Except that he was obviously taken—and if not taken, otherwise engaged with another woman.
She resisted looking over her shoulder to see if he remained on the balcony until her curiosity won out, but when she looked, the balcony was empty. She frowned, disappointed, and craned her neck, searching the crowd.
“Looking for Hades?” Adonis joked, and Persephone’s gaze snapped to his.
“Oh, no—”
“I heard he was here tonight,” Lexa interrupted.
Adonis laughed. “Yeah, he’s usually upstairs.”
“What’s upstairs?” Persephone asked.
“A lounge. It’s quieter. More intimate. I guess he prefers the peace when he’s negotiating his terms.”
“Terms?” Persephone echoed.
“Yeah, you know, for his contracts. Mortals come here to play him for things—money or love or whatever. The fucked-up part is, if the mortal loses, he gets to pick the stakes. And he’ll usually ask them to do something impossible.”
“What do you mean?”
“Apparently he can see vices or whatever. So he’ll ask the alcoholic to remain sober and the sex addict to be chaste. If they meet the terms, they get to live. If they fail, he gets their soul. It’s like he wants them to lose.”
Persephone felt a little sick. She hadn’t known the extent of Hades’ gambling; the most she’d heard was that he asked for the mortal’s soul, but this sounded much, much worse. It was…manipulation.
How did Hades know these mortals’ weaknesses? Did he consult the Fates or possess this power himself?
“Is anyone allowed up there?” Persephone asked.
“If you’re given the password,” Adonis said.
“How do you get the password?” Lexa asked.
Adonis shrugged. “Hell if I know. I don’t come here to bargain with the God of the Dead.”
Though she had no desire to enter into a bargain with Hades, Persephone did wonder how people came by the password. How did Hades accept a wager? Did mortals offer their case to the god who then deemed it worthy?
Lexa stood, grabbing Persephone’s free hand. “Persephone, bathroom.”
She dragged her across the crowded floor to the restroom. While they waited at the end of the long line, Lexa leaned toward Persephone, a huge smile plastered on her face.
“Have you seen a more attractive male?” she gushed.
Persephone’s brows lowered. “Adonis?”
“Of course, Adonis! Who else?”
Persephone would have liked to inform Lexa that while she was ogling Adonis, she’d missed the man who truly deserved the term. Instead, she said, “You’re smitten.”
“I’m in love.”
Persephone rolled her eyes. “You can’t be in love, you just met him!”
“Okay, maybe not love. But if he asked me to carry his babies, I’d agree.”
“You are ridiculous.”
“Just honest,” she grinned. Then she looked at Persephone seriously and said, “It’s okay to be vulnerable, you know?”
“What do you mean?” Persephone’s question was snappier than she intended.
Lexa shrugged. “Never mind.”
Persephone wanted to ask her to elaborate, but before she could, a stall opened, and Lexa took it. Persephone waited, sorting through her thoughts, trying to figure out what Lexa might have been talking about, when another one opened.
After Persephone emerged from the restroom, she looked for Lexa, expecting her to be waiting, but didn’t see her among the crowd. She looked toward the balcony where Hades supposedly made his deals; had her friend wandered up?
Then her gaze met a pair of sea-green eyes; a woman was leaning against the column at the end of the stairs. Persephone thought she looked familiar but couldn’t place her. Her hair was like gold silk and as radiant as Helios’ sun, her skin the color of cream, and she wore a modern version of a peplos that matched her eyes.
“Looking for someone?” she asked.
“My friend,” Persephone said. “She was wearing red.”
“She went up.” The woman tilted her chin toward the steps, and Persephone followed her gaze. “Have you been there?”
“Oh, no, I haven’t,” Persephone said.
“I can give you the password.”
“How did you get the password?”
The woman shrugged. “Here and there,” she paused. “So?”
Persephone couldn’t deny she was curious. This was the thrill she’d been seeking—the adventure she craved. “Tell me.”
The woman chuckled, her eyes glittering in a way that made Persephone wary. “Pathos.”
Tragedy. Persephone found that horribly ominous.
“Th-thanks,” she said, and headed up the spiral steps to the second floor. As she topped the stairs, she found nothing but a set of dark doors embellished with gold and a gorgon standing guard.
The creature’s face was badly scarred—evident even with the white blindfold covering her eyes. Like others of her kind, she once had snakes in place of hair. Now, a white hooded cloak covered her head and hid her body.
As Persephone approached, she noticed the walls were reflective, and she caught herself in the surface, observing the blush of her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes. Her glamour had weakened since she’d been here. She hoped if anyone noticed, she could blame it on the excitement and alcohol. Persephone wasn’t sure why she felt so nervous; maybe it was because she didn’t know what to expect beyond those doors.
