CHAPTER III: A GAME OF RESTRAINT

CHAPTER III – A GAME OF RESTRAINT

Make someone fall in love with you.

The words were a cruel taunt that echoed in Hades’ mind as he prowled the darkness of his club to clear his head.

Perhaps he had gone too far in criticizing Aphrodite’s choice to ask Zeus for a divorce, but Hades knew the goddess loved Hephaestus, and rather than admit it, she thought to force the God of Fire into expressing his feelings by goading him. What Aphrodite failed to understand was that not everyone worked like she did, least of all Hephaestus. If she won his love, it would be through patience, kindness, and attention.

It would mean she would have to be vulnerable, something Aphrodite, goddess and warrior, despised.

And if he understood anything, it was that. Aphrodite’s challenge forced him to acknowledge his own vulnerabilities, his weaknesses. He frowned at the notion of finding someone who wanted to carry his shame, his sins, his malice, but if he failed, the Fates would get involved, and he knew what they would require if he returned Basil to the land of the living.

A soul for a soul.

Someone would have to die, and he would not have a say in the Fates’ victim.

The thought made his body tighten, another thread added to the others marring his skin. He hated it, but it was the price of maintaining balance in the world.

A smell brought him out of his thoughts and gave him pause. It was familiar—wildflowers, both bitter and sweet.

Demeter, he thought.

The Goddess of Harvest’s name was sour on his tongue. Demeter had few passions in life, but one of them was her hatred for the God of the Dead.

He inhaled again, taking the scent deeper. Something about it was off. Mingled with the familiar aroma was the sweetness of vanilla and a mild, herbal note of lavender. A mortal, perhaps? Someone with the goddess’s favor?

The scent drew him out of the darkness in which he had lingered to the edge of the balcony, where he scanned the crowd and found her immediately.

The woman who smelled like vanilla, lavender, and his enemy sat poised on the edge of one of his sofas in a pink dress that left little to the imagination. He liked the way her hair curled, falling in luminous waves down her back. His fingers itches to touch it, to pull it until her head tipped back and she looked him in the eyes.

Look at me, he commanded, desperate to see her face.

She seemed to look everywhere before her gaze halted on him. His hand tightened around his glass, the other gripped the balcony rail.

She was beautiful—lush lips, high cheekbones, and eyes as green as new spring. Her expression was startled at first, eyes widening slightly, transforming into something fierce and passionate as her gaze swept his face and form.

She is yours,a voice echoed in his head, and something inside him snapped. Claim her.

The command was feral. He had to grind his teeth to keep from obeying, and he thought he might shatter the glass in his hand from clutching it too tight. The impulse to whisk her away to the Underworld was strong, like a spell. He had never thought himself so weak, but his restraint was a thin, frayed thread.

How could he want this woman so badly? What was this unnatural pull? He stared at her harder, searching for a reason, and became aware that he was not the only one feeling the effects of their connection. She fidgeted beneath his gaze, her chest rising and falling as her breath hitched, her skin turning a pretty pink, and he had the thought that he would like to follow that flush with his lips.

He would give anything to know what she was thinking.

He was so preoccupied by his own salacious thoughts, he had not felt anyone approach until arms snaked around his waist. He reacted quickly, latching onto the hands that held him and twisted to face Minthe.

“Distracted, my lord?” she purred, amused.

“Minthe,” he snapped, releasing her arms. “Can I help you?”

He was frustrated by the interruption, but also grateful. If he stared at the woman any longer, he might have left his position on the balcony and gone to her.

“Already zeroing in on your prey?” she asked.

For a moment, Hades did not understand her comment, and then he made the connection. Minthe assumed he was searching for a potential love interest, someone who could help him fulfill Aphrodite’s bargain.

“Listening in the shadows again, Minthe?”

The nymph shrugged a shoulder. “It is what I do.”

“You gather information for me,” he said. “Not on me.”

“How else am I supposed to keep you out of trouble?”

He snorted. “I’m millions of years old. I can take care of myself.”

“Is that how you ended up in a bargain with Aphrodite?”

He narrowed his gaze, then lifted his glass. “Did I not tell you I am not to have an empty glass tonight?”

She gave her best fuck you smile and bowed. “Right away, my lord.”

He made sure Minthe was no longer within sight before returning his gaze to the floor. The woman had turned back to her friends.

Hades studied them in an attempt to discern the kind of company she kept, when he noticed someone he was not particularly fond of—a man named Adonis. He was one of Aphrodite’s favored mortals. Why, he had no idea. The mortal was a liar and had a heart as dark as the Styx, but he supposed the Goddess of Love had a hard time looking past his pretty face.

