He had not told her of his plans, and now that they were here in this room, he wished he had, even if there had been no time, and even though she wouldn’t have approved, at least she wouldn’t have had to find out this way. He knew it looked bad.
“Your lover has struck a deal,” Apollo said, his disdain for Persephone evident in his tone. It was an insult, and Hades considered challenging the god, but it was a dangerous prospect now that he owed him a favor. “I have agreed not to punish you for your…slanderous article…and in turn, Hades has offered me a favor to be collected at a future time.”
Persephone’s eyes widened, which told him she understood perfectly the implications of his deal.
“Damn,” Hermes whistled, and Hades’s mood darkened. “He really does love you, Sephy.”
“I will not agree to this,” Persephone said.
Hades admired her words; they came out of a concern for him, no matter how futile.
“You don’t have a choice, mortal,” Apollo said.
“I’m the one who wrote the article. Your deal should be with me.”
“Persephone,” Hades warned. While he had accepted Hades’s offer, there was nothing to prevent Apollo from also taking Persephone up on hers.
But Apollo laughed, such was his arrogance. “What could you possibly offer me?”
Persephone’s eyes flashed, her fingers curled into her palms, and Hades allowed his magic to surface in response, hoping it would mask hers.
“You hurt my friend,” she seethed.
“Whatever your friend did must have warranted punishment or she would not be in the situation she is in.”
Apollo’s response did nothing to quell Persephone’s anger, but at least it illustrated who he was, something that could only be witnessed—an asshole.
“You mean to tell me her refusal to be your lover warrants punishment?” Persephone asked.
Hades noted how rigid Apollo had gone, which told him he knew exactly who Persephone was talking about.
“You took away her livelihood because she declined to sleep with you. That is insane and pathetic.”
As much as he enjoyed her insults, they were best kept between them. If Apollo wanted, he could take each word as a slight and ask for more in exchange.
“Persephone,” Hades warned.
“You be quiet! You chose not to include me in this conversation. I will speak my mind.” While he deserved her contempt, he’d have rather taken it without an audience. Hermes laughed, and to Hades’s chagrin, she continued. “I only wrote about your past lovers. I didn’t even touch on what you have done to Sybil. If you don’t undo her punishment, I will dismantle you.”
Hades assumed she meant she would do so with her words, and while he believed she was capable of writing something that hurt, she obviously had forgotten how poorly the public had taken her first article.
He expected Apollo to respond with aggression, but he chuckled, and that put Hades more on edge because it meant he was intrigued.
“You are a fiery little mortal. I could use someone like you.”
“Speak further, Nephew, and you will have no reason to fear her threat, because I will tear you to pieces.”
Apollo’s gaze narrowed, daring him to try.
“Well?” Persephone asked, raising her voice to regain Apollo’s attention.
The god studied her for a long moment, and Hades hated the smile that curled his lips.
“Fine,” Apollo said at last, and Hades let his breath escape in a slow stream. “I will return your little friend’s powers, and I’ll take Hades’s favor as well, but you will not write another word about me—no matter what. Understand?”
“Words are binding,” Persephone replied. “And I do not trust you enough to agree.”
Hades was quite proud of that.
Even Apollo grinned. “You have taught her well, Hades.”
Then Apollo took a step toward her, and Hades fought every urge to fling him across the Underworld. He might have done it if he didn’t think the God of Music was about to relent.
“Let me put it this way—you write another word about me, and I’ll destroy everything you love. And before you consider the fact that you love another god, remember that I have his favor. If I want to keep you apart forever, I can.”
You can try, Hades thought. But it will be the last action you take.
Apollo knew that, and Hades worried that perhaps that was what the god wanted.
Persephone’s face was flushed, her jaw tight as she spoke. “Noted.”
“I will warn you now, Apollo,” Hades said. “If any harm comes to Persephone, favor or not, I will bury you and everything you love in ash.”