The gorgon lifted her head, but did not speak. For a moment, there was silence, and then the creature inhaled, and she froze.
“Divine,” the gorgon purred.
“Excuse me?” Persephone asked.
“Goddess.”
“You are mistaken.”
The gorgon laughed. “I may have no eyes, but I know a god when I smell one. What hope have you of entering?”
“You are bold for a creature who knows they speak with a goddess,” Persephone said.
The gorgon smiled. “Only a goddess when it serves you?”
“Pathos!” Persephone snapped.
The gorgon’s smile remained, but she opened the door and asked no more questions. “Enjoy, my lady.”
Persephone glared at the monster as she entered a smaller, smoky room. Unlike the main floor of the club, this space was intimate and quiet. Overhead, there was a single, large chandelier that provided enough light to ignite tables and faces, but not much else. There were several clusters of people gathered, playing cards, and none of them seemed to notice her.
When the door clicked shut behind her, she started to explore, looking for Lexa, but found herself distracted by the people and the games. She watched as graceful hands dispensed cards and listened as players at the tables bantered back and forth. Then she came to an oval table where the occupants were leaving. She wasn’t sure what drew her to it, but she decided to sit.
The dealer nodded. “Madam.”
“Do you play?” A voice asked from behind her. It was a deep rumble she felt in her chest.
She turned and met a pair of endless eyes. The man from the balcony stood in her shadow. Her blood heated to an unbearable level, making her flush. She squeezed her crossed legs together and clenched her hands into fists to keep from fidgeting under his gaze.
Up close she was able to fill in a few gaps in her assessment of his appearance. He was beautiful in a dark way—in a way that promised heartbreak. His eyes were the color of obsidian and framed by thick lashes, his hair pulled into a bun at the back of his head. She had been right that he was tall; she had to tip her head back just to meet his gaze.
When Persephone’s chest started to ache, she realized she had been holding her breath since the man approached. Slowly, she drew in air and with it, the smell of him—smoke and spice and winter air. It filled every empty place inside her.
As she stared, he took a sip from his glass, licking his lips clean. He was sin incarnate. She could feel it in the way her body responded to his—and she didn’t want him to know. So she smiled and said, “I’m willing to play if you’re willing to teach.”
His lips quirked, and he raised a dark brow. He took another drink, then approached the table, taking a seat beside her. “It’s brave to sit down at a table without knowing the game.”
She met the man’s gaze. “How else would I learn?”
“Hmm.” He considered, and Persephone decided she loved his voice. “Clever.”
The man stared like he was trying to place her, and she shivered.
“I have never seen you before.”
“Well, I’ve never been here before,” she said and paused. “You must come here often.”
His lips quirked. “I do.”
“Why?” she asked. Persephone was surprised she said that aloud—and so was the man. His brows rose. She tried to recover. “I mean—you don’t have to answer that.”
“I will answer it. If you will answer a question for me.”
She stared at him for a moment, then nodded. “Fine.”
“I come because it is…fun,” he said, but it didn’t sound like he knew what that was. “Now you—why are you here tonight?”
“My friend Lexa was on the list,” she said.
“No. That is the answer to a different question. Why are you here tonight?”
She considered his question, then said, “It seemed rebellious at the time.”
“And now you aren’t so sure?”
“Oh, I am sure it’s rebellious.” Persephone dragged her finger along the surface of the table. “I’m just not sure how I’ll feel about it tomorrow.”
“Who are you rebelling against?”
She looked at him and smiled. “You said one question.”
His smile matched hers and it made her heart beat harder in her chest. “So I did.”
Staring back at those endless eyes, she felt he could see her—not the glamour or even her skin and bones, but the core of her, and it made her shiver.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“What?”
“You’ve been shivering since you sat down.”
She felt her face redden. “Who was that woman with you earlier?”
Confusion clouded his face and then cleared. “Oh, Minthe. She’s always putting her hands where they don’t belong.”
Persephone paled—she sounded like a mistress, and if that was the case, she wasn’t interested. “I…think I should go.”
He stopped her with a hand on hers. His touch was electric and warmed her from the inside out. She pulled away quickly.
“No,” he said, almost commanding, and Persephone glared at him.
“Excuse me?”
“What I mean to say is, I haven’t taught you how to play yet.” His voice lowered to a mesmerizing rumble. “Allow me.”
It was a mistake to hold his gaze, because it was impossible to say no when she did. She swallowed and managed to relax. “Then teach me.”
