CHAPTER XVIII: THE THREE MOONS

CHAPTER XVIII – THE THREE MOONS

Hades stood outside an occult shop known as The Three Moons. It was where Hecate had traced the scent of magic used at Poseidon’s shipyard. Beside him was Hecate, who looked like a member of a cult, dressed in a black silken cloak and hood. They were both gazing at the imagery on the shop window—a full moon framed by two half-moons. It was Hecate’s symbol, and it had multiple meanings, none of which were represented by the man who ran the shop—Vasilis Remes, a Magi.

Magi were mortals who tended to practice black magic and poorly, often creating chaos Hecate had to quell.

“Tell me you have brought me here to curse this mortal,” Hecate said, hopeful, glancing at Hades.

Hades lips quirked. “Only if you are very good.”

He stepped past her and entered the shop. As he did, a bell sounded overhead, and a voice snapped from somewhere in the dark, “Be with you in a minute!”

Hades and Hecate exchanged a look.

“Excellent customer service,” she commented and began to explore the shop, wrinkling her nose as she went. “This place stinks of dark magic.”

Hades could smell it, too. It reeked of burnt flesh and something…metallic. The shop was dark. The large window bearing Hecate’s symbol had been covered with dark

paint. The only light source came from black candles, all varying heights. Hades did not know much about witchcraft, but he knew those candles were typically used for

protection, which made him wonder exactly what Vasilis Remes needed protecting from…well, other than them.

Then again, perhaps the Magi kept the shop dark to hide the chaos. It was a wreck, crowded with cases of stones and crystals of all shapes and sizes, books that were unorganized and shoved into every open nook. There were hexing poppets and athames, vials of oils and dust, and—

“Dove’s blood,” Hecate said.

Hades looked at the goddess, who had been across the room moments ago. They had a competition going for a few years. The first to sneak up on the other wins, the prize to be claimed on the day of victory.

He raised a brow. “I know you were trying to scare me.”

“Did it work?” she asked.

Hades leaned in a little more, offering a deliberate, “No,” before turning back to the line of vials, nodding toward the one with the red-black blood.

“What is it used for?”

“Mostly love spells,” she replied.

Hades should have guessed. The dove was Aphrodite’s symbol and love her wheelhouse. This was an example of why Magi were so dangerous—they attempted to obtain the power of the gods, usually for nefarious purposes and disastrous implications.

“It is also used to seal pacts and promises,” she said. “Too bad they cannot extract

favors.”

“Hmm,” Hades agreed, when he noticed Hecate stiffen. Something had caught her

attention. “What is it?”

The goddess crossed the room, approaching the clerk’s counter. Hades followed, curious at first and then horrified by what he saw. A set of shelves were mounted upon the wall behind the counter and, displayed like prized possessions, were a set of shriveled hands. Each one had a candle clutched between their fingers.

“Hecate.” Hades said her name quietly. “What are those?”

“Hands of Glory,” she said. “Traditionally, they are the hands of hanging victims.”

The two exchanged a look; people were no longer hanged in New Greece. If Hades had to guess, those hands came from graves.

“It is said that those in possession of one may render anyone else immobile.”

It was a blasphemous weapon that could do a lot of harm if given to the wrong person.

Just then, a rotund man stumbled from a shrouded doorway behind the clerk’s counter. He did not look in their direction as he rubbed his palms over his black robes, which Hades found unsettling.

“Can I help you?” His voice was a high-pitched whine, and Hades had the thought that he would be annoying to torture.

“You can start by telling us where Sisyphus de Ephyra is hiding,” Hades said.

The Magi’s head snapped toward them, small eyes widening in his chubby, sallow face. He stumbled clumsily and fell over something hidden in the shadows behind his desk. After a moment, he popped back up, struggling to reach one of the hands shelved on the wall. When he finally swiped it from its place, he held it aloft, shaking.

“Stay back!”

