Chapter 6

Chapter

Six

H ades

The urge to lift her into my arms and steal her away to the Underworld is strong. So strong, I have to shove my hands into my pockets. Such an act did not bode well for me the first time. I suspect that tossing this lovely creature, my wife reborn, over my shoulder and carrying her away to a world she knows only as damnation, would go over even less successfully now. In this new time where people walk the earth unaware of the Gods that continue to rule above, around, and, well, under them.

When did we stop demanding reverence from the pitiful people born in our image? How was it we allowed the birth of new gods and their religions to amass the following they possess today, essentially wiping away our memory and labeling it myth?

Even now, Olympus grows restless. Inside the seas, Poseidon rages. His fury has washed away entire cities, and yet they remain ignorant, praying to a God above as they once prayed to my grandfather, Uranus, before Cronus plucked him from the sky to cut the flow of his seed and end his reign of misery. Before I stripped him of flesh and bone and cast him to the sky of a world within my own realm, a cage of my creation, a prison.

I imagine it now, though. Taking her for my own. Sinking inside her. Possessing her.

My blood heats like the fires of Tartarus, burning me from the inside as desire swirls. An unchecked storm of chaos and need threatening to devour me as I was once devoured by the insecurities of my father, freed only by the ego of my brother.

I can see myself taking her, claiming her, even now. In complete disregard for the way the people would watch, would scream their outrage at the injustice of her stripped freedom. As though they have a right to this freedom our laziness has allowed them to, falsely, believe they possess.

But no. I must pause. I must wait. I must do it differently this time.

This time I will not force her to take a stand at my side. I will not force myself inside her body. I had been a young God when I'd allowed my obsession with her beauty to morph me into a being of desire, stripped of all rational control.

I am not young now. Now, I am ancient.

And the goal is not simply her body. It is the entirety of her heart, and the eternal life of her soul. For if I'd had her soul the first time, they never could have done what they'd done. Never could have stripped me of all that was her, casting me to live what felt like an eternity of torment without her.

No, now that I've found her, I will not rest until I possess all the parts of her. Until the soul I've loved for eternity is stitched to the very fabric that weaves mine, knotted in such a way that even the Fates cannot unravel the ties that bind us.

Her lips part, little tongue teasing out to wet full lips stained a lovely shade of rose pink. The urge to lean in and capture her mouth beneath mine, to taste her lips, is like a stab through the gut.

It's been too long.

She speaks. "I don't know why I told you my name is Persephone. No one calls me that."

"Is it not your name?" I already know it is, know it's her. There are slight physical differences, of course, to the young Goddess I'd claimed as my wife eons ago. But I've ached for her memory long enough to see that within this familiar, lovely body, under this creamy flesh, behind those emerald eyes, is the same soul—the only soul I've ever truly loved.

She has finally, after too long, been reborn.

And just in time for the stirrings of an Olympic war.

I feel my jaw pulse, a rare physical allowance into the truth of my emotions. Her eyes widen in response, my perceptive little wife.

Of course, she doesn't know she's mine. But it won't be long.

As though sensing the building magnitude of my ageless obsession, she takes a quick step back from me. The urge to chase, to devour every ounce of space that dares take form between us, is so strong that standing still nearly takes me to my knees.

She lifts a delicate hand to push lovely waves of white-blonde hair behind an elven tipped ear. A feature she shares with Demeter even now, born of another.

Her voice is soft, and I imagine the way her sighs and cries will fall when I root myself deep within her. "It is my name. But, um—" She swallows. I make her nervous. Why do I like that? "Everyone calls me Annie."

"Annie?" I frown. Such a mortal name for a girl intended to be much, much more.

She nods. "Annie."

"I like Persephone."

She snorts, and I feel my head notch back on my shoulders. When I arch a brow, she rewards me with a small laugh. Music . "You would be the only one."

That can't be true. "Tell me, Persephone, where are you from?"

"Canada. Alberta."

The land of wheat. It shouldn't surprise me, that Demeter would plant her daughter's soul in such a place. Her ego is no more checked now than it had been long ago.

"And your parents?" Even as I ask, I already know. Already suspect.

Her smile is soft, and there is gentle love in the fresh youth of her expression. "Dad's a farmer. Mom owns a flower shop in town."

Of course, she does. Of course, he is. "What crop does he produce?"

"Wheat, mostly."

Fucking Demeter. "And what brings you to Greece?"

I watch as her head tips slightly to the side, and she studies me. I think, curiously, that she's contemplating truth or lie. She is riveting.

She wets her lovely lips again, and inside my pants, my cock stirs. She's can't know it, but she's driving me mad.

My willpower is nearing its limits.

Finally, she admits reluctantly, "The voice, I think."

Is it possible that this voice she hears is mine? The desperate call of a soul tethered by a single, frayed string, to hers ?

"How so?" Even I can hear the eagerness in my question for her reply.

"Well…" She pauses to consider. "I've always felt drawn to the myths of Greece."

People today and their myths. I encourage, "Go on."

She pulls in breath. "In grade six, we had a unit on Ancient Greece. It was the spark of a lifelong love for all things Greek Mythology. I studied in my own time, and somehow felt closer to the call I heard in my mind. Initially, that voice only ever sounded when I was in sleep. It would wake me," she admits. "I told my parents and they took me to doctors who toyed with the idea, I might be mentally unstable. Plagued with a personality disorder, early onset bipolar, potential schizophrenia…" She waves her hand, and a flush of pink stains her cheeks. "I started to understand how dangerous that might be for me, and told them it stopped. I've hid the fact I hear this unnamed man calling my name from everyone since. You're the first?—"

She laughs to herself in disbelief. "You're the first person I've told. Anyway, more recently, I began hearing him outside of sleep. Maybe it's the fact I felt closer to his call when I studied the ancient myths, but I developed an interest for art and archaeology. I can't paint to save my soul, but I can dig." She pulls in a big breath, her breasts rising under the thin white dress my fingers itch to tear from her flesh. " I'm here on a summer archeology program now. If I like it, I'll pursue a further education."

