Persephone kicked and clawed, but the more she struggled, the tighter the grip and the faster the thing moved, deep into the river. She tried to twist to get a look at what had snatched her, but a spasm of pain made her cry out and water spilled into her mouth and down her throat.
Then something clamped down on her wrist, jerking her roughly as the thing pulling her feet halted. When she looked at what held her wrist, she tried to scream, but inhaled water instead.
It was a corpse. Two vacant eyes stared back at her, bits of skin still clinging to parts of its skeleton face.
She was caught between the two as they pulled her up and down, stretching her body to the point of pain. They were soon joined by two more who took hold of her remaining limbs. Her lungs burned and her chest ached, and she felt pressure building behind her eyes.
I’m going to die in the Underworld.
But then one of the dead let go to attack the others, and the rest followed soon after. Persephone took her chance and swam as fast as she could. She was weak and tired, but she could see Hades’ strange sky brightening the surface of the river above, and the freedom and air it promised motivated her.
She broke the surface just as one of the dead caught up with her. Something sharp bit into her shoulder and dragged her under again. This time, she was saved as someone from the riverbank managed to grab her wrist and drag her from the water, the dead thing wrenching free with a vengeance. A scream tore through her and suddenly she couldn’t take in air.
She felt solid ground beneath her, and a musical voice commanded her to breathe.
She couldn’t—it was a combination of the pain and the exhaustion. Then she felt the press of a mouth against hers as air pushed into her lungs. She rolled over and heaved, water spilling onto the grass. When she was finished, she collapsed onto her back, exhausted.
A man’s face loomed over hers. He reminded her of sunshine with his golden curls and bronzed skin, but it was his eyes she liked the most. They were gold and brimming with curiosity.
“You’re a god,” she said, surprised.
He smiled, showing a set of dimples on either side of his face. “I am.”
“You’re not Hades.”
“No.” He looked amused. “I am Hermes.”
“Ah,” she said, and laid her head back down.
“Ah?”
“Yes, ah.”
He grinned. “So, you’ve heard of me?”
She rolled her eyes. “The God of Trickery and Thieves.”
“I beg your pardon, you forgot trade, commerce, merchants, roads, sports, travelers, athletes, heraldry…”
“How could I have forgotten heraldry?” she asked absently, and then shivered, staring up at the dim sky.
“You’re cold?” he asked.
“Well, I was just pulled from a river.”
He took off his cloak and covered her. The fabric suctioned to her skin, and it was then she remembered that she’d worn that short, silver dress to Nevernight.
She flushed. “Thank you.”
“It is my pleasure,” he said, still watching her. “Shall I guess who you are?”
“Oh yes—entertain yourself,” she said.
Hermes looked serious for a moment and tapped his full lips with his finger. “Hmm. I think you are the Goddess of Sexual Frustration.”
Persephone barked laughter. “I think that’s Aphrodite.”
“Did I say sexual frustration? I meant Hades’ sexual frustration.”
Just as the words were out of his mouth, a blast of raw power threw him back. His body made the ground shake as he landed, tossing up dirt and rock.
Persephone sat up despite the pain and turned to find Hades towering over her in his sharp black suit. His eyes were glimmered darkly and his nostrils flared.
“Why did you do that?” she demanded.
“You try my patience, Goddess, and my favor,” he replied.
“So you are a goddess!” Hermes said triumphantly, rising from the rubble unscathed.
She glared at Hades.
“He will keep your secret, or he will find himself in Tartarus.”
Hermes brushed dirt and rock from his arms and chest. “You know, Hades, not everything has to be a threat. You could try asking once in a while—just like you could have asked me to step away from your goddess here instead of throwing me halfway across the Underworld.”
“I’m not his goddess! And you—” Persephone looked at Hades. Hermes’ brows rose with amusement as she struggled to her feet, because up until now she’d been glaring up at them both from the ground. “You could be nicer to him. He did save me from your river!”
Once she was on her feet, she regretted moving. She felt dizzy and nauseous.
“You wouldn’t have had to be saved from my river if you had waited for me!”
“Right, because you were otherwise engaged,” she rolled her eyes. “Wonder what that means.”
“Shall I get you a dictionary?”
Hermes laughed, and Hades turned on him. “Why are you still here?”
Persephone swayed, and Hades lunged, catching her before she hit the ground. The impact jarred her side, and she moaned.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded.
“I fell on the stairs. I think I…” she took a breath and winced. “I think I bruised my ribs.”