Hades and Hecate exchanged a look.

“I possess the power of the gods!” His voice wavered, and he spit as he spoke. “Pagoma!”

There was silence for a moment as the Magi realized he was not at all as powerful as the two gods in front of him.

“Oh, precious mortal,” Hecate said, and the sweet tone of her voice contradicted her

narrowing eyes. The shriveled hand he held aloft disintegrated, then the others on his shelf followed. “You would threaten me when it is my symbol you bear upon your shop?”

Hecate’s voice changed in that moment, taking on a distorted edge, and Vasilis cowered, shrinking against the wall and shaking. It was not often Hades got to witness Hecate’s wrath, and he had to say, he enjoyed seeing the fire in her eyes.

“You will never know the power of the gods.”

The air stirred with Hecate’s magic, extinguishing the flaming candles, and while Hades would have liked to see the goddess’ rage climax, he also needed the Magi alive and able to talk.

“Are you finished scaring the mortal?” Hades asked.

“Wait your turn,” she said.

“It is my turn.” Hades gave her a meaningful look that said, remember why we came here.

“If you are arguing over my impending punishment,” the Magi said. “Then I’d really rather stick with Lady Hecate.”

“You don’t get to choose who punishes you, mortal,” Hades snapped. “You have a lot of nerve, threatening gods. Not to mention this blasphemous business you run.”

"I panicked,” he said.

Hades’ lips flattened. “Sisyphus de Ephyra. Where is he?”

Hades saw recognition in the mortal’s eyes.

“Tell me!” Hades commanded.

“Sis-Sisyphus de Ephyra, you say?” Vasilis stuttered. “N-No. I think you are mistaken, my lord. I don’t know anyone by that name.”

Hades hate lies. They had a taste and a scent, bitter and pungent. His brows slammed down over his eyes, and as he advanced upon the Magi, he changed his tune.

“I mean, did you say Sisyphus de Ephyra? I thought you said Sisphus de Phyra,” he continued, his laugh awkward while sliding along the wall, away from the two gods. “Yes, yes… Sisyphus was here just yesterday.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Hades spoke, words slipping between his teeth. “Where is he now?”

“I-I don’t know.”

Hades’ patience was a thin thread, and it snapped. He snapped. Claws protruded from the tips of his fingers. As he stepped toward the man, there was a crashing sound that came from the back room where the mortal had been. Hades glared at the mortal before changing course and making his way toward the back room.

“Wait—”

“Are you asking for Hades, God of the Underworld, to slice your face to bits?” Hecate asked. “Because I will gladly watch.”

“You’re looking for Sisyphus? I’ll tell you where he is! Come…come back!” he called as Hades disappeared behind the curtain.

He found himself in a dark hallway that emptied into a larger room. The air was cold and stale, smelling faintly of decay, wax, and something akin to burnt hair. It was cleaner than the storefront and full of sleek glass cases, under which were a variety of carefully displayed items. It was clear why Vasilis had not wanted Hades to venture here. He was selling relics—tattered fabric and bits of jewelry, shattered spear tips and slivers of shields, bones and broken pottery. These were things that had been scavenged from the battlefields after The Great War. He wasn’t sure why, but seeing the remnants of war was never easy for him. It reminded him of the trauma of Titanomachy, of bloody battlefields and broken corpses.

Still, Hades searched the darkness for the source of the noise and found it. A set of books had been knocked from a shelf. Hades bent to pick them up, and as he straightened, his gaze met that of a black cat with yellow eyes. The creature hissed at him, and he hissed back. The cat yowled and hopped from its place, disappearing into the darkness.

“We have ourselves a black market dealer,” Hades called to Hecate.

Vasilis shuffled into the room first, his hand stretched into the air as if he were surrendering. It was then Hades noticed a familiar image etched on the pale skin of his wrist—a triangle. Hades’ eyes narrowed.

“So, you are a member of Triad?”