He hoped the woman did not share that quality. He frowned, wondering if she would leave the club with him tonight, and then scolded himself for having these thoughts. His concern should go as far as fearing for her well-being for the mere fact that Aphrodite was fond of punishing anyone who gave her lovers too much attention.

“Your drink, my lord,” Ilias said.

Hades glanced at the satyr, relieved that he had sensed his approach.

Ilias could be best described as another assistant. He had worked for Hades almost as long as Minthe, filling roles wherever Hades needed: bartending at Nevernight, managing his restaurants, and enforcing Hades’ rule in the Upperworld. He was best at the latter. With an unassuming, pleasant appearance, Hades’ enemies were often surprised by his ruthlessness.

Hades did not often employ satyrs. They were wild, prone to drunkenness and seduction, but Ilias was different and not by choice. He had severed ties with his tribe after they betrayed him, raping a woman he loved. She had killed herself and Ilias had killed them.

Hades took the glass, and before he thought too long on the subject, said, “I have a job for you.”

“Yes, my lord?”

Hades nodded to the woman who had triggered him with her golden hair and green eyes.

“That woman, I want to know if she leaves with anyone.”

Silence followed Hades’ order, and when the god looked at Ilias, he was staring back, brow raised. “Is she in danger, my lord?”

Yes, he thought, she was in danger of never leaving this place. Something inside him wanted to disregard every civility and possess her. Something about her called to him—a thread that pulled at his heart.

He froze as those words surfaced in his mind, eyes narrowing, and thought, it cannot be.

Hades peeled back layer after layer of glamour that kept his vision shielded from the ethereal Threads of Fate. They were like shimmering spiderwebs connecting people and things—some were wisps, others were solid, their strength waxed and waned throughout life. The whole floor was like a net, but Hades was only focused on one, fragile cord that ran from his chest to the woman in shimmering pink.

Fucking Fates.

“My lord?” Ilias asked, sensing the sudden change in him.

This cannot be, he thought. The thread and its placement near his heart had significance in a way he was not quite able to wrap his mind around—the Fates had woven this woman into his life.

She was meant to be his lover.

“Lord Hades?”

“Yes,” the god finally answered, looking at Ilias as he turned from the floor. “Yes, she is in danger.”

He left in a daze, pausing in the shadow to collect his thoughts. His chest felt tight, the thread pulled taunt, and he had the thought that if he continued his retreat, it might snap.

This is some sort of game.

It would not be the first time the Fates had dangled a wish in front of him, only to take it away. That was probably their greatest skill—extracting his deepest desires, then weaving them into his life, only to unravel them when they wished.

It was torture.

When he was younger, it had been more fun for the Fates because his reactions were vicious, his retribution violent, but the angrier he became, the more the Fates took. It was like the sisters wanted to see him tear the world to shreds.

For a while, he had obsessed over it, attempting to bargain for love. When that did not work, he decided to defy the Fates. He would find love; he would force it. The results had been a one-night stand with Minthe and a tumultuous relationship with another nymph named Leuce, who had betrayed him.

His wrath had been swift, and his desire to fight Fate on the subject, quashed. He resigned himself to a lonely existence, building walls around his heart and soul. He existed without expectation of happiness or love, and focused instead on bargaining and balance.

Until now.

He would forever remember the vicious reaction his body had when he laid eyes on the woman in pink. His insides still shook. How could the Fates offer him a taste of what it might feel like to have a soulmate, only to take her away?

As easily as I can condemn a soul to Tartarus, he answered, gritting his teeth.

He was still frustrated as he made his way to the lounge. As he approached, Euryale, the gorgon who stood guard at the entrance, nodded at him despite his invisibility.

“My lord,” she said.

The god smirked, dropping his glamour.

The gorgon was blind. Centuries ago, her eyes had been gouged out of her face and the venomous snakes that had once graced her head had been chopped to pieces—a punishment for her beauty. Hades had found her in the forest. She lay where she had been attacked, curled into the fetal position, sobbing and shaking. He had gathered her up and brought her to the Underworld, allowing her to heal before employing her.

Despite the horror she had experienced, and her attackers’ attempts to take away her power, they had not succeeded, for beneath that blindfold, Euryale’s gaze was still potent. After she healed, Hades released her upon her attackers, and the gorgon had turned them all to stone.

“Your sense of smell amazes me, Euryale.”

“You make it too easy,” the gorgon replied. “Lay off the cologne.”

Hades chuckled, pressed a hand to the gorgon’s shoulder, and entered the lounge.

