Chapter III

Chapter III

Return of the Nymph

Hades met Ilias on the top floor of Nevernight, which was dedicated to security. It was a large room, but the walls and ceiling sloped inward to a shadowed point just like the exterior of the building. The room was awash in the pallid light of computer screens, illuminating the stern faces of Hades’s security team, though this was only a fraction. The others roamed the floors below and the dark alleys of the exterior, eyes peeled for anything untoward.

Ilias was positioned before a set of screens on the far wall, one for every holding room. Of the six, four were occupied. They were reserved for anyone who broke Nevernight rules, which occurred nightly and ranged from taking photos to card counting and, on rare occasions, spying.

It was the latter Hades expected to hear about from Ilias, considering his most recent visitors, but as he scanned the screens above the satyr’s head, he caught sight of a familiar face, one that shocked his system.

“Is that Leuce?”

Though he asked the question, he knew the answer. There was no denying the ocean nymph’s white hair and pale skin. It had been a long time since he had loved her, since she had betrayed him, since he had turned her into a poplar tree and forgotten her.

Yet here she was, returned from her prison.

How?

He certainly had not freed her.

“It is,” Ilias said. “She made a scene when she arrived.”

Hades wondered how many people glimpsed her outburst before it was contained. As if Ilias knew what he was thinking, he added, “We have begun damage control.”

“Has she been questioned at all?”

Ilias shook his head. “I figured you would want the opportunity.”

He would, though she had already had plenty of time to herself. Time to think up lies and believe them enough to avoid detection. It was a tactic she knew well and would not have forgotten, given she had spent her years as a tree unconscious. She would have woken up today believing he had only just confronted her about her infidelity—what a shock to learn that more than two millennia had passed. He wondered now if he had done her a cruelty or a kindness.

He watched her on the screen once more. She had pushed her chair against the wall, away from the table. Her knees were drawn to her chest and her thin arms were wrapped around them. She looked small, innocent, though that was not how Hades remembered her.

“What will you do with her?” Ilias asked. Hades knew the satyr wasn’t asking out of concern; he was asking because he wanted to know what he would be tasked with next, which was likely handling the nymph.

Hades looked at Ilias. He had not thought beyond this moment, save that he did not see any reason for Persephone to ever find out about Leuce. He could just imagine how she might react to not only discovering that his lover from the ancient world had returned but how he had handled her treachery—and it wasn’t good.

Leuce was a complication.

“I do not know,” Hades said. “Just…be on standby.”

Ilias nodded and Hades left.

He could teleport into the room, and he often did when he confronted those who had committed wrongs against him, but he wanted time to think, to prepare to face the lover he had forgotten, so he moved from floor to floor, invisible to the crowd, growing more and more frustrated.

Of course Leuce would return only a day after he had managed to reunite with Persephone, he thought bitterly and then halted. That thought gave him pause. Perhaps it wasn’t just a coincidence. Perhaps it had been more purposeful.

Perhaps it had been Demeter.

Suddenly, he was more than eager to confront her, and he did not hesitate. A cloud of thick, heated air hit him as he opened the door. Leuce pinned him with a chill gaze, her blue eyes narrowed in contempt.

“You.”

It was all she said, but she spoke with venom in her voice and then launched herself at him.

She was lithe and willowy, and she moved as if she had wings, cresting the table between them like it wasn’t there at all. While her anger was justified, he was not interested in allowing her near, so he flung out his hand, and his magic became shadows that restrained her midair.

“You have every right to be angry,” he said. “But if you have come here to ask for my aid, as I suspect you have, then you will do well to keep your hands to yourself.”

She spit in his face, and he released her quickly. She collapsed to the ground, a pile of bony, white limbs. She glared up at him.

“Haven’t you hurt me enough?”

He hadn’t heard her voice in so long; he had forgotten the sound. Despite her anger, she spoke softly, yet each word was deliberate, another stone stacked, a greater guilt to bear. He wanted to flinch at her words but kept his cold composure. He did not want Leuce to think she was welcome to return to his side. In fact, he’d prefer she kept her distance.

Then he noticed the tears.