The Magi froze. “Not by choice.”

It was the fastest answer he had given, and it rang of truth.

“Then why is their mark upon your skin?”

The question left Hades feeling uneasy. He could not help thinking of Persephone and the mark upon her wrist. The one he had placed there against her will.

“What did they do?” It was Hecate who asked the question, her tone gentle, seeing something within the mortal Hades had not, apparently.

“They burned her,” Vasilis replied, lowering his hands.

“Who?” Hades asked.

“My cat.”

“Your cat?” Hades was not impressed.

“They burned her right in front of me,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought she was gone forever, but their leader…he kept her collar. He said he would return it if I joined them. They…needed magic.”

“A golem?” Hades asked.

Vasilis nodded.

Hades understood now. The Magi had agreed to serve Triad in exchange for the collar. It was the only item left that belonged to his cat, but he had not wanted it because he was sentimental. He’d wanted it for a purpose—the collar could be used to resurrect her, which by the looks of it, had been successful.

“So, you traded your freedom for a collar?”

“What would you trade for something you loved?” the Magi countered.

The world, Hades thought.

“Oh!” Hecate exclaimed suddenly, bending to scoop up the cat that had hissed at Hades earlier. “Is this her? What a sweet baby! What is her name?”

“S-Serena.”

“Serena,” Hecate said, lifting the cat as she would a child. “I have a polecat named Gale—”

Hades sighed. “Hecate, can you not?”

“This is being human, Hades,” the goddess said. “You should be taking notes. Don’t you want to impress Persephone?”

“Who is Persephone?” the magi asked.

“Not your concern,” Hades snapped, then he glared at Hecate and hated himself for his next question. “What does a cat have to do with being human?”

“It has everything to do with the cat,” Hecate said, then she sighed. “The cat is humanity. It’s what makes this,” she gestured toward the Magi, “unfortunate, sad, and pitiful mortal worth saving.”

“You haven’t seen his soul,” Hades muttered.

Hecate glared.

“I am teaching you a lesson, Hades! Learn it.”

Hades was about to snap that she was a horrible teacher, when he felt the air shift behind him. He turned and shadows split from his essence, racing toward the retreating form of the Magi, who was attempting to escape down the hall.

The shadows enveloped him and sent him flying backward. The Magi crashed into one of his immaculate glass displays and was still.

Hecate grimaced.

“You didn’t have to throw him so hard. He isn’t a god.”

“He wanted to act like one.”

Hecate arched a brow. “Is that the response of a compassionate god?”

“Is that what you were trying to teach?”

Hades took a step toward the mortal and waved his hand. The Magi opened his eyes, blinking, and then groaned as the pain from his landing set in.

“Listen here, mortal, and listen well. You will tell me who requested your services, or I will spend eternity cutting out your tongue and feeding it to your cat. Do you understand?”

The man nodded, breathing hard, and answered, “His name is Theseus.”

Theseus.

It was a name Hades knew well, as it was the name of Poseidon’s son, his nephew.

“The golem was Sisyphus’ idea,” Vasilis explained. “He was a client of mine. It was after he came to visit that Theseus arrived, demanding to know Sisyphus’ plans. He made me summon a portal to the warehouse. He left from here with Sisyphus. I don’t know where they went.”

So Sisyphus had been deceived just as much as Hades had. The question was, what did Theseus want with Sisyphus? Had he sought revenge for the murder of Aeolus Galani, or was there something more to his actions?

After a moment, the Magi spoke.

“Please…please don’t take my cat.”

“Hecate,” Hades called to the goddess, who had made her way toward the dark hallway with the cat still in her arms. “Bring the cat.”

“W-wait. I said please!”

“Oh, you’re coming, too, mortal,” he said, and Vasilis’ eyes grew wide.

