CHAPTER V: A CONTRACT SEALED

CHAPTER V – A CONTRACT SEALED

Hades found himself in Tartarus.

In the beginning of his reign, he came here more often than any other place in his realm. Post Titanomachy had been a dark time. Born of war, Hades knew nothing else but blood and pain, but he had not spent his time in Tartarus out of a wish to exist with the familiar. He did so out of a wish to punish those responsible for his dark beginning—the Titans.

Overtime, he had needed that less and less.

On rare occasions, he still came to channel residual rage.

Tonight was no different.

He stood in his office, a cavernous but modern room at the peak of one of the mountains of Tartarus. It doubled as a chamber of torture, its walls covered with weapons Hades had used on many unfortunate humans and humanoids who found themselves restrained before him, many of them holding secrets, even in the afterlife. Part of the floor was glass, and from this elevated space, Hades looked down upon level after level of torture.

Over the years, the prison had evolved. It had begun underground, with levels spanning miles and miles, all dedicated to punishing the most wicked of crimes and torturing souls in absurd ways—with wind, icy rain, and fire, and the more efficient sentences of choking on tar, eagles and vultures eating livers, and flesh being torn from bodies by razor sharp teeth.

While those forms of torture still existed, Hades evolved with the world above, carving out the mountains and creating isolated cells for various forms of psychological torture. Whatever the variety, Hades only cared that it produced the same result—suffering.

Hades swiped a bottle of whiskey from his desk and took a drink before snapping his fingers, summoning a soul. The man was the one Sisyphus had shot dead in the yard of his fishery.

Isidore Angelos.

His hands were bound behind his back, his legs restrained. His chin rested against his chest. He was asleep.

Souls tended to continue in the Underworld as they did in the Upperworld, meaning they stuck to routine, even though they did not need it.

Sleep was an example of this.

“Well, isn’t he handsome,” Hermes said, appearing in Hades’ office.

The God of Trickery often came and went from his realm, having taken the role of psychopomp—a guide to souls—centuries ago. Hades glanced at him. The god was in his Divine form, gilded and garish. He had great white wings and a pair of short horns that poked out of the side of his head, almost invisible amid his curls. His golden eyes appraised the mortal.

“Do not ogle the prisoners, Hermes,” Hades said.

“What? I can appreciate beauty.”

“With your track record? No. You tend to forget what is beneath the skin.”

“I also tend to have mind-blowing sex,” Hermes said, sighing. “It is a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

At that, Hades turned away from the god, rolled his eyes, and swirled the liquid in his bottle before taking another drink.

“Perhaps if you got laid more often, you wouldn’t feel the need to torture your subjects,” Hermes said.

Hades grinded his teeth, something he had done all day. His jaw would hurt tomorrow. Hermes’ words frustrated him for two reasons—that the god felt the need to comment on his sex life at all, and because his thoughts turned to the beautiful Persephone.

He felt a tightening in his groin that almost made him groan.

“Has anyone ever told you, you might need therapy?” Hermes asked. “Because I’m pretty sure torturing people is a sign of psychopathy.”

Hades glared at Hermes, who was now holding a cattle prod. Suddenly, it sparked, making a terrible clicking sound. The god yelped and dropped it immediately.

Hades raised a brow. Sometimes, it was hard to remember that Hermes was actually a skilled warrior.

“What?” he challenged. “It scared me!”

Hades swiped the cattle prod from the ground and turned toward the man named Isidore sitting in the center of his office, then said, “Wake.”

The man’s head lolled, and his eyes opened and closed, heavy with fatigue.

Hades waited while the mortal familiarized himself with his surroundings, only speaking when he saw recognition on his face.

“Welcome to my realm,” Hades said.

Isidore’s eyes widened. “Am I…am I in Tartarus?”

Hades did not answer. Instead, he said, “You are Impious.”

The Impious were mortals, and immortals alike, who rejected the gods when they came to Earth during The Great Descent for a number of reasons—some felt abandoned, some felt the gods were hypocrites, others no longer wished to be ruled. In the end, the two sides went to war, the Impious and the Faithful. Hades had not been eager to join in the fight; after all, it did not matter which side he joined, his realm would grow either way.

“And a loyal member of Triad,” Hades added.

