Chapter VI

Chapter VI

The Past is a Shadow

When Hades returned to his room in the Underworld, he was exhausted but wired, his whole body alive with a need to come. He poured himself a glass of whiskey only to down it immediately. It slid down his throat like fire, and he gritted his teeth against the sensation. It did nothing to relieve the ache.

He raked his fingers through his hair, pulling it free from its tie before pouring a second glass. When that did not work, he discarded his clothing, lay down in his bed, and took his cock into his hand.

“ Fuck .” The word left his lips in a low growl. He was engorged and hot, and the first pumps of his own fist made his head feel light. There was nothing compared to being inside Persephone, but at least he would sleep after this.

He stroked himself, rubbing his thumb over the head of his cock. He smoothed the come that had already beaded there down his shaft, but it wasn’t enough, so he spit into his hand and gripped himself again, stroking roughly, closing his eyes so he could better imagine what it was like instead to have Persephone’s body beneath his, fully sheathed in her warmth. He groaned at the thought and thrust harder into his hand, hips driving forward as if he really were inside her. Pressure built in his balls, and it rose higher and higher, and just as he thought he might come, he stopped.

His breath came harshly and he was so erect, his cock practically pointed at the ceiling, but he liked this high—the rush to an end that never came because it meant he could build it again and again. It is what he would have done if Persephone were here—draw out pleasure until he could not stand the tightness in his arousal and the heaviness in his balls.

When his breathing had returned to normal, he took himself again and closed his eyes, imagining that Persephone was straddling him. He sought the friction that this position usually offered. He thrust upward into his hand and stroked himself almost violently while his other hand tugged at his balls, heavy with a release threatening to come.

Once more, he felt the familiar stirring of an orgasm rippling from the pit of his stomach, tightening in his thighs and ass. This time, he came as a guttural sound tore from his throat, and in the aftermath, he continued to pump his fist along his cock, expending every last drop of come.

He lay there for a moment, feeling weightless, before rising to clean up and pour another glass of whiskey. This one he sipped, and when he was finished, he lay down to sleep.

Hades had only slept deeply a handful of times in his entire life, and most of those had occurred over the past few months with Persephone by his side. Usually he wavered somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, too on edge to let himself fully rest, which was why, when he felt something touch his face, he reacted quickly, his hand clamping down on the intruder’s only to open his eyes and realize it was Persephone.

“Fuck!” He jackknifed into a sitting position and drew her to him, pressing kisses to the wrist he had snatched. “Did I hurt you?”

When she did not answer, he met her gaze and found she was staring at him, her eyes wide and her lips slightly parted. She looked flushed and sleepy, her wild curls falling haphazardly around her face.

“Persephone?” he said again, hoping to catch her attention.

She seemed to come to then, and she smiled, brushing a piece of hair from his face. “I’m fine, Hades. You only scared me.”

He felt a wave of relief at her words and kissed her palm, only to draw her against him and lie down. Her weight was a calming presence, and he reveled in the feel of her draped atop him.

“I did not think you would come to me tonight.”

“I can’t sleep without you.” She whispered the words against his skin, and his chest tightened at her admission.

He should say the same, but instead, he ran his hands down her back to her ass, grinding her middle into his growing erection and responded, “That is because I keep you up so late.”

Persephone lifted her head and rolled her eyes, sliding into a seated position, her thighs hugging his waist, her fingers threaded through his.

“Not everything is about sex, Hades.”

“No one said anything about sex, Persephone.”

She planted her hands against his chest and moved against his cock, and he could feel the heat of her through the thin sheet that separated them.

“I don’t need words to know you’re thinking about sex.”

Well, that was true, and since it was no secret, he let his hands trail up her sides and to her breasts. He loved them—their fullness, their weight, the color of her hardened nipples. He wanted them in his mouth, and though Persephone inhaled against his touch, her hands stilled his.

“I want to talk, Hades.”

“Talk,” he said. “I can multitask…or have you forgotten?”