“But I told you the truth! I—”

The Magi was silenced, vanishing with a wave of Hades’ hand. He would spend time imprisoned, but not in Tartarus—he would go to a Phantom Site, a prison that could only be seen by those who were favored. It was a special place for mortals like him—Magi who broke the law or held secrets—and on rare occasions, might be used as bait.

Hades turned to Hecate. “See, I can be compassionate.”

***

Before leaving The Three Moons, Hades summoned Ilias to the shop so the satyr could dispose of the contents—which meant burning it to the ground. He and Hecate parted, Hades had business with Aphrodite, while Hecate intended to return to the Underworld.

“The souls are celebrating you tonight,” she reminded him. “They would be overjoyed to see you.”

Guilt slammed into him, as it always did when his people set aside time to worship him.

“Persephone will be there. I believe they plan to honor her as well.”

That was not unexpected. She deserved their worship. She was more of a god than he had ever been to them. Besides, they would have to get used to celebrating her. She was to be their queen.

“Perhaps I will make it this time,” he said before departing, but doubted his words.

The Goddess of Witchcraft meant well, but there were some demons Hades did not wish to face, and his people—his past treatment of them—was one.

Hades found Aphrodite at her seaside mansion, reclining on a blush chaise in her marbled home, floor to ceiling windows overlooking the ocean and Hephaestus’ island. When he appeared, she yawned, placing the back of her hand over her mouth.

“I expected you to return last night,” she said, fanning herself with what looked like a bundle of feathers. “You must have had quite the distraction on your hands.”

“Your mortal drugged Persephone,” Hades said, getting to the point of his visit. He did not normally mind Aphrodite’s badgering, but he was not in the mood for it today.

The goddess did not react, but her hand continued to move, the feathered fan beating in a steady rhythm.

“Where is your proof?” she asked, bored.

“I tasted the poison on her tongue, Aphrodite,” Hades said tightly.

“Tasted?” Aphrodite sat up, eyes widened slightly as she set her fan aside. “So you kissed her, then?”

Hades’ jaw tightened, and he did not respond.

“Are you in love?” she asked, and there was a note of alarm in her voice Hades did not understand. Did Aphrodite fear that he would win their bargain and she would lose her chance to see Basil returned from the Underworld? Or did she even care about Basil? Did she fear more that she would no longer see him as she saw herself—alone?

He glared at her, and her eyes sparkled, a smile curling her lips. “You are! Oh, this is news, indeed.”

“Enough, Aphrodite.”

She glared, folding her arms over her chest. “I suppose you have come here to threaten Adonis?”

“I have come to ask why you let it happen.”

Aphrodite’s eyes widened, and she blinked, clearly not expecting Hades to ask that question. Then her eyes narrowed. “What are you accusing me of, Hades?”

“You keep your lovers on a short leash, and yet you let Adonis go and summoned me when things got out of hand. Were you hoping to see me rage?”

“I think you are accusing me of setting up last night’s debacle.”

Aphrodite might be the Goddess of Love, but she did not believe in it and often made obtaining it difficult for mortals. She saw it as a game and played them like pawns, introducing distractions, challenging the bond she could never establish with another.

He knew what she was doing, and he was here to stop it.

“Persephone is not a plaything, Aphrodite. You do not get to fuck with this.”

Her lips thinned, and her sea green eyes darkened.

“There are no rules to the bargain, Hades. I can challenge your choice as much as I wish.”

“Let me be clear, Aphrodite. This bargain has no bearing on whether or not Persephone will be my queen, as that is a future woven by the Fates. If you fuck with her, you fuck with me.”

“If she does not love you, you cannot prevent her eye from wandering.”

“Is that what you were attempting to prove last night? Because all I saw was my future wife in distress. A crime that will not go unpunished.”

“Unless?”

Her question made Hades chuckle, and the sound stole Aphrodite’s smug expression.

“Oh, there is no bargaining when it comes to my queen,” Hades replied. “Adonis’ existence in the Underworld will be horror.”