"Do you like it?"

She smiles a bright and beautiful smile that nearly slays me. She's beautiful. So beautiful. I haven't seen a beauty such as hers in so, so achingly long.

"I love it."

"No desire to follow in the steps of your parents?"

Her face softens again. It is clear she loves them dearly. I can't help but wonder, how strong the bonds she feels to these people who have been given the soul of my wife to care for.

From what I've already heard, I am uncertain if I find them worthy.

"I love gardening. Mom says I have a natural affinity for plants. It seems that, with a single touch, I can bring life into a dying plant. I know, instinctively, what they need, whether it be sunlight or water or someone to talk to." She blushes again, her eyes dipping down before she peers up through thick, golden lashes at me. "Did you know plants flourish under conversation? Under connection?" She doesn't wait for me to answer. "I love plants, tending and caring for them. Watching them grow. But to answer your question…" She shrugs. "I guess I want more from life than what Mom and Dad have. Something different."

Nothing she said surprises me. After all, she is Demeter's daughter. The immortal soul in her body is that of my wife, Goddess of spring and fertility and love.

She is the seed of nourishment to all life, once worshiped by God and man alike. I, however, never stopped worshipping her.

"Annie! Oh my god, girl, I've been looking everywhere for you!" A girl Persephone's age with dark skin and sleek hair hurries toward us. "You ran off like hellhounds chased you. What happened?"

I scowl. Cerberus would never chase her. Well, maybe to lick, but…

Persephone's skin tints with a pretty blush. She shifts nervously. "I just—I needed a moment. There was a lot of people and I—well, I really came for the art."

"Of course, you did." The girl rolls her eyes as she loops her arm through Persephone's, tugging her back in her unconscious quest to put space between us. This is something I am used to. People, from the beginning of time, have given me a wide berth. They sense, not unfairly, that I am a dangerous being they should be wary of. But with her—with Persephone—after all this time longing for her, searching for her, aching for her—watching someone attempt to pull her away from me has something sharp snapping inside me.

I move swiftly, blocking the single exit. Her friend looks at me like the predator I am, and have always been to this inferior species.

The girl narrows dark eyes on me, but Persephone's emerald eyes widen. They are filled with such sweet, alarmed innocence. It reminds me of the way she'd once looked at me. That first time as I appeared in the garden where she gathered flowers with her friends in the moments before I stole her away.

Irritatingly, it is the girl who speaks. "Who's this?"

"Willa, this is…" I haven't told her my name.

I extend my hand to Persephone, folding her small one in mine as I introduce, "Hades."

The shock of electricity as I touch her for the first time rivals the bolts Zeus throws around. Her bright emerald eyes widen in a moment of alarmed shock that is interrupted by her friend, Willa.

"Hades? Hades as in Hades Pluton? The owner of this club?" Without releasing Persephone's hand, I nod. Willa throws her arm wide to indicate the art on the walls. "Artist of all this ?"

I reply, my voice darkly low. "One and the same."

Persephone looks truly horrified. "I—I called you crazy."

I smirk. "You called yourself crazy, as well. I take no offense."

"Oh, my God." An embarrassed flush taints her pale skin. I want to taste every inch of it, soaking the burn of her emotion into myself through my lips on her skin. "I'm so sorry."

"You called him crazy?" Willa interrupts, and Persephone tears her eyes from mine .

I have to swallow the dark violence that bubbles inside me. I want her gaze on me, only me.

I am an obsessive God.

"I'm—I'm so sorry." Her eyes flicker to mine and away again. "We should go."

No.

"Right." Willa nods. I feel something deadly building inside me. The restraint I cling to shatters, the desperate need to abduct her to the Underworld—to the safety of my domain—rages under the calm control of my surface.

The fear I feel that I might lose her before I really have her is colossal.

Willa speaks again. "Gotta get you home so you can look for that job tomorrow."

Electricity hums over the surface of my skin, stirring the ancient God that hovers under the surface of my flesh. He is ready to slay all that comes between us. "You're looking for a job?"

Persephone nods again. "I spent most of my savings on the program and flights. I—I need a job if I'm going to survive the stay."

"How convenient." I flash her a grin that has her eyes falling to my mouth. I wonder if she feels this connection the way I do, despite the brutal attempts Demeter fell to in order to make her forget. "I'm looking to hire."

Her brows rise, big green eyes widening. "You want me to work for you? "

"Why not?"

"Um—" She glances around us before she sucks in a shuddering breath. "I don't know that I'm suited to this work."

"What work is that, specifically?" I need to know what it is she won't do, so that I might offer her something she will do. Anything to keep her.

"Working in a club." She cringes. "This isn't my scene. Like I said, I came for the art."

I want to tell her that I have more art. Hundreds of unseen paintings. I want to lure her away from this friend—from her life. I force what I hope is an easy smile as I slip the hands that itch to steal her away into my pockets. "Well, lucky for me, I'm not looking for someone for the club."

She releases the lip she's been biting. "You're not?"

My blood is a typhoon whirling inside my body. "No."

"What are you looking for?"

Whatever keeps you as close to me as possible. I say smoothly, "A personal assistant."