CHAPTER II: A GAME OF FATE

CHAPTER II – A GAME OF FATE

Hades appeared in his office at Nevernight, one of his most popular New Athens clubs. It was close to eleven, and at midnight, he would wander through the upstairs lounge, choosing mortals who longed to bargain for their greatest desires and wishes—health, love, and riches. Those were just the things he could grant. It did not include requests like creating life, returning life, or bestowing beauty—desires he would not award.

“You’re late.”

Minthe’s voice was like a whip, shattering his thoughts. He had sensed her the moment he entered the room—all fire and ice—and preferred to ignore her when she was like this.

He focused on adjusting his tie and cufflinks, silently relieved that he had chosen to use shadow magic to take Sisyphus’ bodyguards down, so he did not have to hear the nymph demand answers. With his appearance restored, he turned to the flaming-haired nymph. Her lips, a shade darker than her hair, were twisted into a pout. She did not like being ignored.

“How can I be late, Minthe, when I abide by no one’s schedule but my own?”

Minthe had been his assistant since the beginning of time, and she went through phases where she would try to exercise rights over him—rights to his time, to his realm, and to his body. Her eagerness for control was not lost on him. He recognized the trait in her because he possessed it himself.

“Tardiness is not attractive, Hades, even from a god,” she snapped.

A smile threatened his lips, but he remained composed. His amusement would only anger her further.

“While you were dallying,” Hades narrowed his eyes at the jab, “I’ve had to entertain your guests.”

Hades’ brows furrowed and dread crawled up the back of his throat. “Who is waiting for me?”

He knew by Minthe’s expression—the way her eyes narrowed, the slight curl of her mouth—that he would not like her answer.

“Lady Aphrodite.”

“Fuck,” Hades muttered.

Minthe did not even trying to hide her amusement, her lips coiled into a full smirk.

“You might want to hurry,” she said. “When I insisted she wait for you here, she said there was plenty to entertain her downstairs.”

Fantastic. The only thing to ever come out of Aphrodite entertaining herself was war.

He sighed. “Thank you, Minthe.”

Clearly pleased by Hades’ expression of gratitude, Minthe uncrossed her arms, letting them fall at her sides.

“Shall I bring you a drink, my lord?”

“Yes. In fact, I am not to have an empty glass tonight.”

Hades vanished and appeared on the floor of his club, where he walked, silent and unseen. As always, it was packed with mortals and humanoids—nymphs, satyrs, chimeras, centaurs, ogres, and cyclopes. Some used glamour, others did not. Some merely wished to experience the thrill of attending the most notorious club in New Athens, others glanced longingly toward the upstairs lounge, hopeful one of Hades’ staff would offer the night’s password.

A password did not guarantee a game with the God of the Dead, it was just another step in the process. Once mortals passed through the doors of the lounge, fear settled in, and that fear either drew them away or made them desperate. It was the desperate Hades was most interested in—the ones who might change if offered the chance.

It was a delicate process and involved many players. Hades had lost his fair share of bargains, and he could feel those against his skin, a never-ending itch and reminder of failure, but if he could save one life on the path to destruction, he felt it was worth it.

Hades picked up the scent of Aphrodite’s magic—sea salt and roses—and found her sitting on the lap of an older, middle-aged man. He had dark, thinning hair. His forehead was greasy and his face chubby, melting into a sweaty neck, around which Aphrodite’s arms were laced, her breasts pressed against his chest. Hades noted a gold band on the man’s left ring finger. He did not have to look at the mortal’s soul to know he was a cheating bastard.

“Why don’t we go back to my place, baby?” the man asked as his hands explored Aphrodite’s body, moving across her ribs and over her thighs. Hades cringed as he observed the interaction.

“Oh, I really would like to stay just a little longer,” Aphrodite was saying. “Don’t you want to bargain with Hades?”

The man squeezed her, fingers digging into her bottom. “Not anymore. You’re everything I need.”

“Really?” Aphrodite said breathlessly, and leaned closer, her pink lips inches from his.