As he spoke, the Goddess of Love’s eyes widened, and anger clouded her face.

“Hades—” His name slipped from between her lips like a warning.

“Nothing will keep me from shredding Adonis’ soul. Rest well in the knowledge that you have decided his fate, Aphrodite.”

The last thing he heard before he left was Aphrodite screaming his name.

***

Hades returned to his office in the Underworld. It overlooked Asphodel, and he watched his people’s merrymaking from afar, illuminated by lantern light. From this distance, he could not see Persephone, but he knew she was here. Her presence unearthed more memories from the previous night, and along with it, the guilt of leaving her on his bed, naked, skin flushed with desire. At least he had proven one thing to himself—she wanted him sober.

He sighed and downed a glass of whiskey before loosening his tie and heading for the baths. He needed a shower. He felt unclean, the stench of dark magic and Vasilis’ shop clinging to his skin.

He paused at the entry to his private baths where he could hear the splash of water and smell Persephone’s scent. The thought of seeing her naked again filled him with lust, his cock thickening at the thought of being inside her.

But would she reject him? Or invite him to explore every facet of her body?

He was about to find out.

He stepped out of the shadow, making his way down the steps, ensuring he made enough noise so that he would not startle her. When he came into view, he found her at the center of the oval pool, flanked on either side by marble columns. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed, her hair was wet and suctioned to her body like vines curling around porcelain. The water lapped at her breasts, coming just to her rosy nipples, and it was so clear, he could make out the curve of her hips and the dark curls at the apex of her thighs. His thoughts turned to how it would feel to part that satin flesh and explore the evidence of her desire for him. He was sure she would be slick and hot, ready for his fingers and his mouth, and he would drink from her until she came apart in his arms.

Then his eyes fell to his feet, where her clothes were piled. On top, sat a beautiful gold crown. He recognized the craftsmanship as Ian Kovac’s, a talented blacksmith who had resided in the Underworld for centuries.

Hades bent and picked it up for a closer examination. It was a beautiful gem and floral crown, a perfect balance of flora that represented him and Persephone alike.

“This is beautiful.”

She stared, her eyes burning like a forge. Hades wondered what thoughts accompanied that gaze. Were they just as salacious as his own? Was she wondering what his cock would feel like in her hands, how he would taste in her mouth, the sound he would make as he came?

She cleared her throat, breaking his thoughts. “It is. Ian made it for me.”

“He is a talented craftsman. It is what led to his death.”

Her brows drew together over her forehead. “What do you mean?”

“He was favored by Artemis, and she blessed him with the ability to create weapons that ensured their wearer could not be defeated in battle. He was killed for it.”

Favor could be a dangerous thing to bestow. It made targets of mortals in antiquity and today. Sometimes, the results were positive and the receiver was granted celebrity and status, then other times, they were killed.

Hades stared at the crown a moment longer. It was significant that she had accepted such an ornament from his people, even if she had done so to please them. It was a sign of her dedication to them, a quality in a true queen. He set it down atop her clothes and then rose to his feet, meeting Persephone’s gaze again. It was also significant that she had not moved to hide herself from him.

“Why didn’t you go?” she asked. “To the celebration in Asphodel. It was for you.”

“And you. They celebrated you,” he said. “As they should.”

“I am not their queen.”

“And I am not worthy of their celebration.”

“If they feel you’re worthy of celebration, don’t you think that’s enough?”

Hades did not respond. He did not wish to speak on this topic. In fact, the only words he wanted to share with her were erotic pleas and breathy moans. His cock throbbed, desperate for freedom and pleasure, which made his blood rush to his head and kept him from focusing on anything but sex.

“May I join you?”

He noted the way her throat constricted as she swallowed, nodding. Her invitation only encouraged the fire. He held her gaze as he stripped, almost groaning as he freed his jutting sex from the confines of his trousers. It felt swollen and taut to the point of pain. He needed release, and he was even more desperate for it as Persephone’s gaze traveled the length of his body, just as hungry as he felt.