As useless as the threat was, he still wished to make it, though he knew it had little impact on the god who felt he had already lost everything. Perhaps that was what made Apollo so dreadful to challenge.
“You’ll only have me to bury, Hades. Nothing I love exists anymore.”
With that, Apollo left, and in the silence that followed, Hermes spoke, still lingering near the doors. “Well, that could have gone better.”
“Why are you still here?” Hades snapped.
“He was babysitting me,” Persephone said, whirling to face him. “Or did you forget?”
Hades returned her angry stare.
“How can you say you wish for me to be your queen when, given the opportunity to treat me as your equal, you fuck it up completely? Does your word mean nothing?”
They were the words he had used against her, and they stung. But he deserved them. He wanted to speak, but Persephone turned, took Hermes’s arm, and left the throne room.
Chapter XII
An Appeal for Trust
After his encounter with Apollo, Hades needed an outlet to channel his frustration, so he teleported to the Cavern, the oldest part of Tartarus, which was large and resonant. Stone formations made it almost mazelike and offered the opportunity for Hades to create designated spaces for various types of torture—and sport.
The room he had chosen was longer than it was wide. Opposite him was a wall of scarred wood, and at its center, a man was suspended. He was dead, an ax embedded in his chest.
Hades removed his jacket and shirt, hanging them on a hook just over a wooden table where he kept an array of tools and a whetstone for sharpening them. He also removed his shoes and socks, wishing to feel the sandy floor beneath his feet. Once he stood, wearing only his trousers, he approached the dead man, pulling the ax from his body and reviving him.
The man took a gasping breath, and it was a moment before his eyes settled on Hades. Once they did, he began to weep.
“Not again,” he begged. “Please.”
Hades turned and walked away, speaking as he put distance between them.
“Are those the words your victims used while you raped them and before you murdered them?” he asked. He twisted the ax in his hand before laying it aside to prepare his station for sharpening it. This was a sacred process, and he believed it created a stronger bond between himself and the weapon. It meant that the tool would behave better, in battle or otherwise. So he took his time, soaking the stones and increasing the grit as his ax got sharper and sharper. When he was finished, he turned toward the man.
His name was Felix.
“Please, please, please,” he whispered over and over, drool dripping from his mouth.
Yet there was one thing missing to his pleas. Actual tears.
Hades brought the ax over his right shoulder to throw, releasing when the handle was straight up and down. It landed with a crack in the wood, in the hollow between Felix’s shoulder and neck, and the prisoner whimpered.
“Why do you do this?” he howled.
Hades turned back to the table and grabbed another ax.
He took aim again, and this time, it landed between the man’s legs, only a hair from his balls.
“You motherfucker!” Felix roared. The veins in his neck popped, his eyes went wide, and the true nature of his soul surfaced, angry, terrifying. “Just kill me!”
“Killing you defeats the purpose,” Hades replied.
The rapist’s eternal torture was to be under a constant state of stress. Each time Hades took aim was another second spent wondering if this blow would be his last. It was the same horrible agony the man had put his victims through.
Hades ignored Felix and retrieved another ax.
“I will kill you!” the man seethed. “I will kill you and your lover!”
Hades paused and turned toward the man. “What did you say?”
This was not usual, not for Felix and not for any soul. They did not leave Tartarus. They were never aware of anything outside their eternal punishment.
“That’s right,” Felix said, a sickening gleam to his eyes. “I know about your lover. The blond. She takes up most of your time now…and your thoughts.”
Hades did not want to ask how he knew, did not want to give him anything he might hold on to and repeat when he was revived again later.
“I’ll find her. I’ll have fun too. I’ll taste her like you’ve tasted her and then I’ll carve her from the inside out.”
There was no way he could, of course. Even if he managed to escape his bonds, he would not make it out of this cavern.
The problem was, how did he know?
Hades let his arm fall, his fingers still tight around the ax handle.
The gleam in Felix’s eyes dimmed, replaced by a subtle panic. He’d likely thought his words would lead to a quick death—and they would, but not in the way he’d imagined.