Hades had to admit, the Goddess of Love was a great actress. She hid her loathing for the man and distracted him with her hands as they drifted up his chest. Hades sensed her magic rising and knew she was compelling the man to tell her the truth as she asked her next question.

“What were you missing before?”

Hades knew the answer because he could see it. The mortal’s insecurities had grown claws as he had aged, and they twined with his narcissism and need to feel important. He held resentment like his child, close to his heart, and it had poisoned his blood, fueled his lies, and prompted his cheating spree. He had a little bit of humanity left in the guilt that sat upon his shoulders like a leering gargoyle. To numb the ache, he drank, but his tolerance for drinking had grown over the last few years, which meant he needed more to feel detached from what his life had become.

The man had a cracked soul, and Hades had a feeling Aphrodite was about to shatter it.

“I’m insecure. I need to know I am still wanted by other women.”

“And it isn’t enough to be wanted by your wife?” Aphrodite’s pretty lips twisted into a scowl. The man’s eyes went wide, his mind at odds with what was coming out of his mouth. Hades had seen it before when he had used the spell.

“I love my wife,” he said. “I’m just looking for sex.”

“Is that all?” She batted her lashes and then spoke in a voice veiled with darkness and strong with promise. “In that case, when you return to your wife this evening, she will no longer desire you. She will cringe at your touch and gag when your lips touch hers. She will refuse you, she will leave you, and you will never recover.”

The man’s eyes widened, and he was no longer holding Aphrodite, his hands peeled back from her skin as if she burned.

This was Aphrodite in her true form. The mortal world believed she was nothing more than a sexual being, that she sought entertainment and pleasure from gods and mortals alike, but the truth was she could be a vengeful god, especially toward those who betrayed love.

It was probably time for Hades to make an appearance.

“Aphrodite,” he greeted, dropping his glamour.

The goddess turned to meet his gaze and smiled.

“Hades,” she purred in a sensual voice, and even though she had just cursed the mortal she was still using as an armchair, his eyes clouded with desire at the sound.

“I think the mortal has had enough excitement for one night. Why don’t you let him slither off?”

Aphrodite’s face changed at the mention of the cheater, and she turned to glare at him before hopping off his lap. “Run along, snake.”

The mortal obeyed and wandered into the crowd, dazed.

“What?” Aphrodite snapped when she looked at Hades again.

His brows rose, surprised by her venom. “Nothing. Although you will hardly help the man’s ego by taking away the only love he has ever known.”

She dusted off her hands. “He betrayed love, so he will never have it again.”

“I don’t think your punishment is unfair,” Hades explained. “But it has the potential to create a monster.”

She smirked, her expression impish. “Then he’s all yours. Monsters are your territory, Hades.”

Minthe approached just then, balancing a tray of drinks. This was how the nymph spent most of her evenings at Nevernight—taking orders and delivering them, flirting with mortals and immortals alike, and gathering information from Hades’ more elite clients.

“Lady Aphrodite,” Minthe said as she passed the goddess a glass of rosé. “Lord Hades.”

She handed off a glass of whiskey, and as she wandered away, he turned to Aphrodite, who raised a pale brow at him.

“Yes?” he inquired at her questioning stare.

“That nymph wants to fuck you,” she said.

A mistake I will never make again, he thought.

Hades did not acknowledge her comment and instead said, “You do not often grace my halls with your presence, Aphrodite. What can I do for you?”

She took a sip of wine, her sea-foam eyes locked with his. “I had hoped you’d be interested in a bargain of our own.”

“I do not play gods.”

“Just one game, Hades,” she said innocently, and then goaded, “Are you afraid?”

“A game played under this roof is never just a game.” Not even for me, he thought. There was always the possibility of losing, and he tended to lose just as much as the mortals who bargained with him, but their requests he could grant. He did not trust what Aphrodite would ask for. “Why request a game? What is it you want, goddess?”

“Why must I want something?” she asked. “Perhaps I am just bored and in need of entertainment.”