He stepped into the pool and spoke as he approached. “I believe I owe you an apology.”

“For what, specifically?”

A smile touched his lips. He was aware she felt he owed her an apology for more than just the way he had left her yesterday. The problem was, an apology was offered when someone truly felt sorry for what they had done, and Hades didn’t think he’d ever be sorry for tricking her into their contract. It would mean her freedom, whether she realized that now or not.

He moved closer, towering over her, and touched her face, brushing his finger across her cheek.

“Last time we saw each other, I was unfair to you.”

She averted her eyes, and Hades’ hand fell from her face as she said in a quiet voice, “We were unfair to each other.”

She was talking about the article she had written, and the fact that she was acknowledging its unfairness made his breath catch in his chest. Was it too much to hope that she was changing her mind about him?

“You like your life in the mortal realm?” He had to ask, needed to assess her attachment to the Upperworld. Would she leave it to be his queen?

“Yes.” She pushed away from him, swimming backward, her breasts lifting above the water. Hades followed as if she were pulling him on a string. “I like my life. I have an apartment and friends and an internship. I’m going to graduate from university soon.”

“But you are Divine.”

He did not understand. Why was she building this mundane life in the Upperworld, when she could have anything? Everything?

She stopped wading away, and they stood centimeters apart. He could feel the brush of her nipples against his skin as she breathed.

“I have never lived that way, and you know it,” she replied, and she looked almost frustrated with him, a line appearing between her brows.

“You have no desire to understand what it is to be a goddess?”

“No.”

“I think you’re lying,” he said. He could taste it immediately, that bitter, metallic tang at the back of his mouth. The question was, why? If he were to guess, he would think it had something to do with her dormant power.

“You don’t know me.”

Her eyes ignited like souls ascending into the night sky.

Yes, he thought, build that fire.

He wanted her angry, wanted to feel her passion radiate from her body and vibrate through his own.

He narrowed his eyes, challenging. “I know you.”

He moved so that he was behind her, touching her only with the tips of his fingers, trailing along her collarbone and shoulder.

“I know the way your breath hitches when I touch you. I know how your skin flushes when you’re thinking about me. I know there is something beneath this pretty façade.”

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, before his hand moved lower, grazing her breast. Persephone offered a sharp inhale as her body arched into his, and Hades almost groaned.

“There is rage. There is passion. There is darkness.” He punctuated his words with the swirl of his tongue against her neck.

“And I want to taste it.”

His hand drifted across her belly before hooking around her waist, then he drew her tighter against him, leaving her in no doubt of his desire for her. His cock fit perfectly against her shapely bottom, her back against his chest.

“Hades.” She breathed his name, and it made him ravenous.

He dropped his head in the crook of her shoulder and he begged, “Let me show you what it is to hold power in your hands. Let me coax the darkness from you. I will help you shape it.”

While he held her against him, his other hand sought her center. His fingers threaded through coarse, dark curls until he cupped her sex, feeling its heat wet his hand. Persephone’s head flew back, resting on his shoulder, and her gasp encouraged him.

“Hades, I’ve never—”

“Let me be your first.”

It was a plea, but also a question. He wanted this desperately, could feel how much she wanted this, too. But there was a difference between wanting and being ready, and he would not push her if she needed time.

Except that she nodded, inviting his hand to part her flesh. His thumb brushed lightly over her clit, teasing along the entrance of her delicate and delicious flesh. She rose onto the tips of her toes, body growing rigid beneath his touch.

“Breathe,” he whispered, and when she did, his fingers sank deeper, eliciting a cry from Persephone and a groan from Hades. His head was clouded with lust. He wanted so much from this one instance, to explore her with his hand and his mouth and his cock. He wanted to take her in a million different erotic ways, and yet she was new to all of this, her body unfamiliar with this…invasion. He bit his lip hard to bring himself back to this moment, to focus on pleasuring Persephone, not his throbbing need for release.