When she met his gaze, she was surprised to see he looked worried. She recalled Ilias’ words from earlier—he takes it personally if anyone is harmed in his realm.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m okay.”
Then Hermes said, “She has a pretty nasty gash on her shoulder, too.”
And the worry she’d seen burned away with his anger. His jaw tightened, and he lifted Persephone into his arms, careful not to jar her.
“Where are we going?”
“To my palace,” he said, and teleported, leaving Hermes alone on the riverbank.
CHAPTER VII – A TOUCH OF FAVOR
“Are you well?” Hades asked.
Persephone closed her eyes when they teleported because it usually made her dizzy. Now she looked up, meeting his gaze, and nodded.
Hades settled her on the edge of a bed covered in black silk sheets. She looked around, discovering he’d brought her to a bedroom. It reminded her of Nevernight with its shiny obsidian walls and floor, and despite all the black, the room was somehow comfortable. Perhaps it had to do with the roaring hearth opposite the bed, the fur rug at her feet, or maybe the wall of French doors that led to a balcony overlooking a forest of deep green trees.
Hades kneeled on the ground before her, and she felt a little panicked, hands trembling. “What are you doing?”
He said nothing as he pulled Hermes’ cloak from her body. She hadn’t been prepared or she would have fought for it; instead, she stilled, exposed under Hades’ gaze. He sat back on his heels as his eyes travelled over her body, lingering longest on her torn shoulder, catching in all the places her silver dress clung. She drew an arm over her chest, trying to maintain some modesty as Hades came up onto his knees, bracing his arms on either side of her. From this angle, his face was level with hers. She felt his whiskey-laced breath on her lips when he spoke.
“Which side?” he asked.
She kept his gaze a moment before reaching for his hand and pressing it to her side. She was surprised by her boldness but rewarded with his warm, healing touch. She moaned and leaned into him. If anyone entered his room at this point, they might think he was listening to her heart with the way he was positioned—pressed between her legs, head turned away.
She took a few deep breaths until she no longer felt the ache of her bruised ribs. After a moment, he turned toward her, but did not pull away.
“Better?” His voice was low, a husky whisper that trailed over her skin. She resisted the urge to shiver.
“Yes.”
“Your shoulder is next,” he said, standing.
She started to turn her head to get a glimpse at the wound, but Hades stopped her with a hand on her cheek.
“No,” he said. “It’s best if you don’t look.”
He turned from her then and stepped into an adjacent room, and she heard the sound of running water. While she waited for him to return, she rested on her side, eager to close her tired eyes.
“Wake, my darling.” Hades’ voice was like his touch—warm, luring. He kneeled before her again, blurry at first, and then coming into sharp focus.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“Do not apologize,” he said, and set to work cleaning the blood from her shoulder.
“I can do this,” she said, and started to rise, but Hades held her in place and met her gaze.
“Allow me this,” he said. There was something raw and primal in his eyes she knew she couldn’t argue with, so she nodded.
His touch was gentle, and she closed her eyes. So he would know she wasn’t asleep, she asked questions: “Why are there dead people in your river?”
“They are the souls who were not buried with coins,” he said.
She opened on eye. “You still do that?”
He smirked. She decided she liked when he smiled. “No. Those dead are ancient.”
“And what do they do? Besides drown the living.”
“That’s all they do,” he replied matter-of-factly, and Persephone paled. Then she realized that was their purpose. No souls in, no souls out. Anyone who found their way into the Underworld without Hades’ knowledge would have to cross the Styx, and it was not likely they would survive.
She fell silent after that. Hades finished cleaning her wound, and once again, she felt his healing warmth radiate through her. Her shoulder took far longer than her ribs, and she wondered just how bad the injury had been.
Once he was done, he placed his fingers under her chin. “Change,” he said.
“I…don’t have anything to change into.”
“I have something.” He helped her to her feet, directed her behind a screen, and handed her a short, black satin robe.
She looked at the piece of fabric and then at him. “I’m guessing this isn’t yours?”
“The Underworld is prepared for all manner of guests.”
“Thank you,” she said curtly. “But I don’t think I want to wear something one of your lovers has also worn.”
She wished he would have told her there were no lovers, but instead he frowned and said, “It’s either this or nothing at all, Persephone.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“What? Undress you? Happily, and with far more enthusiasm than you realize, my lady.”
She spent a moment glaring at him, and then her shoulders sagged. She was exhausted and frustrated and not interested in challenging the god. She took the robe from him. “Fine.”