Triad was a group of Impious mortals who opposed the gods, demanding fairness, freewill, and freedom. They called themselves activists, the Olympians called them terrorists.

“Tr-Triad? What makes you think I’m a member of Triad?”

He stared at the man for a moment. He did not like answering questions, did not really like speaking at all, but he would answer this, as it might prevent the man from trying to lie further.

“Three reasons,” Hades said. “One, you stutter when you lie. Second, even if you did not stutter when you lie, I can sense lies. Yours are bitter and they taste like ash, a mark of your soul. Third, if you do not want to advertise your allegiance, you should not tattoo it upon your skin.”

Hades noted how the man’s eyes drifted to his right arm where the triangle—the symbol of Triad—was inked.

“So, you will torture me for my allegiance?”

“I will torture you for your crimes,” Hades said. “The fact that you are a member of Triad is merely a bonus.”

Isidore gave a guttural cry as Hades shoved the cattle prod into his side. The smell of burnt flesh filled his nostrils. After a few seconds, he pulled away. The mortal’s back was arched, his breathing harsh.

“Gods, Hades! Do you really have to do this?” Hermes asked, but he made no move to cover his eyes or even look disgusted.

“Don’t pretend you haven’t tortured a mortal, Hermes. We all know differently,” Hades spat. As the cattle prod sparked again, the man glared at Hades and challenged.

“I’ve been tortured before.”

Hades smiled wickedly. “Not by me.”

The cattle prod was just the beginning of Isidore’s torture. Hades moved from electrocution to fire, setting the ground beneath the man’s feet aflame, keeping him alive as the flames licked his skin. He screamed, inhaling smoke, which made him cough until blood spilled from his mouth.

At some point, Hades doused the flames with his magic, and in the quiet aftermath, Hermes spoke.

“You are seriously fucked up, Hades.”

“You,” Isidore’s voice rasped, his chest rose and fell slowly. “You think you are untouchable because you are gods.”

“That’s exactly why we are untouchable,” Hermes said.

Hades held up his hand, silencing the God of Trickery.

“You don’t know what is coming,” Isidore continued, voice hollow. His head lolled to the side, and he was no longer looking at Hades but the wall. The god gripped the mortal’s charred face so he would look at him.

“Um, Hades—” Hermes started to say.

“What’s coming?” Hades demanded.

“War,” the man answered.

***

It was almost noon, and Hades had yet to sleep. His eyes felt like sandpaper, and Hermes’ voice grated in his ears. The god had followed him back to his palace and now walked beside him as he made his way to his bedchamber. Hades took a drink from the bottle he had brought from his office in Tartarus.

“You could have told me you were torturing him for information,” Hermes complained.

“Are you saying if I had told you, you would have refrained from telling me how fucked up I am?” Hades asked.

Hermes opened his mouth to reply, but Hades spoke instead—a rare occasion.

“Triad is reorganizing. I need your eyes and ears.”

Hermes laughed. “You aren’t actually…afraid of them, are you?”

“We went to war with Triad, Hermes. It could happen again. Do not underestimate mortals desperate for freedom.”

Hermes narrowed his eyes. “It sounds like you sympathize with them.”

Hades met the god’s gaze and answered as he always did, “What is evil to one is a fight for freedom to another.”

He had said it before, and he would say it again. The problem he had with Triad was the innocent lives they took with them during their fight.

“Do not let your hubris blind you, Hermes.”

This time, when Hades started toward his chambers, the god did not follow.

As soon as Hades was inside his room, he sighed, pressing his fingers to his temple. It had been a long time since he had had a headache, but this day was endless. Hades crossed the room to his fireplace and finished off his whiskey. He stared down at the empty bottle, contemplating the day’s—yesterday’s—events. He had bargained and murdered and tortured.

All things he was certain his future wife would disapprove of.

Future wife.

Fucking Fates.

Hades threw the bottle, and it shattered against the black marble wall.

I am going to have to stop breaking things when she gets here, he thought, and then scolded himself for sounding so…hopeful.

He sighed angrily and started toward his bed, loosening his tie. His eyes had started to burn. He needed sleep. In a matter of hours, he had to be up again. He had another important appointment to make. This one in his own territory, Iniquity, an exclusive club where the worst of society gathered under his protection and rule.

