her, isn’t it? That woman you’re seeing?”
Seeing?It was such a minor word to describe the love of his life—a love that she had disrupted with her careless words. Now Hades had to hope he could rebuild trust between him and Persephone.
“Is that why you claimed to be my lover?” Hades asked. “Jealousy?”
“Hardly,” she scoffed. “I was over you long before I slept with Apollo.”
If she thought that would injure him, she was wrong. It did, however, make him feel particularly vengeful.
“What a timely admission,” he replied. “It makes this next part much easier.”
Leuce’s eyes widened, and Hades gathered his magic. “I couldn’t care less about your life and what you make it, but if it wasn’t for that woman, you’d be a tree once more. She is your salvation.”
And with that, Hades deposited her in a park, far from Nevernight, and cursed her to never set foot in his territory again.
* * *
Days passed, and Persephone had not returned to Nevernight.
It was strange to feel so uncomfortable in his own realm, but all he could think about was her absence. It was like his magic searched for her, and when it could not find her, it pulsed beneath his skin, a constant reminder that she had put distance between them.
Not just her.
Him. He was responsible too, as Hecate had so eloquently reminded him last night when she’d found him wandering the palace halls.
“What did you do?” she’d asked, already looking dour.
“That’s very presumptuous of you,” he replied mildly.
She arched her brow and pointed out, “You only get this angry with yourself.”
He scrubbed his face, frustrated. “I fucked up. Persephone found out about Leuce. Of course the nymph would introduce herself as my lover. Current, not former.”
“You say that as if one is better than the other.”
“To Persephone, it might have been.”
“Neither is better when they’re both secret, Hades,” Hecate replied.
He scowled at her. “I realize that now.”
“I think you need to consider why you did not wish to tell her, and if the answer is because you were afraid…maybe you do not trust her as much as you think.”
Now, her words tumbled through his head.
Did he trust Persephone?
He supposed he did not trust that her love for him meant she could overlook his past, and admitting that was both painful and embarrassing. In the end, he hadn’t given her a chance.
He should never have kept Leuce a secret—which was what he wanted to tell Persephone. He had debated going to her, but he wasn’t certain she was ready to hear his explanation, and when he’d finally decided to go to her, he was diverted by Ilias, who informed him that Acacius’s shop had blown up with the relic dealer and his men inside.
Before he could even speculate about that information, Hermes arrived at Nevernight with a message from Dionysus.
“Well?” Hades prompted impatiently.
“I just really need you to understand, I’m only the messenger.”
Hades waited, and after a moment, Hermes closed his eyes and lifted his middle finger.
“That’s it?” Hades asked. “That’s all he had to say?”
“He didn’t even say anything. He just flipped me off.”
Hades took a deep breath, and upon his exhale, he snatched a vase full of red flowers and threw it across the room. He was not surprised by Dionysus’s reaction. The god did not like being told what to do, and he probably liked it even less that Hades was aware of his exploits.
“What will you do now?” Hermes asked.
“I’m not going to do anything…yet,” Hades said. If Dionysus wanted to play childish games, Hades would too. “But you will.”
“What? Nuh-uh,” Hermes said. “Not this time. I always help you, and what does it get me in return? Nothing. I haven’t even gotten a thank-you for today.”
“Fine,” Hades said. “I suppose I’ll have to find someone else to plague Dionysus with dreams of bloody castration.”
Hermes pursed his lips as if considering.
“I suppose I can ask Morpheus or Epiales,” Hades said. “He is the personification of nightmares after all, and he would do a fine job.”
“Fine?” Hermes scoffed. “Let me do it. I’ll show you bloody castration.”
“But you have already declined,” Hades said.
“I take it back,” Hermes said. “And you know what? Thank you, Hades.”
“For what?”
“For being you,” Hermes said. “Now, can I set Dionysus’s dick on fire?”
“I wouldn’t give the task to anyone else,” Hades replied.
“Yes!” Hermes hissed, pumping his fist in the air. “I’m off to make plans.”
“How much planning can possibly go into castration?”
“It’s an art,” Hermes replied before vanishing, and while there was an initial satisfaction to the errand Hades had sent Hermes on, he soon felt the exhaustion of it all and found himself on the empty floor of Nevernight in the early morning, nursing a glass of whiskey until Ilias arrived.
“Did you sleep?” the satyr asked as he approached, rounding the bar so he stood opposite Hades.
“No,” he replied, taking a sip of his whiskey.
“You sure you don’t want something else? Coffee, perhaps?”
“No.”
“Well, I would ask you if you were all right, but I think I know the answer.”
Hades met Ilias’s gaze. “Are you here to judge, or do you have something to tell me?”
“I’m not one to judge,” Ilias replied. “But I do have something to tell you. I spoke with Katerina this morning about these missing women.”
The satyr placed Ariadne’s folder on the table.
“They are all running from something—a partner, parents, all kinds of trauma. Our detective probably missed it because their families all claimed they were happy and they had all made plans for their future. She’s not wrong about how they went missing, though. None of them could be traced to a specific location aside from Megara, who, as you know, seems to have never left Dionysus’s club, which cannot actually be confirmed.”
“And none of them went to Hemlock Grove?” Hades asked.
Ilias shook his head. “No one named in this folder.”
It seemed Hades was going to have to begin with the only lead he had—Dionysus.
“Now for the bad news,” Ilias said, and Hades’s brows rose. Was this not bad enough? “This was left at the doors this morning.”