This should be about her.

“You’re so wet.” The words came out like a hiss, his face buried deep in her hair. The smell of vanilla and lavender clouded his scenes. When he felt her nails bite into his skin, he guided her hand down to where his was buried deep.

“Touch yourself. Here.”

He showed her how to work her clit, lightly brushing the bundle of nerves that sat just above her moist heat, where he was still moving. He reveled in watching the erotic way she moved against him, rocking her hips, desperate to feel him deeper, and he was happy to oblige. He loved the way she moaned, the way her breath caught in her throat, the way her head lolled against his shoulder. He continued moving inside her while his other hand moved to her breasts, squeezing and kneading her nipples, and then he withdrew from her.

Persephone’s shocked cry made him smile, and she whirled on him. He was not sure what she had intended to do, but he didn’t give her a chance to follow through. He drew her to him, and his mouth descended upon hers, parting lips, tongues moving against each other with a desperation he had never felt before. It was the result of weeks of pent up need, and he would unleash it now, worship her until she was red and raw.

He broke their kiss and rested his forehead against hers, and he had the thought that he would treasure this moment—the pause between passion where they had shared so much and would share more.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

He studied her a moment longer, memorizing the honesty etched across her face, before kissing her and lifting her from the pool. He sat her on the edge and wedged himself between her thighs, hands anchored to her waist. He would stay here forever if it meant she always looked at him with those heavy-lidded eyes.

“Tell me you have never been naked with a man. Tell me I am the only one.”

It was a primal question, a strange need he felt deep in his stomach that vibrated through the thread that connected them. He wanted to be the first to explore her body, the only one to know its truth and bring her pleasure.

Her expression softened, and he felt her hand cup his face. “You are.”

Again, he kissed her and snaked his arms beneath her knees. He drew her forward until she barely rested on the side of the pool. His kisses dropped from her mouth to her jaw, to her chest and stomach, chin brushing the wet curls at her center, urged on by Persephone, whose hands threaded through his hair, pulling and scraping as sharp gasps and sensual moans escaped her mouth. It was an erotic symphony he could listen to for the rest of his immortal life.

As he covered her skin in kisses, tongue tasting, he found something he did not expect—a blemish on her perfect skin. Discolored patches of healing yellow-green, bruises splayed across her thighs.

He looked up at her. “Was this me?”

“It’s okay.”

Still he frowned, hating that he had hurt her and kissed each bruise, healing them completely as he neared her entrance. There was no waiting once he felt her heat. He had thought to tease her more, to illicit gasps of frustration and demands for his tongue, but he was weak, his restraint shredded. He descended upon her as if she were a feast and he starved. Her cry of pleasure shuddered through him, straight to his cock, reminding him that they had hours of pleasure to come.

He began with light strokes, brushing her clit and sliding over her damp entrance, but as her hands tightened in his hair and her cries became guttural, he pulled her closer, tongue reaching deeper, tasting sweet slick skin. She writhed beneath him, and he used one hand to keep her in place while the other teased that bundle of sensitive nerves. She grew taut beneath him, a dam ready to burst, and when she finally found release, he drank.

When he was finished, he rose to his full height and kissed her, his mouth still wet from her sex. She welcomed him, wrapping her arms and legs around him. She sat just above his cock, her entrance teasing his tip, and he grit his teeth to keep from impaling himself upon her. When he pulled away, his eyes bore into hers.

Let me have you, he thought. He watched as she pulled her lip between her teeth, another wordless invitation, but just as he moved to guide his throbbing member into her, he heard Minthe’s voice.

“Lord Hades?”

His teeth felt as if they would shatter. He had never hated a sound so much in his life, but this was one he would curse for the rest of his existence. He noted the way Persephone stiffened, and he held her in place as he pushed away from the edge of the pool, turning so that her back was to the nymph as she entered the baths. It was an attempt to preserve some of her modesty, even with her legs still around his waist.