“What is this place?” she whispered, once again resuming the position she had taken in the chair and drawing her knees to her chest.

Hades was confused and taken aback, both by her tears and her question, but he recognized suddenly that he had given little consideration to how much of a shock this had all been. He had merely assumed ill intent, and he still did, but that did not take away the trauma of returning to a world that looked nothing like the one you remembered.

He crouched low before her.

“What do you wish to know?” he asked.

She froze a little, probably caught off guard by the change in his demeanor. After a moment, she spoke. “How long has it been?”

Dread crept up the back of his throat. He did not want to answer. Somehow, he felt that if he said it aloud, it would make him crueler.

“Over two thousand years.”

She blinked, and for a moment, there was nothing behind her eyes. “Two thousand,” she repeated, as if saying it would help her comprehend just how much might have changed over all those years. Then her eyes focused on him, and he thought she was recalling what he had looked like the moment he had turned her into a tree.

Perhaps he’d been wrong to think he could question her. She was clearly in shock.

“Why?”

Hades was not prepared for the way her voice broke. Guilt twisted his stomach, and because he had no explanation, he remained quiet.

“Why?” she said again, more demanding. Her watery eyes, rimmed with red, made her anger all the more apparent.

He gritted his teeth. “At first, because of your infidelity.”

She shook her head a little, as if she didn’t understand. “It took you two thousand years to get over my treachery?”

Hades’s jaw tightened. He wanted to deny her statement, did not want her to think he had pined after her all these years, but he also did not want to admit the truth—he had forgotten.

“And Apollo? What was his punishment?”

Once again, Hades did not reply because the truth was shameful. He had not punished Apollo as he had Leuce. Indeed, he had done nothing to the God of Music, and at the time, that had seemed more than fitting, given that Apollo had seduced Leuce in retaliation for Hades’s refusal to allow him to reunite with his lover Hyacinth. So he’d left the god alone with his misery.

She scoffed and looked away, more tears sliding down her cheeks. “You’re all the same,” she whispered.

Hades frowned, brows knitting together. He wanted to say something about how he had changed like the new world she found herself in, but what good did that serve? She was a victim of his wrath, and no matter how he had moved forward, nothing changed that.

He rose to his feet. He had been wrong to think he could question her now, but that only meant he would have to keep a close eye on her longer.

“You have much to learn if you are going to return to this world,” Hades said.

“That’s all you have to say?”

He stared back at her, uncertain of what she wanted from him and feeling like there really were no words great enough for this moment.

When he said nothing more, she spoke, her words bitter. “I see you haven’t changed.”

“If that were true, I’d have told you I owe you nothing beyond the life I have granted you and turned you away.” He recognized the irony of his words. As much as he had granted her life, he’d also taken the majority of it away.

“I don’t need your charity.”

“Don’t you?” he asked. “Or is the one who returned you to your human form offering a hand?”

Her brow creased at his comment. “Was it not you?”

He was concerned by the genuine confusion in her expression and asked, “Exactly how did you come to be here tonight?”

“I woke up,” she said. “I screamed your name until someone brought me here.”

He stared at her for a long moment. He did not sense a lie, and though she may have omitted parts of the truth, he supposed it wasn’t impossible that she had not seen the person who had restored her to her natural form.

Still, Hades did not trust her. Ilias would have to keep an eye on her activity once she was settled.

He turned to the door.

“I will have my people help you make the transition into this world,” he said. “But beyond that, never contact me again.”

With that, he left.

* * *

Someone was fucking with him, and he did not like it.

First Kal, then Hera, now Leuce.

He had wanted his confrontation with her to be short, concise, and final, but he knew he’d have to talk to her again. He needed more information on her sudden transformation. He had a hard time believing she didn’t know who was responsible, and her connection to him was too great for someone not to use it against him.

Hades instructed Ilias to find Leuce a place to stay and assign surveillance before returning to the Underworld, and while he’d have liked to return to Persephone, he had one other unpleasant task ahead—visiting the Fates.