Just as he pulled back the covers, a knock sounded at the door.

“Go away,” he said, thinking it had to be Minthe.

Instead, Ilias’s voice answered.

“Oh, I think you’ll want to hear this, my lord.”

Hades sighed. “Yes?”

Ilias entered, arching a dark brow and smiling wryly. “No rest for the wicked. The woman from last night is outside Nevernight fighting with Duncan. He has placed his hands upon her. You had better hurry.”

Hades could not describe the feeling that overcame him, but it was like everything inside him had frozen for a second—his blood did not rush, his heart did not pump, his lungs did not expand.

As quick as the ice entered his veins, it was gone, replaced by red-hot fury.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” he snapped before teleporting to the entrance of Nevernight.

On the other side of the door, a familiar voice threatened, “I am Persephone, Goddess of Spring, and if you would like to keep your fleeting life, then you will obey me!”

Hades threw open the door. He felt frantic until his eyes settled upon the goddess, and then he was stunned.

She stood on the lackluster sidewalk, beneath the too-bright sun, stripped of her human glamour. White kudu horns sprouted from her wild hair, and despite their height, he couldn’t help thinking how petite she appeared. He liked seeing her this way. It felt intimate somehow, because he knew he was seeing her. This was Persephone, the goddess who would be his queen, and she was everything.

She did not meet his gaze, but her eyes were definitely on him, trailing his frame with an intensity in her expression he couldn’t quite place but wanted to understand.

Despite feeling as if he had no control over his body, his emotions, his magic, he composed himself as best he could and spoke.

“Lady Persephone.” Her title felt heavy on his tongue, and at his words, she met his gaze, and again, he was startled by her bright eyes—as wild as the rivers of Tartarus and as green as the Asphodel Valley. Something changed in her composure when she looked at him. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.

“Lord Hades.”

She addressed him formally and offered a sharp nod. He was not sure what he did not like about it—the fact that she had used his title, or her ceremonial body language. He frowned but could not think long on the subject, because Duncan drew his attention.

“My lord.” The ogre sunk to his knees and hung his head low. “I did not know she was a goddess. I accept punishment for my actions.”

“Punishment?” Persephone echoed. She crossed her arms over her chest as if she were uncomfortable with the idea. Hades gritted his teeth, the same fury that had overcome him in the Underworld blazed again.

“I laid my hands upon a goddess,” Duncan said.

“And a woman at that,” Hades added unhappily.

Duncan had it wrong. His impending punishment had nothing to do with the fact that he had touched someone of Divine blood—it was that he had hurt a woman. Hades was not tolerant of violence against women or children. In fact, he hated it so much, there was a special level in Tartarus for those responsible of such crimes, and their punishments were doled out by the Furies themselves, the three feared Goddesses of Vengeance, Nemesis, the Goddess of Retribution, and Hecate, who took it upon herself to personally punish abusers.

No human or humanoid was excused, whether in Hades’ employment or not.

“I will deal with you later,” Hades promised. “Now, Lady Persephone.”

He stepped aside, making room for her to enter Nevernight. She did not hesitate like he thought she might, entering the darkness of his club like she owned it. He shut the door behind her, and for a moment, they were trapped together and the scent of their magic twined and overwhelmed. Hades recognized the rigidness in Persephone’s stance, because he had gone just as still. Her reaction relaxed him, probably because he found hope in the idea that he affected her in the same way.

He considered challenging what was building between them, stepping close and drawing her gleaming hair away from her neck. He could practically hear her shuddering breath as he pressed as kiss to her soft skin. Would she melt in his arms then? Or would she fight?

He drew close. He did not think it was possible, but she became even more rigid, back ramrod straight. She was wound tight, a viper ready to strike. It was a bite he would endure willingly, and he leaned in, his jaw brushing the side of her face, his lips touching her ear.

“You are full of surprises, darling.”

He was too arrogant, he realized, unprepared for his body’s reaction to her. Her scent sunk into his skin, igniting his blood. He grew heavy and hard at the thought of wrapping his arm around her waist, pulling her against him, consuming her.

Fuck.

An audible breath brought him back to reality, and before she could face him, he was opening the interior door to Nevernight, breaking the strange spell between them.

“After you, goddess.”