He sat up, and Persephone’s arms wrapped around his neck while he lowered his head to tease her nipple through the fabric of her nightshirt. Meanwhile, his hands moved up her naked thighs.

“I don’t think you can multitask this time,” she breathed, her fingers twisting into his hair. “I know that look.”

“What look?” he asked, pulling away with the intention of lavishing her other breast with just as much attention, but Persephone clasped his head between her hands.

She might be able to stop his mouth, but his hands continued his exploration, moving beneath the hem of her dress, skimming up her sides.

“You get this look. The one you have now. Your eyes are dark, but there’s something…alive behind them. Sometimes I think it’s passion. Sometimes I think it’s violence. Sometimes I think it’s all your lifetimes.”

He said nothing, but he felt every word she spoke and knew they were all true. His hands tightened around her waist, and as he moved to kiss her, she spoke his name, but whatever she intended to say was lost as his mouth closed over hers. He rolled so that she was beneath him, parting her lips with his tongue, kissing her deeply before shifting, trailing kisses down her neck and over her breasts, but he was halted by Persephone, whose thighs clamped down on his waist.

“Hades. I said I wanted to talk.”

“Talk.” It wasn’t as if they hadn’t managed a full conversation during sex.

Then she spoke, and what she said drained the heat from his body. “About Apollo .”

Fuck Apollo , he thought as he sat back on his heels. Why was he suddenly haunting his days? First Leuce and now Persephone?

“Tell me why the name of my nephew is on your lips.”

“He’s my next project,” she said, as if that explained everything, but Hades felt agitated to the point that his jaw hurt from clenching his teeth. Apollo was not the kind of god one turned into a project , and if project meant what he suspected—that Persephone hoped to write one of her articles about the God of Music—the answer was no.

She seemed to see his frustration and continued in an attempt to convince him. “He fired Sybil, Hades. For refusing to be his lover.”

He was not surprised. Apollo’s response to rejection was revenge.

Spurn Apollo once, and never again.

Which was why Persephone could not write about him, but even as he looked at her, he knew this was going to be an argument. He could see the flash of determination in her eyes. She wanted to change Apollo, but Apollo was power, and power did not necessitate change.

Hades left the bed. Once again, he needed a drink.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I can’t stay in our bed while you talk about Apollo.”

He was honestly surprised by how triggering it had been to hear her speak his name, but perhaps it had something to do with Leuce’s return. She was a reminder of Apollo’s fury, and Hades could only think that if given the chance, Apollo might continue to execute his revenge.

Persephone pushed off the bed and approached as he poured himself a drink.

“I’m only talking about him because I want to help Sybil! What he’s doing is wrong, Hades. Apollo can’t punish Sybil because she rejected him.”

“Apparently he can,” Hades said, glancing at her as he took a slow sip from his glass.

Her features hardened and her eyes turned a vibrant green. Her glamour was burning away, which was how he knew she was truly mad.

“He has taken away her livelihood! She has nothing and will have nothing unless Apollo is exposed!”

But his frustration was growing too, and he drained his glass only to pour a second. He started to drink this one too but paused, staring at the amber liquid, one hand braced against the bar top, knowing that what he said next would just exacerbate the situation.

“You cannot write about Apollo, Persephone.”

“I’ve told you before, you can’t tell me who to write about, Hades.”

He set the glass down and turned to face her. He felt like a fucking giant, towering over her, yet she just seemed to grow braver.

“Then you should not have told me your plans.”

He regretted those words as soon as he spoke them. He was glad she had shared her intentions, but would she again given how this was turning out? He wasn’t so sure.

“He won’t get away with this, Hades!”

Her fists clenched, and he could sense her magic awakening beneath her skin. There was a part of him that wanted to reach out and touch her, urged on by his own magic, which always seemed desperate to tangle with hers.

“I’m not disagreeing with you,” he said, realizing that he had to change his approach or she would never see reason. “But you aren’t going to be the one to serve justice, Persephone.”