“There is nothing more dangerous than a bored Aphrodite,” Hades mused.

She pouted. “Please, Hades?”

He met her gaze and sipped from his glass before answering.

“No, Aphrodite.”

She was after more than entertainment. He could see it in the way she carried herself, rigid and tense. Something had brought her here, and if he had to guess, it had to do with her husband.

“Fine.” She lifted her chin in defiance. “You forced my hand.”

He glared at her, knowing what she was going to say next.

“I have an unclaimed favor from you, Hades. I wish to use it.”

A favor owed between gods was like a blood pact. Once invoked, it could not be taken back.

“You would waste a favor on a game of cards?” he asked. He knew the answer—whatever had brought Aphrodite here, it was worth spending.

Her eyes flashed. “It is not a waste.”

He took a drink of his whiskey. It kept him from saying anything he might regret before he gritted out, “One game, Aphrodite, no more.”

She brightened like he had given her the stars in the sky. “Thank you, Hades.”

Hades snapped his fingers, and the two teleported to the Ruby Suite upstairs. It was one of several rooms Hades used when bargaining with mortals. They were all named after precious stones. He chose this one intentionally, as a bit of a jab at Aphrodite. Ruby was passion—something she lacked these days. The walls were red, and black fabric was draped from floor to ceiling, framing sensual monochrome photos. A pack of unopened cards sat at the center of a table, which was positioned under a pool of muted light.

As Hades took his seat, he offered them to Aphrodite. “Would you like to deal?”

“No.” A smile curled her lips. “I’ll let you retain some power, Aidoneus.”

He glared at her. He did not like that nickname. Mortals used it out of fear. She used it now to taunt him.

“Blackjack, then.”

“Five hands,” Aphrodite said. “Whoever wins the most, sets stakes.”

Hades agreed, dealt the first hand, and lost. His fingers curled into a fist on his thigh.

“What do you see when you look at my soul, Hades?” Aphrodite asked offhand, pursing her lips as he dispensed the cards again.

The question was not all that surprising. It was one he received often, but never from Aphrodite.

“Why do you ask?”

When she met his gaze, he saw she was serious and that she also feared the truth. It was present in her eyes, a shadow that flickered across her expression. She did not look at him long before focusing on her cards.

“Hit me,” she said, and Hades gave her another card before revealing their hands—Hades had two aces and a twelve of diamonds, Aphrodite, a bust. She frowned at her loss but continued to speak as Hades dealt a third hand.

“I just wonder if I’m as horrible as Hephaestus seems to think.”

Aphrodite was not horrible, but her union with Hephaestus had hardened her heart and broken her spirit. What was left was a spiteful and cynical shell.

Hades had been bitter once, too, but unlike Aphrodite, who dealt with her anger and loneliness by entertaining herself with mortals and gods, he had isolated himself further and further, until the only thing people could do was make up stories and tales about the elusive God of the Underworld.

“Hephaestus does not think you are horrible, Aphrodite. He’s just afraid to love you.” She offered a mocking laugh, so Hades challenged, “Have you ever told him you love him?”

“What relevance does that have to my question?”

Everything, Hades wanted to say.

“You were a gift to Hephaestus at a time when you flaunted your lovers. From his perspective, you were a reluctant bride.”

It did not matter that Hades knew the truth. Aphrodite had always been enchanted by the God of Fire. In ancient times, on the rare occasions Hades had gone to Mount Olympus, he had caught her watching Hephaestus, mostly frowning because he did not give her the time of day.

But Hades knew Hephaestus well, too. The god was of a different sort. He was not eager to be under the spotlight, less eager to speak. He took pleasure in solitude and innovation, and in his heart, he felt…unworthy, mostly due to his treatment in antiquity. As a god with only one leg, he was often—and wrongly—mocked. Overtime, Hephaestus adapted, fashioning prosthetics, and now sported one made of gold.

“I’m not surprised Hephaestus is not interested in forcing you into monogamy.”