She blinked, and he noted the confusion in her expression. Maybe she thought what she had just experienced was an illusion. He half-expected her to flee, but again, that spark of defiance entered her eyes. She kept his gaze as she brushed past him—both a challenge and a tease.

He followed behind her and watched as she approached the balcony, eyes scanning the floor below. He wondered what she was looking for but did not ask, just waited until she looked at him and continued down the stairs.

Her heels clicked as she followed him across the floor, which was how he knew she had stopped moving, because the club grew quiet.

“Where are we going?” she asked. There was suspicion in her voice, and he reminded himself that just because she had entered Nevernight willingly, it was not show of trust.

Hades paused, turning to look at her.

He should not have looked back. It almost made him question what he was doing, luring this beautiful goddess farther into his realm.

“My office,” he said. “I imagine that whatever you have to say to me demands privacy?”

She raised a brow, glancing at the empty space. “This seems pretty private.”

“It isn’t.” He turned and headed upstairs, pleased when he heard the click of her heels following.

At the top of the stairs, he turned toward his office and opened one of the two large doors bearing one of his symbols in gold—a bident—coiled with vines and flowers. When he turned to Persephone, she was still standing a few feet away. Her distance frustrated him.

“Will you hesitate at every turn, Lady Persephone?”

She scowled. “I was just admiring your décor, Lord Hades. I didn’t notice this last night.”

“The doors to my quarters are often veiled during business hours,” he replied, and then indicated to the open door. “Shall we?”

She lifted her chin and breezed past him. He tracked her as she moved across the black marble floor and familiarized herself with his office, eyes settling first on the wall of windows that overlooked the club floor. It was a common feature in most of his offices, a way to observe from above. Despite the heat outside, Hades kept the fire going in his hearth. He liked fire, liked the way the flames danced, liked to watch it from his obsidian desk, but rarely used the sitting area arranged before it. Perhaps he would today, and invite the Goddess of Spring to sit.

But that seemed too civil, and Hades had a feeling that whatever the goddess had come to say, it was anything but polite.

When he closed the door, she again became rigid. It was then he realized he should have done more to reassure her she was safe with him after her horrific interaction with Duncan. He moved across the floor noisily, not wishing to startle her, and stopped in front of her, eyes searching her face, grazing her lips, before falling to her neck. Her perfect skin was reddened from the ogre’s grip.

It took everything in his power to stay where he was and not teleport to the Underworld to torture Duncan.

Anticipation is part of the torment, he reminded himself.

He reached toward her, wanting to heal those marks upon her skin, but her hand fastened upon his arm. Their gazes snapped together.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“No,” she whispered.

There was something intimate about this exchange. Maybe it was their proximity, inches from one another, skin touching skin. After a moment, he nodded and pulled his arm free from her grasp. He crossed the room, needing the distance so he did not do something stupid. Like kiss her.

The smell of Demeter’s magic alerted him that she was about to raise her glamour.

“Oh, it’s a little too late to be modest, don’t you think?” he asked, leaning against his desk, tugging his tie free from his neck. He did not like the way it felt against his skin, like a restraint, but the movement drew her gaze, and he recognized the hunger in her eyes because he felt it, too. Deep in his gut.

“Did I interrupt something?”

Her tone was almost accusatory, and he considered questioning her jealousy but thought against it. Instead, his lips curled as he explained, “I was just about to go to bed when I heard you demanding entrance to my club. Imagine my surprise when I find the goddess from last night on my doorstep.”

She glowered, “Did the gorgon tell you?”

He fought the urge to smile at her frustration. “No, Euryale did not. I recognized your magic as Demeter’s, but you are not Demeter.” He tilted his head, studying her like he’d studied her image in the Library of Souls. “When you left, I consulted a few texts. I had forgotten Demeter had a daughter. I assumed you were Persephone. Question is, why aren’t you using your own magic?”

“Is that why you did this?” she demanded, removing a hideous set of bracelets from her wrist and holding up her arm, where a band of black dots marked her skin.

He noted that she had avoided answering his question. No matter, he would come back to it. Instead, he focused on the mark on her skin, his mark, and smirked.

“No. That is the result of losing against me.”

“You were teaching me to play!”

