Chapter 25

Chapter

Twenty-Five

P ersephone

I hate being without Hades. It’s been a full week now, and honestly, I miss him with a kind of pain I can’t imagine living with for the rest of my life. At night when I sleep, I feel restless and cold. Chilled right to the very marrow of my bone. Even the sun that beats down on me every day at the dig site can’t penetrate the cold that has settled into my bones. I ache with it. With missing him.

And I hate myself for it.

The quiet of his home is too much for me now as night begins to crawl into the horizon. I watch it move, watch as it morphs the clear blue of a cloudless sky into a collage of deep, bloodied orange ribboned with lilac. I can still feel the heat of the day radiate from the wall of glass I stand before, and yet I can’t shake the cold that has settled into the deep of me, its spurs needling teeth into the fleshy bits of my aching heart.

He's still not here. And the stream of texts on the phone in my pocket remain unread.

I want to scream.

I want to fall to my knees and weep.

I’m pathetic.

Turning away from the window, I don’t think as I stride for the elevator that will take me down the impossibly high tower into the club. It’s not open yet, but I figure I’ll see Herman sitting at the bar. He’s been stationed there every day since Hades disappeared.

It’s not the first time that I’ve wondered if he knows something. Knows where Hades is.

What if he’s in trouble?

What if he’s hurt?

The thoughts quicken my pace, and I hurry into the elevator, my finger stabbing the button for the main floor of the club with determination. It begins the descent, and for the first time, I feel like it crawls. I nibble my lip and tap my toe. I pace.

The doors roll open and I burst into the private section of the club. Hard breaths rush from my lungs to the tempo of my thundering heart as I spot Herman sitting at the bar. There’s a squat glass of something amber on the bar next to him—and on the other side, Leuce is leaning close.

Something buzzes in my ears, a ringing I can’t quiet as I march closer. I take the stool next to Herman and say rather loudly, “Hi.”

Herman’s gaze drifts sideways to me, a single brow cocked in amusement. “Hello, Persephone.”

I cut right to the chase. “Where’s Hades?”

I’m pretty sure it’s surprise that flashes in his eyes. “He’s busy.”

“I haven’t heard from him in a week.”

Herman’s eyes drift to Leuce, lingering on the arms she’s been covering, rather uncharacteristically, with solid black blouses. His eyes shift back to me and he says bizarrely, “It’s rather hot where Hades is right now. I don’t believe his phone has service?”

I can’t restrain my glare. Herman’s lips twitch, fueling the fire that burns inside me. It’s taken over the cold that iced the marrow in my bones. Now, I feel fevered in a way that makes me yearn for the cold I’d desperately wished away not long ago. “Everywhere has service.”

Leuce makes a noise. “You haven’t been to the jungle.”

I roll my eyes to her. “Hades is in the jungle?”

Herman is the one to answer. “Yes, he is. A jungle of a sort.”

I want to pull out my hair. There is an itch deep below the surface of my flesh that I can’t scratch. An itch my nails can’t reach, lest I shred the very flesh I wear. It’s a maddening kind of torture.

And if this is how I feel after a mere week without the man—what will happen to me when I return home come September?

No. Don’t think about September.

I’m just worried about Hades. That’s all this is.

I grind my teeth and ask Herman, “Why are you here?”

He regards me for a long moment. When he lifts his drink and the gold ring stamped with wings flashes in the low lights, I nearly scream. He sips his drink slowly. The itch grows. Intensifying. I’m going to kill Hades.

Herman’s eyes narrow. “Are you feeling well, Persephone?”

“What?” I snap. “I’m fine. Why are you here, Herman?”

“You don’t look fine,” he mutters, but I swear there’s a grin hiding in there somewhere. I want to kick him in the shin.

I’m appalled by the thought. I am not a violent person.

“You’ve been sitting here every day since the scan, and I want to know why.”

Leuce begins to move behind the bar. I don’t let my eyes drift from where I’ve locked them on Herman, though .

Finally, with a roll of broad shoulders, he sighs. “I’m here because Hades is not.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

His eyes turn intense on mine. Swirling with something dark and dangerous, something that reminds me of Hades.

Obviously, it’s a family thing.

“You are the single most important thing in all the realms to Hades. He is not here, not able to protect you, to keep you safe from harm in this moment, and therefore, I am here. I will keep you safe. It is the least I can do.”

I peer up at him. “You mean it’s the least you can do after you killed his wife?”

The sharp fall of a glass on the bar makes me jump, and I shift to find Leuce leaning over the bar, her silver talons curled around the glass she’s slammed down on the surface. “Drink,” she commands, her tone low and dangerous. “And hear me when I say that Herman is not responsible for the death of Hades’ wife.”

It’s the first time I think I’ve ever seen Leuce upset. Her gray-green eyes practically glow with emotion, her lips curled in a sneer I can’t help but flinch away from.

Herman lifts his hand, palm up to Leuce. He warns, “Mind yourself, Leuce.”

Leuce blinks slowly, the burning glow in her eyes fading to something less intimidating. She looks more human, less creature .

I sever eye-contact. It’s anxiety, Persephone. You’re seeing things that correspond with the peak of your emotions. Calm. Down.

I swallow hard, fixing my eyes on my lap. My vision burns with what I imagine can only be tears.

I feel Herman’s fingertips catch my chin, gently lifting my face. His eyes widen, only a fraction, but I read the shock before he shutters it. Leuce, however, can’t contain or hide the startled gasp she looses.

“Magnificent,” Herman speaks softly. “You fit him. Dark and light. Night and day. Justice and deliverance.” He swallows hard, not releasing his hold on my chin. “It is difficult not to be jealous of a man who finds his mate not once, but twice.”

I can’t help but flinch. The burn in my eyes fades, but the itch under my skin only grows. I croak, “I’m not his mate.”

“But you are.”

“ She was his mate. His wife.” My lips tremble as I pull my face from his grip roughly. “I’m a summer fling.”