“You think you have power here, mortal?” Hades asked, gathering magic into his hand. It was energy that warmed his hand, and while invisible to the mortal’s eyes, Hades knew he could feel it.
Everyone could feel death.
“How wrong you are.”
Hades teleported and appeared before the man in a second, the magic in his hand manifesting in the form of a black spike he shoved into the bottom of his chin, straight through his head. Blood spattered on Hades’s face, spilling from the soul’s mouth and wide eyes. The kill was far less than he deserved. Hades had wanted to destroy his soul, but doing so would be the end of discovering how he knew about Persephone, which was of great concern to him. He would need to bring him back to life later to learn more. Knowledge of her should have ended at the borders of Tartarus. How then did this mediocre prisoner know of the existence of his lover?
“Thanatos!”
Hades jerked his hand free, allowing his magic to dissipate. As he turned, he came face-to-face with the God of Death. He was a pale wraith, cloaked in shadow. His deep-blue eyes, usually as bright as sapphires, hardened and darkened as his gaze slipped from Hades’s to his bloodied prisoner.
“Are you well, my lord?” he asked.
“No,” Hades said. “Tell me how a prisoner of Tartarus knew enough about Persephone to threaten her.”
Thanatos’s eyes widened. “I…I cannot say,” he said, stumbling over his words, and then his mouth tightened. “But I will find out.”
“See that you do,” Hades replied.
He left Tartarus and bathed at the palace. Once he was dressed, he went in search of Persephone. Felix’s words urged him to find her while Hecate’s urged him to teach her and to be honest. All he wanted at this moment was to be near her. To know that she was safe.
This time when he went in search of her, he could feel the caress of her magic, though faint, and followed it to the silvery grove of trees he had gifted her. He found her kneeling in a patch of periwinkle and white phlox, her hands stretched out over a small, round section that had begun to wither. The energy around her was chaotic, and while there were moments when he felt her magic surge and focus on her task, it was soon overtaken by the turmoil of her thoughts.
After a few moments, she settled back, her body overwhelmed with her failure.
Hades stepped forward and settled behind her, letting his legs frame her body, drawing her back against his chest. He liked this, liked her scent, liked how her body settled against his in comfort despite the anger that had preceded this moment.
“You are practicing your magic?” he asked, voice quiet.
“More like failing,” she said.
“You aren’t failing,” he said. He spoke near her ear and offered a small laugh at how desolate her voice sounded, only because she was wrong. “You have so much power.”
“Then why can’t I use it?”
“You are using it.”
“Not…correctly.”
“Is there a correct way to use your magic?”
He felt her frustration, obviously not understanding how he viewed her progress toward harnessing her magic. He wrapped his fingers around her wrists like cuffs, watching as chills pebbled up her arms.
“You use your magic all the time—when you are angry, when you are aroused…”
She had no trouble calling vines to ensnare him for the purpose of their pleasure, and at the thought, he let his lips trail across her shoulder, a light touch that made her shiver.
“That is not magic,” she breathed.
“Then what is magic?” he asked.
“Magic is…” Her voice faded away as she considered what to say, finally answering. “Control.”
Her response made him chuckle. Magic, in its most basic form, was wild.
“Magic is not controlled. It is passionate, expressive. It reacts to emotions, no matter your level of expertise.”
Just like her, he thought as he moved his hands to hold hers.
“Close your eyes,” he instructed, mouth near her ear once more. She obeyed without hesitation. He had to wonder if she did so to escape the sweet tension rising between them. “Tell me what you feel.”
“I feel…warm.”
He knew that, and his body was responding, tightening.
“Focus on it,” he whispered, voice low and heavy, betraying his arousal. “Where does it start?”
It grew worse when she answered, “Low. In my stomach.”
He wanted to press his hand there, to tease her until she drew her legs up and granted him access to her heat. Instead, his hands tightened on hers.
“Feed it,” he said.