Dread pooled low in his stomach, a weight as heavy as the guilt he carried for Leuce. Hades never enjoyed visiting the Fates, but he liked it less when it was personal. They were deities who understood their power and used it to mock, tease, tantalize, and provoke, and he knew that he would not escape their ridicule tonight, which would make the horror of his labor worse.

He manifested outside the Fates’ mirrored palace, the size of which was impossible to detect given that the structure was almost consumed by evergreens and ivy. When Hades had created their isolated realm, the sisters had insisted on many things. Among them, the palace was to be made of mirror and glass.

“ To reflect the truth ,” Clotho had said.

“ To show what is ,” Lachesis explained.

“ To illustrate reality ,” Atropos added.

Hades had no doubt the Fates used the mirrors for more than just truth. They represented possibility, and while possibility could be grand, it could also be devastating. The Fates were supposed to be neutral deities, but truthfully, they had a tendency to favor tragedy.

“The King of the Underworld is troubled.” Lachesis’s voice was the first to reach him, yet the Fate had not yet materialized.

“The Rich One is in despair,” Atropos said.

“The Receiver of Many is bothered.” Clotho materialized as she spoke.

All the Fates looked the same, even in age, though Clotho was the youngest. They had long, dark hair and wore white. They did not have horns but wore crowns that resembled a nest of gold twigs.

“What is it, King?” Atropos inquired, appearing next.

“Tell us why you have come, Your Majesty,” said Lachesis, incarnating last. They stood in an arc before Hades, and he gritted his teeth. They knew why he had come. He needed to know if they had woven Briareus’s fate and if he could fight it.

“I need the thread of Briareus,” Hades said.

“Demanding, aren’t we?” Atropos said.

“Gruff,” Clotho replied.

“Brutish,” Lachesis agreed.

“Ask nicely,” they said in unison.

His jaw hurt as he glared back at the three so hard, his eyes burned.

“Please,” he gritted out.

The three broke into wicked smiles.

“Well, since you asked so politely,” Lachesis sniffed.

“Pleasantly,” Clotho added.

“Kindly,” Atropos said. “What do you wish to know?”

“I must know Briareus’s fate,” Hades said, hating the way the Fates’ eyes gleamed.

“Briareus, you say,” said Lachesis.

“One of the Hecatoncheires,” observed Clotho.

“The storm giants,” Atropos affirmed.

“Why?” they asked in unison.

“As if you do not already know,” he gritted out.

They were all quiet, and Hades recognized his own behavior in them. They would not continue until he gave them the answer they wanted.

“What will it cost me when I kill Briareus?”

He hated asking the question before he’d even tried seeking a loophole, but he knew how this worked. He had seen the cycle repeat over centuries. There would likely be no other way to appease Hera, and the one thing he was not willing to sacrifice was Persephone and their future together.

“You wish to end a life I have spun?” Clotho said.

“A life I have measured?” Lachesis continued.

“A life I haven’t cut?” Atropos asked, affronted.

As they spoke, a gold thread shimmered in the dark, twisting and looping around each of the Fates. He watched it, a thin line of energy that made up the fabric of the world.

“I do not wish to,” Hades said, but the alternative was a price he would not pay, so he had to know this one. “As you are aware, this is Hera’s vendetta.”

“And you she has chosen for the deed,” said Clotho.

The thread morphed into a silhouette of Hera, Persephone, and himself. The Goddess of Marriage stood between them and used her spear to sever the thread that connected them. That was not the end of Hera’s rage, however. The threads continued to depict her pursuit of Persephone until she descended into madness.

Hades closed his eyes at the scene, and when he focused on the Fates again, the threads were gone.

Atropos spoke. “And the consequences of refusing her are so great, you are willing to face our wrath.”

It was not a question, and Hades did not speak.

“A life like Briareus will cost you dearly, King,” said Lachesis.

“The consequences are the same—a soul for a soul,” said Clotho.

He did not bother asking which soul would replace the one he was about to take, though he knew a life like Briareus would come at a great cost. He was an immortal being, a monster, and whatever took his place would have to be powerful.

“Where does this path leave Persephone?” Hades asked, focusing on what was important.

If one path led toward madness, he did not trust that the other would not lead to hardship.