Aphrodite was silent for a moment, focusing on their game, and as they turned their cards, Hades bit down on his tongue—a bust. He had dealt himself one too many cards.

Aphrodite was in the lead.

Finally, she admitted, “I asked Zeus for a divorce. He will not grant it.”

Hades’ brows rose. “Does Hephaestus know?”

“I imagine he does now.”

“You want Hephaestus’ love, why ask for a divorce?”

“I will not pine after him.”

“You are sending mixed messages, Aphrodite. You want Hephaestus’ love, but you ask for a divorce. Have you even tried talking to him?”

“Have you?” she snapped, glaring at Hades. “He might as well be mute!”

Hades grimaced. He had a feeling Hephaestus kept quiet because her temper was a short fuse.

“You haven’t answered my question, Hades.”

The god watched her for a moment. He did not particularly like answering questions about the soul. Often, god and mortal alike were not ready to hear what he had to say. Aphrodite was no different. Parts of her soul were a garden, full of roses and lilies and sunshine, dreamy and quiet. Others were a storm, raging over a churning sea—furious and devastating. She was broken, split in two like a cracked mirror, straddling a line. One day, she would choose a side.

“You have a beautiful soul, Aphrodite. Passionate. Determined. Romantic. But you are desperate to be loved and believe yourself unlovable.”

He spoke as they played their last hand, and when Aphrodite flipped her cards, a wide smile broke out across her face. Whatever she felt about Hades’ comments was lost in her excitement.

“It’s time for terms, Hades.”

He scowled and sat back in his chair, glaring. Aphrodite threw her head back in laughter.

“Someone does not like to lose.”

Her words were like a poker in his side. Hades did not actually mind losing. He lost all the time when he bargained with mortals, but he had not wanted to lose to Aphrodite.

The goddess pressed a finger to her chin and offered a soft hum, as if she did not know what to ask of him. She was wasting his time. She knew what she wanted, but just as he was about to bark at her, she spoke.

“Fall in love, Hades. Better yet, find a girl who will fall in love with you.” Then Aphrodite clapped and exclaimed, “That’s it! Make someone fall in love with you!”

Hades’ jaw tightened, and Aphrodite stared back as if she wished to see to his soul in turn. Her terms were insulting. If it were that easy to fall in love, he would not be alone now.

“Is this your idea of a joke?” he asked, his voice quiet and calm, despite the anger twisting his insides. He was going to have to torture someone just to release the tension in his body.

“Not a joke,” she said, raising a thin blonde brow. “You’ve offered love advice. Follow it.”

Not a joke then, but retribution. She was frustrated with him for offering his opinion on her marriage.

“And if I can’t meet those terms?”

Her smile cut across her face wickedly.

“Then you will release Basil from the Underworld.”

“Your lover?” Hades couldnot keep the disgust from his voice. They’d just spent the last few minutes discussing her love for Hephaestus, and here she was asking for a man—her hero, to be exact. Basil had fought and died for her in The Great War. “Why? Don’t you want Hephaestus to admit that he loves you?”

She glared at him. “Hephaestus is a lost cause.”

“You haven’t even tried!”

“Basil, Hades. He is who I want.”

“Because you imagine yourself in love with him?”

“What do you know of love? You’ve never loved in your lifetime.”

Those words did not hurt, so much as embarrass him. He leaned toward the goddess.

“Basil loves you, that is true, but if you don’t love him in return, it is meaningless.”

“Better to be loved than not at all,” she countered.

You are a fool, Hades wanted to say. Instead, he asked, “Are you sure this is what you want? You have already petitioned Zeus for a divorce, now you have asked me to resurrect your lover in the event I cannot meet the terms of your contract. Hephaestus will know.”

Aphrodite was quiet, and he recognized her uncertainty in the way she toyed with her lip.

Finally, she answered.

“Yes. It is what I want.” She took a deep breath then and managed a smile. “Six months, Hades. That should be enough time. Thank you for the entertainment. It was…invigorating.”

With that, the Goddess of Love vanished.