He gave her the privacy she needed to change. She stepped out from behind the partition in the robe and immediately fell under Hades’ gaze. He stared at her for a long moment before clearing his throat, taking her wet dress and hanging it over the screen.
“What now?” she asked.
“You rest,” he said and lifted her into his arms. She wanted to protest—he had healed her, and despite her weariness, she could walk—but being in his arms made her feel flush and shy, so she remained quiet, unable to speak. Hades held her gaze even as he laid her down and drew the blankets over her body.
Her eyes were heavy with sleep.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and then noted the harsh set of his face. Frowning, she said, “You’re angry.”
She reached out to smooth his knitted brows, tracing her finger along the side of his face, over his cheek, and to the corner of his lips. He did not relax under her touch, and she withdrew quickly, closing her eyes, not wanting to witness his frustration.
“Persephone,” she said.
“What?” he asked.
“I want to be called Persephone. Not ‘lady.’”
“Rest,” she heard him say. “I will be here when you wake.”
She didn’t fight the sleep that came.
***
Persephone’s eyes felt like sandpaper when she opened them. For a moment, she thought she was home in her bed, but quickly remembered she had almost drowned in a river in the Underworld. Hades had brought her to his palace, and she now lay in his bed.
She sat up quickly, closing her eyes against her dizziness. When it passed, she opened them again and found Hades sitting in a chair, watching her. In one hand he held a glass of whiskey, apparently his drink of choice. He had shed his suit jacket and wore a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the buttons halfway undone. She couldn’t place his expression, but she felt that he was upset.
Hades took a sip of the whiskey, and the fire behind him cracked in the silence that stretched between them. In that quiet, she was hyper-aware of the way her body was reacting to him. He wasn’t even doing anything, but in these close quarters, she could smell him, and it ignited a fire in the pit of her stomach.
She found herself wishing he would speak—say something so I can be mad at you again, she thought. When he didn’t oblige, she promoted him:
“How long have I been here?” she asked.
“Hours,” he replied.
Her eyes widened. “What time is it?”
He shrugged. “Late.”
“I have to go,” she said, but didn’t move.
“You have come all this way. Allow me to offer you a tour of my world.”
When Hades stood, his presence seemed to fill the room. He downed the last of his whiskey, walked to where she sat on the bed, grasped the covers and drew them away. As she slept, the robe he had given her loosened, exposing a sheath of white skin between her breasts. She held it closed, her cheeks flushed.
Hades pretended not to notice and held out his hand. She took it, expecting him to step away when she got to her feet, but he remained close and kept a hold of her fingers. When she finally looked up, he was watching her.
“Are you well?” His voice was deep and rumbled through her.
She nodded. “Better.”
He drew his finger along her cheek, leaving a trail of heat. “Trust that I am devastated that you were hurt in my realm.”
She swallowed and managed to say, “I’m okay.”
His gentle eyes hardened. “It will never happen again. Come.”
He led her onto the balcony outside his room, where the view was breathtaking. The colors of the Underworld were muted, but still beautiful. The grey sky provided a backdrop for the black mountains, which melded with a forest of deep green trees. To the right, the trees thinned, and she could see the Styx’s black water snaking through the tall grass.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“It’s beautiful,” she answered, and she thought he looked pleased. “You created all of this?”
He nodded only once. “The Underworld evolves just as the world above.”
Her fingers were still laced with his, and he tugged, leading her off the balcony, down a set of stairs that emptied into one of the most beautiful gardens she had ever seen. Lavender wisteria created a canopy over a dark stone path, and clusters of purple and red flowers grew wildly on either side of the trail.
The garden awed her and angered her. She turned on Hades, pulling her hand from his. “You bastard!”
“Names, Persephone,” he warned.
“Don’t you dare. This—this is beautiful!” It made her heart ache and was something she longed to create. She stared longer, finding new flowers—roses of inky blue, peonies in pink, willows and trees with dark purple leaves.
“It is,” he agreed.
“Why would you ask me to create life here?” She tried to keep her voice from sounding so despondent, but she couldn’t manage it, standing at the center of her dream manifested outside of her head.
He stared at her for a moment, and then, with a wave of his hand, the roses and peonies and willows were gone. In their place was nothing but desolate land. She gaped at Hades as she stood in the ruins of his realm.
“It is illusion,” he said. “If it is a garden you wish to create, then it will truly be the only life here.”
She stared half in awe, half in disgust at the land before her. So all this beauty was Hades’ magic? And he maintained it effortlessly? He was truly a powerful god.