His eyes burned into her before falling to the cards. He shuffled them, explaining, “This is poker.”
She noted that he had graceful hands and long fingers. Did he play piano?
“We will play five-card draw and we’ll start with a bet.”
Persephone looked down at herself—she hadn’t brought her clutch, but the man was quick to say, “A question answered, then. If I win, you will answer any question I pose, and if you win, I will answer yours.”
Persephone grimaced. She knew what he was going to ask, but answering questions was far better than losing all her money and her soul, so she said, “Deal.”
Those sensual lips curled into a smile, which deepened lines on his face that only made him look more attractive. Who was this man? She guessed she could ask his name, but she wasn’t interested in making friends at Nevernight.
While dealing each of them five cards, the man explained that, in poker, there were ten different rankings, the lowest being the high card and the highest being the royal flush. The goal was to draw a higher rank than the other player. He explained other things, like checking, folding, and bluffing.
“Bluffing?” Persephone echoed.
“Sometimes, poker is just a game of deception…especially when you’re losing.”
Persephone looked at her hand and tried to remember what he’d said about the different ranks. She laid her cards down, face up, and the man did the same.
“You have a pair of queens,” he said. “And I have a full house.”
“So…you win,” she said.
“Yes,” he replied, and claimed his prize immediately. “Who are you rebelling against?”
She smiled wryly. “My mother.”
He raised a brow. “Why?”
“You’ll have to win another hand if I’m going to answer.”
He dealt another and won again. This time, he didn’t ask the question, just looked at her expectantly.
She sighed. “Because…she made me mad.”
He stared at her, waiting, and she smiled. “You never said the answer had to be detailed.”
His grin matched hers. “Noted for the future, I assure you.”
“The future?”
“Well, I hope this isn’t the last time we’ll play poker.”
Butterflies erupted in her stomach. She should tell him this was the first and final time she would come to Nevernight.
Except she couldn’t make herself say the words.
He dealt again and won. Persephone was getting tired of losing and answering this man’s questions. Why was he so interested in her, anyway? Where was that woman he’d been with earlier?
“Why are you angry with your mother?”
She considered this question for a moment. “She wants me to be something I can’t.” Persephone dropped her gaze to the cards. “I don’t understand why people do this.”
He tilted his head. “You are not enjoying our game?”
“I am. But…I don’t understand why people play Hades. Why do they want to sell their soul to him?”
“They don’t agree to a game because they want to sell their soul,” he said. “They do it because they think they can win.”
“Do they? Win?”
“Sometimes.”
“Does that anger him, you think?” The question was meant to remain a thought in her head, and yet the words slipped out between her lips.
He smirked, and she could feel it deep in her gut. “Darling, I win either way.”
Her eyes went wide, and her heart stuttered. She stood quickly, and his name fell from her mouth like a curse.
“Hades.”
His name on her tongue seemed to have an effect on him, but she couldn’t tell if it was good or bad—his eyes darkened, and his smile lines melted into a hard, unreadable mask.
“I have to go.”
She spun and left the small room.
This time, she didn’t let him stop her; she hurried down the winding steps and plunged into the mass of bodies on the main floor. All the while, she was highly aware of the spot on her wrist where Hades’ fingers had touched her skin. Was it an exaggeration to say it burned?
It took her a while to find the exit, and when she did, she pushed through the doors. Outside, she took a few deep breaths before hailing a taxi. Climbing inside, she sent a quick text to Lexa, letting her know she was leaving, and while she felt bad, it didn’t seem fair to make Lexa leave early just because she couldn’t stay in that tower another minute.
The force of what she’d done hit her.
She’d allowed Hades, the God of the Underworld, to instruct her, to touch her, to play her, and question her.
And he had won.
But that wasn’t the worst part.
No, the worst part was that there was a side of her—a side she’d never known existed until tonight—that wanted to run back inside, find him, and demand a lesson in the anatomy of his body.
CHAPTER III – NEW ATHENS NEWS
Morning came fast.
Persephone checked the mirror to ensure her glamour was in place. It was weak magic because it was borrowed, but it was enough to hide her horns and turn her bottle-green eyes mossy.
She reached up to apply a touch more glamour to her eyes. They were the hardest to get right, and it took the most magic to dull their bright, abnormal light. As she did, she halted, noticing something on her wrist.
Something dark.
She took a closer look. A series of black dots marked her skin, some smaller, others larger. It looked like a simple, elegant tattoo had been inked on her arm.
And it was wrong.
Persephone turned the faucet on and scrubbed her skin until it was red and raw, but the ink didn’t move or smear. In fact, it seemed to darken.