The environment here was far more subdue, a mix of mortals and ancient creatures chatting and drinking and playing. Some were relaxed, others on edge, fidgeting as they waited to be summoned to one of the suites in the shadows, ready to bargain for their deepest desires no matter the consequences. Hades wandered among them, assessing and searching, attempting to choose his first contract of the night, when he rounded one of the gaming tables and halted, glimpsing a familiar pink dress and silken hair.

She was a siren, luring him with her scent, her beauty, her very presence.

He should turn around, meld with the darkness, and pretend he never laid eyes upon her, but watching her profile made his chest ache, and there was a part of him that resented the feeling. He had never wanted the Fates to have control over his love life, and yet, it was inevitable.

I could have control, he told himself. Use this to my advantage to fulfill my bargain with Aphrodite.

Hades did not often feel guilty, but that thought made his chest sick and heavy.

Make someone fall in love with you.

The bargain was callous and unfair, but Hades wanted to win.

Fucking Fates.

Shoving aside his tumultuous thoughts, he approached her.

“Do you play?” he asked.

She turned to him, and his breath caught in his throat as he was again, stuck by her beauty. Her eyes were wide and fringed with dark lashes. A dust of freckles kissed the tip of her nose and the apples of her cheeks, fading beneath a flush that colored her creamy skin.

Hades took a sip from his glass to wet his throat, but the movement drew her attention to his mouth, and he repressed a groan as he wondered if she tasted like she smelled—sweet, honeyed, forbidden.

After a moment, she smiled, a playful glint in her gaze. “I’m willing to play if you’re willing to teach.”

You wouldn’t say that if you knew who I was, he thought, taking another drink.

Anyone who entered into a game with him was bound to the rules of Nevernight—a loss meant a contract.

You are a bastard, he told himself as he approached the table and sat beside her. The movement stirred the air, and her scent continued to invade his mind. There was something else in the atmosphere—an electricity that made his heart race and the hair on his arms and neck stand on end.

“It’s brave to sit down at a table without knowing the game,” he said.

He thought that she might have sensed the warning in his tone, because she arched a brow at him and asked, “How else would I learn?”

“Hmm.”

She was right, though Hades would not advise running before learning to walk, especially when it came to bargains with him. Still, her response illustrated her cunning and willingness to try new things, and he found that insanely attractive.

“Clever.”

Now that he was close to her, he could not stop staring. He wanted to know why she smelled like wildflowers. What was her connection to Demeter? It felt intrusive and wrong to strip away the barriers that barred her soul from his eyes, but he would be lying if he said he did not want to know who she was beneath that perfect exterior.

She quivered, her lithe shoulders shaking. Was she cold or uncomfortable?

“I have never seen you before,” he finally said, hoping that explained his stare.

“Well, I have never been here before,” she replied, and then narrowed her eyes. “You must come here often.”

He smirked at the tone of her voice, tinged with suspicion.

“I do.”

“Why?” She sounded curious rather than disgusted, then blushed and tried to recover by adding, “I mean—you don’t have to answer that.”

“I will answer it.” He met her gaze, challenging. “If you will answer a question for me.”

Say yes, he silently begged, though he would never compel her. Say yes so I can learn all of you.

A small furrow appeared between her brows as she considered his proposal. An answer to a question is a small price to pay if she lost, Hades wanted to say. Others put their soul on the line. But he remained quiet.

“Fine,” she conceded.

It was a challenge not to smile.

He answered her earlier question, “I come because it is…fun.”

It was not a complete lie, and it sounded like something a mortal would say, and for this moment in time, that is what he intended to be—fragile and human.

“Now you—why are you here tonight?”

“My friend Lexa was on the list,” she explained, looking at her hands as she twined her fingers together in her lap.

“No,” he said. “That is the answer to a different question. Why are you here tonight?”

She met his gaze, a mischievous glint in her eyes, and he found himself desperate to chase it—that flicker of defiance, that hint of passion.

“It seemed rebellious at the time,” she answered finally.

“And now you aren’t so sure?”

“Oh, I am sure it is rebellious,” she said as her fingers trailed the felt table. Hades’ gaze followed them and he thought he would have liked for those fingers to explore his skin. After a moment, he lifted his gaze to hers.

“I’m just not sure how I’ll feel about it tomorrow.”

Now he was curious. “Who are you rebelling against?”

Her smile was like an arrow to his chest—devastating, secretive, enticing. “You said one question.”

“So I did.”

Well played, darling,he thought with a smile.

She shivered again.

“Are you cold?”

“What?” She seemed surprised by his question.

“You’ve been shivering since you sat down.”

She flushed, fidgeted under his gaze again, and then blurted, “Who was that woman with you earlier?”