“Who, if not me? No one else is willing to challenge him. The public adores him.”

And they always had.

Apollo was the golden god, the light bringer, the epitome of youth and male beauty in ancient Greece. He had numerous temples built in his honor and even more today. His most basic role was driving away the darkness—something all mortals feared. He was their hero, the representation of everything good in their society. If they let themselves see the bad, they’d be forced to acknowledge the cracks in their own world.

And no one wanted that.

“All the more reason for you to be strategic,” he said. “There are other ways to have your justice.”

She glared at him. “What are you so afraid of? I wrote about you, and look at the good that came out of it.”

If she was referring to their relationship, that would have been achieved by their bargain without her scathing articles, though he could admit that her words made him want to prove her wrong, to be better, and some good had come from them. The Halcyon Project, for example. But everything else was a thorn in his side, especially the public’s obsession with both of them.

“I am a reasonable god,” he said, though Persephone raised a brow at his response. “Not to mention you intrigued me. I do not want Apollo intrigued by you.”

Her features softened for the first time since they began this argument.

“You know I’ll be careful,” she said, taking a single step closer. “Besides, would Apollo really mess with what’s yours?”

She really had no idea.

He frowned and held out his hand.

“Come,” he said, sitting in a chair before the fire. He pulled her to him, her knees framing his thighs. She leaned against him enough so that he could feel the softness of her breasts against his chest and still hold his gaze.

“You do not understand the Divine. I cannot protect you from another god. It is a fight you would have to win on your own.”

Hades could not prevent retribution between a god and their target, even if it was Persephone. The only possible way was to bargain, and no god wanted to owe another.

Especially Hades.

But for her—for this goddess whom he loved more than anything—he would bargain, and that made what she asked next somehow more painful.

“Are you saying you wouldn’t fight for me?”

He wouldn’t just fight.

He would dismantle the world, and he would only feel remorse for Persephone, who would grieve for humanity. As he stared at her, innocent and beautiful, he thought he could see a hint of fear at whatever she saw in his eyes. He hated it but could not deny this darkness. It was as much a part of him as his magic—as her fate was woven with his.

He brushed a piece of hair from her face before trailing his fingers over her cheek.

“Darling,” he said, his voice low and fierce. “I would burn this world for you.”

Then he kissed her and cupped her face with his hands, moving them into her hair. Her lips parted for him, and his tongue slipped into her mouth. When her arms closed around his neck and her body melded fully to his, he felt as though he were no longer grounded. The world had fallen away, and it was only them and sensation. It was how he knew he could end worlds for her.

He pulled away only to rest his forehead against hers, their breath coming harshly against their lips.

“I am begging you,” he said, drawing back only a fraction to meet her gaze, his voice barely a whisper. “Do not write about the God of Music.”

She nodded. “But what about Sybil? If I do not expose him, who will help her?”

He understood her worry for Sybil. Being the chosen oracle of Apollo was no easy task. They were part of the reason he got away with so many of his antics and how he maintained his status among the public. Sybil knew Apollo’s behaviors, and she had stuck to her values when she had denied the god. It was that fact that led Hades to believe she would be okay.

But Persephone could not see that, and it was likely Sybil couldn’t either. They, like everyone else, were caught up in the very human tendency to care what others thought.

“You cannot save everyone, my darling.”

“I’m not trying to save everyone, just the ones who are wronged by the gods.”

He brushed another strand of her wild hair away, studying every feature of her face—her bright eyes and freckled nose, her pink lips, raw from their kiss. “This world does not deserve you.”

“Yes, they do. Everyone deserves compassion, Hades. Even in death.”

“But you are not talking about compassion. You are hoping to rescue mortals from the punishment of gods. It is as vain as promising to bring the dead back to life.”

“Because you have deemed it so.”

