Chapter 10

10

Hades stood in the small dark closet he used as his security room, sipped his drink, and stared at nothing. On screen, his new bride struggled in her bonds. Her beautiful hair fell over her face, a sheaf of wheat spilling over the pale palette of unmarked skin.

He’d just come, but he was harder than ever, ready to conquer, to plunder. She was right where he wanted her, bound and helpless, a virgin offered up as a sacrifice to appease a monster. Which she was—a virgin and a sacrifice.

And he, the monster.

She didn’t deserve this. The second his Shades had spotted her, he’d had them monitor her every move. She didn’t so much as sneeze without him knowing. She looked like her mother, but acted nothing like Demeter.

He had to see it to believe it. But at first he couldn’t stand to look at her. He sent Charon instead, Charon, whom he regarded as a brother.

“Well?” he’d asked when the big man returned to report. “What’s she like?”

“Kind. Naive, but hopeful. Sweet.” Charon didn’t have to say it, but Hades heard the silent commentary. Just like Chiara.

The gods gifted him the perfect revenge, wrapped up in a lovely package. So lovely, he didn’t want to destroy it. How the gods must be laughing. He had the means for revenge but, for the first time in sixteen years he didn’t want to take it.

Oh, he wanted Persephone. When he laid eyes on her, he was undone. The flick of her eyelashes, the flutter of her fine boned hands, the shy smiles he drank in like a man who’d crossed a desert. She was the oasis he didn’t know he craved.

On screen, she tossed her head back and forth, the fragile column of her throat taut as she called out for him. Her skin shimmered like mother-of-pearl where he’d spilled his seed. And gods, when she’d come, the pleasure so obviously foreign to her…

His dick curled up to his belly, aching to take her. When he’d spewed his seed all over her beautiful bare breasts, he hadn’t been thinking of revenge. He’d been lost in her. The taste of her sweetness still drugging his senses. Unable to look away from her half-mast eyes hazy with lust even though she’d just come. She wanted more and gods, he’d wanted to stay there all night and give it to her.

He’d barely managed to force himself from the room after smearing his seed all over her chest, marking her as his like a barbarian.

He forced himself to finish his drink, savoring the bitter dregs. Even now, the thought of having her at his mercy, separated only by a wall, absolutely thrilled him. All that innocence at his fingertips. He would’ve enjoyed corrupting her, keeping her tied to his bed, even if she wasn’t his enemy.

These momentary misgivings would fade. A king had to be ruthless in order to maintain control. He’d long ago accepted that he was a necessary evil.

He had her. He would keep her. Time would fade her beauty and warp her innocence.

He’d dreamed of this day for years and he wouldn’t let anything ruin it, even a foolish thought of last-minute sentimentality. Revenge was a heady draught, wine made from pomegranates. Sweet with a bitter edge. He’d drink as deeply as he could.

And then he’d pour the rest down Persephone’s throat until she choked.