He frowned but then remembered. “Oh, Minthe. She’s always putting her hands where they don’t belong.”

She paled, and he realized he had said something wrong.

“I…think I should go.”

No.

They had not spoken long enough. He did not know her name, and he wanted to teach her—he wanted to teach her so many things. Before he knew what he was doing, his hand was on hers and something volatile sparked between them, eliciting a gasp from her perfect lips. She pulled away quickly.

“No,” he said, but it came out as a command, and she glared at him.

“Excuse me?”

“What I mean to say is, I haven’t taught you how to play yet.” He lowered his voice, forcing away the hysteria that had caused him to reach for her. “Allow me.”

Please.

She glanced away from him, and he thought she might bolt. Trust me, he wanted to beg, though he knew that was a ridiculous thing to ask. He was the last person she should trust.

Finally, she seemed resolved and relaxed, lowered her lashes as she spoke in the most erotic voice he had ever heard, “Then teach me.”

I will. Everything, he thought.

He shuffled the cards and explained the game. “This is poker. We will play five-card draw, and we’ll start with a bet.”

“But I don’t have anything to bet with,” she said, glancing down at herself.

I would happily take the dress.

“A question answered, then. If I win, you will answer any question I pose, and if you win, I will answer yours.”

She grimaced, but her expression seemed in conflict with her body, because as she spoke, she leaned toward him. The air between them thickened, and Hades found it hard to breathe.

“Deal.”

Thrilled, Hades continued to explain the game.

“There are ten rankings in poker. The lowest is the high card and the highest is the royal flush. The goal is to draw a higher rank than the other player…” he expounded. “If you are dealt a bad hand, fold. It is better than the alternative. Checking and calling would apply if we were playing for coin, but since our currency is answers, the point is moot. Perhaps the most important skill in poker is your ability to bluff.”

“Bluff?” That seemed to pique her interest.

“Sometimes, poker is just a game of deception…especially when you’re losing.”

Hades dealt each of them five cards, and they took their time eyeing their hands and then each other. Finally, the goddess laid her cards down, face up, and Hades did the same.

“You have a pair of queens,” he said. “And I have a full house.”

“So…you win.” She didn’t seem upset so much as contemplative, still trying to remember the rules and understand the game. Hades, on the other hand, was impatient, and he jumped at the chance to ask his question.

“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 was all too eager. When he won a second time, he did not ask the question, just looked at her expectantly.

“Because…” She paused, and her eyes moved away from his, focusing on the table in front of them, brows furrowing. She was searching for an answer. For a way to avoid telling the truth, Hades realized. She smiled ruefully as she said, “She made me mad.”

There was a hint of darkness to her words, and he wanted to chase that moment. It was the first time he sensed she was holding back. He waited for more of an explanation, but she just smirked.

“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.”

Especially now. She was teaching him how she thought and worked, and he would be more than prepared for their next game. She would not be able to cut corners so easily. The terms would be detailed, the stakes higher.

Her expression turned wary, and he got the sense that she had not planned on seeing him again after tonight.

Something jolted through him—an emotion akin to fear.

I have to see her again. I will go mad.

He pushed those thoughts away. Finish the game, he told himself, and dealt another hand and won.

“Why are you angry with your mother?” he asked.

She looked thoughtful for a moment, and then said, “Because…she wants me to be something I can’t.”

Was that what I sensed beneath the surface? Her true nature, desperate to be free?

Her gaze dropped 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?”

Haven’t you ever been desperate for something? he wanted to ask, but he knew the answer. He could feel it burning between them.

“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?”

She had pursed her lips at the question, and dread tightened his chest. This woman had connections to Demeter, which meant she had heard the worst things about him. If he had any hope of deconstructing the myth that had been erected around him, he was going to have to spend time with her, and that meant she needed to know who he was, so he answered her question truthfully.

“Darling, I win either way.”

Her eyes went wide, and she stood quickly, almost knocking her chair over. He had never seen anyone so eager to leave his company. His name slipped out of her mouth like a curse.

“Hades.”

He shuddered. Say it again, he wanted to command, but he kept his mouth shut. His eyes darkened, and he pressed his lips together. The look on her face would haunt him for an eternity. She was shocked, frightened, embarrassed.

She made a mistake. He read it on her face.

“I have to go.”

She spun, fleeing from him like he was death himself come to steal her soul.

He thought about chasing after her but knew it did not matter whether or not he followed. She would be back. She had lost to him, and he had marked her.

He swallowed the rest of his whiskey and smiled.

Perhaps Aphrodite’s bargain would not be so impossible after all.

“Fastest path, quickest benefit,” he muttered.