Except Persephone surprised him by wrapping her hand around his cock.

They stared at each other, and if gazes could start fires, they would incinerate.

“Ha—”

Minthe stood at the top of the steps that lead into the baths. Her jaw had tightened, and her features grew rigid at the sight she had stumbled upon.

“Yes, Minthe?” Hades voice was strained, his anger and desire warring for dominance in his mind. Persephone’s hand stroked down his shaft, her thumb rubbing light circles over the crown of his cock.

“We…missed you at dinner,” Minthe was saying.

All Hades could think was, Why is she still talking?

“But I see that you are busy.”

Persephone’s hand moved down to the very root.

“Very,” he said between his teeth.

“I will let the cook know you have been thoroughly sated.”

Up to the tip.

“Quite,” he gritted out.

Minthe lingered there a moment longer, as if she wished to say something further, but—smartly—thought against it. She turned and left, and Hades reached for Persephone. They would pick up where they had left off. She had teased him enough, and now he would know what it felt like to be inside her, to be consumed by that mesmerizing heat.

Except she pushed away from him.

“Where are you going?” He followed after her.

“How often does Minthe come to you in the baths?” she asked as she stepped out of the pool.

“Persephone.”

Do not do this. Do not go there, he wanted to say, but she was not looking at him and she had covered herself with a towel.

“Look at me, Persephone.”

He was still in the pool, but he had moved forward enough so that the water came to his thighs. In some way, he felt just as exposed, his hard flesh on full display, so she could be left in no doubt of his want for her.

“Minthe is my assistant.”

“Then she can assist you with your need.” She dared to pin his cock with her vicious stare. His brows slammed down, and he left the water, arm sliding around her waist. He drew her to him.

“I don’t want Minthe,” he growled.

“I don’t want you.”

He wanted to snarl at the bitter taste in the back of his mouth as he tasted her lie.

“You don’t…want me?” he asked.

“No,” she said, but her voice was a hoarse whisper.

Hades’ eyes dropped to her kiss-swollen lips before lifting to her eyes once again. After a moment, he asked, “Do you know all of my powers, Persephone?”

He noted the way her throat constricted as she swallowed. He wondered why, after what they had shared in the pool, she was nervous. Perhaps she did not trust herself to maintain this façade of indifference.

“Some of them,” she answered.

He tilted his head, inching close. “Enlighten me.”

“Illusion,” she said, and as she spoke, his lips brushed along the column of her neck.

“Yes,” he whispered, continuing to explore and taste her skin.

“Invisibility?”

“Very valuable.”

“Charm?” she breathed as his lips moved toward the sensitive skin of her breasts.

“Hmm.” He paused and looked up at her. “But it doesn’t work on you, does it?”

“No.” She shivered as she answered, and a smile threatened Hades’ serious composure. He drew a finger down the center of her chest, hooking around the towel and exposing her breasts.

“You seem to not have heard of one of my most valuable talents.” He took one tight bud into his mouth and sucked, enjoying the way Persephone’s breath caught loudly in her throat. He pulled away and leveled his gaze with hers.

“I can taste lies, Persephone. And yours are as sweet as your skin.”

She planted her hands on his chest and pushed him away.

“This was a mistake.”

That was not a lie, and the truth of it shattered his soul.

Persephone gathered the remainder of her clothes and the crown Ian had made. She held them to her chest like they were a shield, as if she were ashamed of what she had let happen. Hades stared as she retreated up the stairs.

“You might believe this was a mistake,” Hades called, and Persephone halted, her head turning only slightly so he could see her profile. “But you want me. I was inside you. I tasted you. That is a truth you will never escape.”

And it was that truth that gave him hope, because Hades knew he could build affection with fire.

He watched as Persephone shivered and ran.