“Oh, dear king,” said Clotho.

“There is no path,” said Atropos.

“That will leave her unbroken,” said Lachesis.

* * *

There is no path that will leave her unbroken.

Those words crowded his thoughts, pressing hard against his skull as he watched Persephone sleep from his position near the fireplace. She lay on her side, draped in black silk. Her hands were curled under her head, her breathing even and undisturbed.

She was safe.

If he were true to his nature, he would never let her leave his realm. It was the life above that would damage her…or would it be him?

He frowned at the thought and then downed what remained of the whiskey in his glass before shedding his clothes and climbing into bed. He hovered at the end and pulled the sheets from her body. As the silk slid over her skin, exposing her nakedness, she opened her eyes and turned her sleepy gaze to him.

“You’re back,” she said groggily.

She rested on her elbows, and her breasts filled his vision. They swelled as she breathed, her nipples peaked and rosy, contrasting beautifully with her creamy skin. Hades leaned forward and took each into a hand, lavishing her with kisses. As his tongue teased, she let out a moan, fingers tangling into his hair and tightening as she pulled, urging his lips to hers, and he obliged, crashing down on her mouth. He let his body mold to hers for only a moment before his knee parted her thighs to tease her, feeling the wetness of her arousal. Another wave of sheer pleasure rocketed through him, straight to his already-hard cock, and as much as he wanted to be inside her, he wanted to prolong this more.

He left her lips, trailing kisses down her body until he reached the apex of her thighs, and as he went down on her, he held her gaze. She had returned to her original position, leaning back on her elbows, watching with lust-clouded eyes. She inhaled deep, and Hades focused on the sound of her quickening breaths as he continued. He loved the taste of her, the feel of her heated flesh against his tongue. All the while, his cock throbbed and the anticipation of plunging into her warmth made his balls tight.

“Fuck,” Persephone breathed, and Hades glanced up to see her head had fallen back, her fingers crushing the sheet beneath her. Then she began to move against his mouth, chasing the friction that would make her come. That was when Hades pulled back. Persephone watched him, and then her eyes fell to his length, heavy with arousal.

“Let me pleasure you,” she said.

He did not argue as she moved to her knees before him and took him into her mouth.

He intended to release his breath in a slow stream, but it came out as a gruff exhale. In their time together, she had gained a rhythm, and she used it now—her hand cupping his balls, her mouth working the crown of his cock.

“Yes,” he hissed as her mouth moved down his shaft while she continued to stroke him. The pressure made his ears ring, and all he could focus on was her touch, her smell, her presence. She filled all his senses, and as her mouth popped off his cock, he guided her onto her back. Her legs fell open, and he jerked her close, stroking himself before guiding his cock to her entrance. She slid on with a practiced ease and they moved together. Hades kept himself upright, one hand on Persephone’s shoulder, as they slammed together. Her breaths turned to cries as he moved, alternating between long, slow strokes and rapid thrusts. He wanted to kiss her, but he also wanted to watch her expression continue to morph as he fucked her into oblivion.

“It feels so good,” she whispered, her head hung back, her throat exposed.

Hades bent and kissed her there. “I thought about this all day,” he said. “How I would make you come.”

At his words, she met his gaze and he pulled back, bringing her with him, lifting her into his lap. Her legs framed his body, giving her the leverage she needed to move with him. He liked this position—he could feel her breasts and her swollen clit rubbing against him, and when she grew too tired to move, he rolled with her, moving to their sides. He pulled her thigh up and behind his knee, continuing to thrust. The pressure at the base of his cock was building, moving upward, and he wanted to go faster but also make all this last forever.

Persephone’s cries became keen, and he could feel her muscles contract around him.

“Fuck,” she breathed, her hand sliding down her stomach to her clit, rubbing vigorously.

“Come,” he commanded, and as her orgasm tore through her, he followed, body stiffening as his release spilled inside her. Hades drew his arm around Persephone’s waist and pulled her close, their breathing evening as their bodies relaxed.

“Was everything okay?” Persephone asked, her voice heavy with sleep.

“Fine,” he replied, even though it was a lie.