“Semantics.” He shrugged. “The rules of Nevernight are very clear, goddess.”

“They are anything but clear.” She threw up her hands and the pointed at him. “And you are an asshole!”

He pushed away from his desk, stalking toward her. There was a part of him that wanted to demand respect, a part of him that wanted to remind her that he was King of the Underworld, God of the Dead, but as he approached her, he remembered who she was—Persephone, Goddess of Spring, his future queen. The thought calmed him, and yet, she must have seen something else flash in his eyes, because she took a step away.

“Don’t call me names, Persephone,” he said, grasping her wrist gently. He felt a strange energy between them as he reestablished their connection. He traced the shadow marring her skin, and she shivered beneath his hands.

“When you invited me to your table, you entered into an agreement. If you had won, you could have left Nevernight with no demands on your time. But you did not, and now we have a contract.”

I could give her freedom. The words entered his head, unbidden, born from his earlier thoughts, and he was suddenly overcome with guilt. It was true that there was no Divine Law, so he could let her go.

But as he watched her, he peered beneath her fair exterior and saw her soul for what it was—a powerful goddess, caged in doubt and fear. This was the reason she used her mother’s magic—because hers lay locked away, dormant.

The longer he looked, the deeper he fell. She was intoxicating, and her magic smelled like sweet roses, wisteria, and something completely sinful. His own magic rose within him, wishing to tangle with hers. He wanted to draw it out of her, coax her to release.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He was not sure what she saw in his expression, but he noted the way her throat constricted when she swallowed, and he thought he’d like to kiss her there, feel her shudder beneath him.

She spoke, her words dripped with restrained anger. “What does that mean?”

“It means I must choose terms,” he said, certain.

Suddenly, this bargain had taken on a whole new meaning to him. He would pry the bars from around her body, free her from this self-constructed cage of hate, and in the end, if she did not love him, at least she would be free.

“I don’t want to be in a contract with you,” she said between her teeth, her beautiful eyes flashing bright. “Take it off!”

“I can’t.”

I won’t, he thought.

“You put it there, you can remove it.”

His lips twitched. He should not find humor in her plight. He knew this was distressing, knew she would not understand why this had to happen. Still, he smirked because she was defiant, because he liked her fire and frustration.

“You think this is funny?” she demanded.

“Oh, darling, you have no idea.”

“I am a goddess. We are equals.”

She said the words, but he knew she did not believe them.

“You think our blood changes the fact that you willingly entered into a contract with me? These things are law, Persephone.” She glared at him. “The mark will dissolve when the contract has been fulfilled.”

“And what are your terms?”

He considered what he had seen of her soul. She was a woman who equated Divinity with power. It was the core of her insecurity, and it was that he would challenge. At last, he spoke.

“Create life in the Underworld.”

Her eyes widened and she paled, the impossibility of the words he had spoken registering quickly. His fingers tightened around her wrist.

“What?”

“Create life in the Underworld,” he said again. “You have six months. If you fail or refuse, then you will become a permanent resident of my realm.”

“You want me to grow a garden in your realm?”

He grimaced. She had already decided there was only one way to fulfill the bargain, and that was via power she didn’t have…yet.

He shrugged. “I suppose that is one way to create life.”

It was a clue she did not catch. Instead, she glared at him.

“If you steal me away to the Underworld, you will face my mother’s wrath.”

“Oh, I am sure,” he mused, imagining it now, and yet it was the price Demeter would pay—first for bargaining with the Fates, and second for hiding Persephone from him. When would the Goddess of Harvest come for him, he wondered? “Much like you will feel her wrath when she discovers what you’ve so recklessly done.”

He hated that he spoke those words, and he considered reassuring her that he would protect her from her mother, but then Persephone straightened, met his gaze, and accepted his challenge.

“Fine. When do I start?”

He almost smiled. “Come tomorrow. I’ll show you the way to the Underworld.”

“It will have to be after class,” she said.

His brows drew together. “Class?”

“I’m a student at New Athens University.”

It was an example of how much he did not know about this woman, and he found himself curious. What was she studying? How long had she been in college? Where had she been living prior to New Athens? What had Demeter taught her about the Divine?

All things I will learn in time, he reminded himself.

“After…class, then.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, still touching, still invading each other’s space, and he found he was content with this—the silence, the feel of her energy—because it made his chest feel lighter.