Then she remembered yesterday at Nevernight when Hades’ hand had covered hers to keep her from leaving. The warmth of his skin transferred to hers, but when she fled the club later, that warmth turned to a burn, which only intensified when she went to bed last night.
She’d turned on the light several times to inspect her wrist but found nothing.
Until this morning.
Persephone lifted her gaze to the mirror and her glamour rippled from her anger. Why had she obeyed his request to stay? Why had she been blind to the fact that she had invited the God of the Dead to teach her cards?
She knew why. She’d been distracted by his beauty. Why hadn’t anyone warned her that Hades was a charming bastard? That his smile stole breath and his gaze stopped hearts?
What was this thing on her wrist and what did it mean?
She knew one thing for certain: Hades was going to tell her.
Today.
Before she could return to the obsidian tower, however, she had to go to her internship. Her eyes fell to a pretty embellished box her mother had given her. It sat on the corner of her vanity and held jewelry, but at twelve, it had contained five gold seeds. Demeter had crafted them from her magic and said they would bloom into roses the color of liquid gold for her, the Goddess of Spring.
Persephone planted them and did her best to nurture the flowers, but instead of growing into the blossoms she expected, they grew withered and black.
She would never forget the look on her mother’s face when she found her staring at the wilted roses—shocked, disappointed, and in disbelief that her daughter’s flowers grew from the ground like something straight out of the Underworld.
Demeter had reached forward, touched the flowers, and they flared with life.
Persephone never went near them again, and avoided that part of the greenhouse.
Looking at the box, the mark on her skin burned as hot as her shame. She couldn’t let her mother find out.
She searched through the box until she found a bracelet wide enough to cover the mark. It would have to do until Hades removed it.
Persephone returned to her room, but didn’t make it far when her mother materialized in front of her. Persephone jumped, and her heart felt like it wanted to jump out of her chest.
“By the gods, Mother! Can you at least use the door like a normal parent? And knock?”
On a normal day, she wouldn’t have snapped, but she was feeling on edge. Demeter couldn’t find out about Nevernight.. She did a quick inventory of everything she’d worn last night—the dress was in Lexa’s room, the shoes in her closet, and she’d shoved the jewelry in her purse which hung on her doorknob.
The Goddess of Harvest was beautiful and didn’t bother to glamour up to hide her elegant, seven-point antlers. Her hair was blond like Persephone’s, but straight and long. She had glowing skin and her high cheekbones were naturally rosy like her lips. Demeter lifted her pointed chin, assessing Persephone with critical eyes—eyes that changed from brown to green to gold.
“Nonsense,” she said, taking Persephone’s chin between her thumb and forefinger, applying more magic. Persephone knew what she was doing without looking in the mirror—covering her freckles, brightening the color in her cheeks, and straightening her wavy hair. Demeter liked when Persephone resembled her, and Persephone preferred to look as little like her mother as possible. “You might be playing mortal, but you can still look Divine.”.
Persephone rolled her eyes. Her appearance was just another way she disappointed her mother.
“There!” Demeter finally exclaimed, releasing her chin. “Beautiful.”
Persephone looked in the mirror. She had been right—Demeter had covered up everything Persephone liked about herself. Still, she managed a forced, “Thank you, Mother.”
“It was nothing, my flower.” Demeter patted her cheek. “So, tell me about this…job.”
The word sounded like a curse coming from Demeter’s lips. Persephone ground her teeth together. She was surprised by how fast and furious the anger tore through her. “It’s an internship, Mother. If I do well, I might have a job when I graduate.”
Demeter frowned. “Dear, you know you do not have to work.”
“So you say,” she muttered under her breath.
“What was that?”
Persephone turned to her mother and said louder, “I want to do this. I’m good at it.”
“You are good at so many things, Kore.”
“Don’t call me that!” Persephone snapped, and her mother’s eyes flashed. She’d seen that look right before Demeter thrashed one of her nymphs for letting her wander out of sight.
Persephone shouldn’t have gotten angry, but she couldn’t help it. She hated that name. It was her childhood nickname, and it meant exactly that—maiden. The word was like a prison, but worse than that, it reminded her that if she stepped too far out of line, the bars of her prison would solidify. She was the magic-less daughter of an Olympian. Not only that, she borrowed her mother’s magic, and that tether made obeying her even more important. Without Demeter’s glamour, Persephone couldn’t live in the mortal world anonymously.
“Sorry, Mother,” she managed, but she didn’t look at the goddess when she spoke. Not because she was embarrassed, but because she really didn’t mean the apology.