Hades could very much say he was not prepared for what the satyr had to share. He placed a folded newspaper on the counter in front of him so that the title glared at him in bold black.
APOLLO CASTS A GRIM SHADOW ON PAST AND PRESENT LOVERS
His heart beat unevenly in his chest as he picked up the paper and read:
Apollo, known for his charm and beauty, has a secret—he cannot stand rejection.
The evidence is overwhelming. I would have his many ex-lovers vouch for me, but they either begged to be saved from his wily pursuits and were turned into trees or died horrible deaths as a result of his punishment.
You are familiar with a few of these lovers. Daphne, the river nymph who Apollo pursued relentlessly until she begged her father to turn her into a tree. Cassandra, Princess of Troy, who cried that Greeks were hidden in the Trojan Horse but was ignored. Which begs the question, how noble can Apollo truly be when he fought on the side of Troy yet compromised their victory, all because he was given the cold shoulder?
Perhaps the greater issue at hand is that the public is very much aware of these transgressions yet continues to elevate a god who should instead be held accountable for his actions. Apollo is an abuser—he has a need to control and dominate. It’s not about communication or listening; it’s about winning. Is this who we really want representing New Greece?
Hades read the article once more, his fingers curling into the paper. All he could think was that she’d promised not to write about Apollo. Except that he knew she’d never actually promised.
“Trust me on this, Persephone.”
“I trust you,” she’d said.
But she didn’t, or at least if she did, she’d disregarded his warning. Was this her way of seeking revenge because of Leuce? The irony was, she had no idea why he’d turned the nymph into a tree or that it had been because of Apollo.
“If that makes you angry, you won’t want to see what else is in the news today.”
The satyr was likely right, but Hades wanted to know anyway. He had a feeling it had everything to do with Persephone.
Ilias pulled out his phone to show Hades a video. It was a news report from earlier, and a red banner at the bottom of the screen drew his eye.
HADES’S LOVER ATTACKS BELOVED GOD
He grimaced, his anger growing the longer the reporter talked about Persephone as if they did not fear his retaliation.
“Guess she didn’t gain enough fame by sleeping with Hades. She had to go after Apollo too?” the reporter said.
Those words went right through him, and he pushed the phone back toward Ilias. After a moment of silence, he asked, “Is she safe?”
“She made it to work,” he replied.
He didn’t like that he’d had to ask that question, did not like that Ilias had to qualify his answer, knowing that she’d now have to make it home.
“If she’d known this would be the response, I doubt she’d have done this,” Ilias said.
“She knew,” Hades said curtly. “I warned her.”
Ilias did not respond, though Hades could tell the satyr was holding back.
“What is it?” he snapped.
Ilias shrugged. “I don’t know. I just think she probably thought you were being overprotective.”
Hades bristled at those words.
Overprotective.
It almost made him sound controlling, and he hated that.
“You can’t tell me who to write about, Hades,” she’d said, and while he’d have liked for her to have been able to write about anyone and anything she wished, the reality was, it wasn’t possible without fallout. She was about to learn the hard way.
“When it comes to Apollo, there is no such thing,” Hades replied.
Ilias did not disagree. “He will hunt her.”
Hades did not need to be told. He knew what the god was capable of. He’d pursue Persephone until she paid for her alleged slander, but Hades wasn’t willing to lose another love to the God of Music.
“That’s not all I have for you,” Ilias said. “This came pinned to the newspaper.”
Ilias handed him a piece of white parchment. The top of the page was embossed with a gold peacock. Beneath the icon was printed From the desk of Hera, Goddess of Marriage and below that was a handwritten message.
I see your lover has caused quite a stir. With your allies growing fewer and fewer among the Olympians, it will be no easy task to convince Zeus to agree to your hopeful matrimony.
It was as much a threat as it was a reminder of the labors Hera had sentenced Hades to. He knew he was running out of time. He would have to kill Briareus soon.
Hades crushed the note in his palm and set it ablaze with black flame. It curled into solid ashes that dissipated into a fine dust, leaving behind a sharp, clean smell and pale-white smoke.
“Anything else?” Hades asked.
“I think that’s enough for today, don’t you?”
Hades rose from his chair, drained his glass, and left the club.
* * *
Hades waited for Persephone in the darkness of her room. He wondered if she had dreaded this encounter. Had the thought of facing him invaded every part of her day? While he would have preferred to occupy her thoughts for a different reason, she had to know he was coming for her, yet she did not hesitate as she entered her room, did not pause to scan the area for signs of his presence. She walked straight to her bedside table, turned on the light, and stepped into the bathroom. She turned on the faucet and returned to her room, arms tangled behind her back as she managed to unzip her dress.
They had not been apart long, but the anger and betrayal between them made it feel like months. His fingers itched to touch her, to help her out of her dress, to ignore the past few days of fury and frustration in favor of something far more pleasurable, but even he knew that was foolish, because all those feelings would be waiting on the other side of that intimate high.
Her dress puddled around her feet, and her skin glowed softly, bathed in the warmth of her lamplight. She straightened, dressed only in black lace, but before she could remove that too, she must have caught sight of him, because she glanced his way and startled.
“Please continue,” he implored, leaning against the wall opposite her. Despite his frustration with her, he’d happily watch her strip, especially knowing he was soon to be the recipient of her anger, given what he’d come here to do.