“What about your bouncer?” she asked suddenly.

Hades frowned, brows lowering. “What about him?”

“I’d prefer he not remember me in this form.” She lifted her hand to her horns, and Hades eyes followed. They were beautiful horns, gracefully twisted into sharpened points, but as he looked at them, they disappeared from his view, covered by the glamour Persephone had called up. His eyes, again, fell to hers.

“I’ll erase his memory…after he is punished for his treatment of you,” he promised.

“He didn’t know I was a goddess,” she said.

Do not come to his aid, he wanted to say. He does not deserve your kindness.

“But he knew you were a woman, and he let his anger get the best of him. So he will be punished.”

And I will enjoy the process thoroughly.

“What will it cost me?”

He focused upon her again, on her thick lashes, mesmerizing eyes, and sensuous mouth.

“Clever, darling. You know how this works. The punishment? Nothing. His memory? A favor.”

“Don’t call me darling,” she snapped, and he raised a brow at her sudden frustration. Perhaps she thought he was growing too comfortable too fast. “What kind of favor?”

“Whatever I want,” he said. “To be used at a future time.”

She narrowed her eyes, skeptical of his request, and she should be. The most dangerous favors were those unspecified, and if she agreed, it would give him an idea of just how much she truly knew about what it meant to be Divine.

“Deal.”

Nothing, he thought. She knows nothing at all. It made him more than curious. How could Demeter let her daughter enter a world run by the Divine and know nothing of them? She had to know that sooner or later, Persephone would find her way into this world.

Despite his worrying thoughts, Hades smiled at her. “I will have my driver take you home.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“It is,” he insisted.

Hades was not in the habit of trusting the world. He knew too much about what lingered beneath its surface.

“Fine,” she snapped.

He frowned. She was probably more than ready to leave, except that he was not quite ready to see her go. Not on the heels of his last thought.

Keep her safe, he thought as he grasped her shoulders, sealing the space between them. He had thrown her off-balance, and her fingers clenched the front of his shirt, nails scraping his chest. He pressed his lips to her forehead, and the heat from her skin rushed to the bottom of his stomach, making his cock throb and his thoughts turned chaotic. He wanted to tilt her head toward his, to kiss her mouth and taste her tongue.

Focus on the task, he told himself angrily, and bestowed his favor upon her. In ancient times, Greek heroes were favored by the gods, given special weapons and aid during battle, and on rare occasions, even a second chance at life. In modernity, favor could mean anything—access to exclusive clubs, insurmountable wealth, or protection from harm.

Hades offered Persephone the latter, along with access to his realm. He released her from the kiss. Inches apart, she looked up at him.

“What was that for?” she whispered.

Hades smiled, brushing a finger across her heated cheek.

“For your benefit. Next time, the door will open for you. I would rather you not piss Duncan off. If he hurts you again, I will have to kill him, and it’s hard to find a good ogre.”

“Lord Hades,” Minthe’s voice interrupted. “Thanatos is looking for you—Oh!”

The nymph’s presence frustrated him, because it meant Persephone was no longer looking at him. She tried to pull away, but Hades held her tighter, refusing to let go.

“I did not know you had company,” Minthe said, her voice dripped with judgement. Perhaps Hecate had been right when she had suggested he tell Minthe about his future bride.

“A minute, Minthe,” Hades gritted out without looking at her.

When she was gone, Persephone’s gaze returned to his, and he studied her, lips pressed together.

“You haven’t answered my question. Why are you using your mother’s magic?”

He wanted to see if she would admit what he already knew—that she had no magic of her own. Instead, she surprised him by smiling.

“Lord Hades,” she said, her voice breathy and sensual. She drew a finger down his chest, and the movement stirred his desire for her once again. He was going to have to find release by his own hand after this. He could not stand it. Did she know her power? “The only way you are getting answers from me is if I decide to enter into another gamble with you, and at the moment, it’s not likely.”

Then she took the lapels of his jacket and straightened them before leaning in, much like he had done earlier in the foyer, and whispered, “I think you will regret this, Hades.”

Her eyes fell to the red polyanthus flower in the pocket of his suit jacket, and as she brushed it with her fingers, the petals wilted.