His frustration was so immediate, he had to remove his hands from her body and grip the arms of his chair. He looked away, toward the fire. He wanted to argue with her, to point out that he had lived thousands of years with these gods and they had never changed. What made her think they would listen to a new goddess whose life was shaped by a mother who was too afraid to teach her about the harsh world save for a few false tales about the gods she hated most?

She placed her hands on his face and drew his gaze back to hers.

“I won’t write about Apollo.” She spoke quietly, sounding almost defeated, and though guilt twisted through Hades’s stomach, he was relieved by her promise.

“I know you wish for justice, but trust me on this, Persephone.”

She thought she knew the gods, but their histories were long and dark. It made them unpredictable.

It made them all dangerous.

“I trust you.”

You don’t , he thought, though he desperately wanted her to. He couldn’t blame her, especially given what he’d just been thinking.

In the next moment, he stood, gripping her ass as he carried her to bed.

He was done talking.

He set her down and drew her nightdress up and over her head, and as he knelt before her, she held his gaze with a sensual stare that had his cock throbbing. He kissed the insides of her knees and then lifted himself enough to kiss her.

“Lie back,” he whispered, and she did.

He pulled her legs apart, kissing her thighs and her center, growing warmer with each soft breath she took. His teasing made her restless. Her legs sought purchase on the edge of the bed, her fingers twisted into the sheets beneath her, and her body arched off the bed. Hades splayed a hand across her belly to keep her in place, and when she was still once more, he licked each side of her slowly, then used his fingers to spread her so he could access the soft silk of her center.

She was wet, heated, and his touch made her moan his name, which only succeeded in encouraging him to continue at his pace—a slow and steady mix of kissing, sucking, and blowing on every sensitive part of her. The teasing ceased when he curled his fingers inside her, pressing into a part of her that made her legs clench and her body tight. She seemed lost, her head thrown back, her eyes closed, her hands kneading her own breasts.

This. This is what I can do to her—for her. I can please her , he thought.

“Come, my darling,” he said. “I want to taste you on my tongue.”

He took her higher until her muscles contracted and a sweet warmth coated his fingers, and when he withdrew, he took them into his mouth.

“You are my favorite flavor. I could drink from you all day.”

Persephone had rolled onto her side, breathing hard and spent, but Hades was just getting started. He gripped her hips and pulled her to him. The angle was odd because he was so tall, but as he slid inside her, Persephone offered a guttural cry. She didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands. They tangled into her hair and then fell to her breasts and then to the bed, where she lifted herself enough to stare at where they were joined, where Hades thrust into her.

“Gods,” she breathed, choking on a moan.

“Say my name,” Hades commanded, but only keen cries escaped her mouth. “Say it!” he said again.

“Hades!”

“Again,” he said as he thrust into her, moving so that his palms were on the bed beside her head. They were closer now, their heat building between them to an impossible level.

“ Hades .”

“Pray to me,” he continued. “Beg me to make you come.”

“Hades. Please.” She could barely form words, but he could scarcely think. He felt her everywhere.

“Please what?” he breathed.

“Make me come,” she said, desperate, frustrated. “Do it!”

He drove into her until the pressure was too much and he erupted, releasing a guttural sound from his throat. He remained inside her, coming in waves, suspended on shaky arms, only to collapse atop her when he was finished. He kissed her, taking her into his arms and teleporting to the baths. While they showered, he took her against the wall. It was desperate and rough, and it wasn’t until they lay in bed later that he realized why.

The conversation about Apollo did not feel finished, and as he lay by Persephone, her body pressed against his, he realized he was not okay. What if history repeated itself? Unlike Leuce, Hades did not believe Persephone would willingly sleep with Apollo, but the god was not above deception.

“Persephone?”

“Hmm?” She was almost asleep, and with only an hour left before she had to be up for work, he didn’t feel he should bring up Apollo again, so instead, he let himself be jealous and vulnerable and offered a threat.

“Speak another’s name in this bed again and know you have assigned their soul to Tartarus.”

For some reason, it made him feel better.