37. Sin

37

Sin

against the will of the Gods

Pondy once said that we find what we are searching for no matter where we are.

He was saying it under the stilts of a condemned building, sleeping off a hangover in the only shade that would have him, his legs and knees burning to a red crisp.

It was good enough for Pondy.

It was within his grasp. He was pleased with it. He returned to his oasis, time and time again.

Ahead of me, in slats of moonlight, two pudgy raccoons rifle through a dumped over garbage bin, undoing wrappers and pushing food at each other.

Pondy wanted shade. I wanted love.

Mine wasn’t as easy to come by. I learned how to wring it from the unwilling. To lick it off the edge of a blade.

I thought I’d gotten over it.

I stumble down the trash-strewn alley, the stench of decay and desolation assaulting my nostrils after the fresh burn of lemon. The grime-encrusted walls seem to close in around me, intent on making me a part of this rot.

I deserve it.

Nat’s cracked shout still rings in my ears. We’re fighting.

It repeats on a sick turnstile in my head, alternating with the sigh of my name as I slid inside her, as she clutched at me.

Bile shoves up my throat.

You made her do that. You broke her. You think she wants you? You convinced yourself she’d never want you back. You—

Paper crinkles behind me. Too close. Too loud.

I launch the nearest knife before I think, turning as the handle leaves my fingers.

An elegant pale hand plucks it from its killer trajectory.

“I should put one of Zeus’s bolts straight through that hand. I have never been so gods-gory insulted.”

The Goddess of Spring is dead.

The female before me is one hundred percent bonafide Queen of the Dead.

A black gown splashes down her legs and pours onto the floor, a corset crawls up her midriff and spiderwebs across rounded shoulders. Sleeves Dracula would envy drape onto her hands and a crown drenched in gold and platinum sits heavy in thick curled hair.

Fingers wrapped around the blade, a drop of pure ichor spills to the ground and sizzles. The alley rattles, the earth beneath us groans.

“Calm, my love,” Persephone whispers, tapping the toe of her stiletto on the pavement. “I’ve got it handled.”

She looks right at home in the seedy alley, like a bedtime story told to children to keep them on the straight and narrow.

Don’t wander far from home, even the sweetest things grow teeth at night.

It’s been long enough since I was in Olympus that her presence affects me, sets me on edge. The otherworldly tilt of her beautiful almond-shaped eyes, the ethereal glow of her skin. She sucks up the free air, and for a second I can smell the brimstone curling off my grandfather’s hands each time he stepped into my rooms.

It’s quickly dashed by the scent of damp, dirty earth.

I lick my lips, but only Nat’s arousal coats my tongue. There’s no tasting the emotions of the Gods.

Not that I need a gift to tell what she’s feeling: homicidal.

Did Nat send her?

No. Nat does her own dirty work. Takes pride in it.

A pang of admiration wrenches my gut. I fight to push it aside.

“Persephone, what a pleasure.”

My own knife shoots back at me. I lurch, kicking through a cardboard box, dodging a puddle, and the thin tip, all the way to the hilt, dives into my forearm.

“Didn’t your daddy teach you how to treat females?”

I yank the blade out, teeth clenched brutally tight. “No,” I growl. “He fucked my mom and abandoned her. How convenient true love is like that, huh? Can get away with anything.”

Black painted lips curve into a scowl that’s all edges and danger. “Don’t pretend to understand the cost of love. I hate being apart from mine.” Sickly green vines spill from the folds of her sleeves to curl around her fingers, thorns sprouting as she approaches me. “But I do enjoy the freedoms it allows.”

I clamp my palm over the wound on my arm to staunch the blood. “I imagine there’s little freedom with Hades.”

“He doesn’t like to see me upset.” She steps closer, heels clicking like a countdown to damnation.

Nat calls her sweet.

Perhaps to a Fury.

“For example,” Persephone continues, “catching up with family and getting blood on my hands. How Hades hates the color on me.” She removes the knife from my palm, handle still wet with pink and with a full extension of her arm, slashes it across my cheek.

I meet her gaze, unflinching.

If she wants someone to punish tonight, she’s found the right male. A twisted part of me revels in the pain, drinking it in like the sweetest nectar. I deserve this. I deserve her scorn and her hatred.

“You know why I’m here?”

I force a smile, guilt and self-loathing gnawing at me. “Family reunion?”

“Natasa is too good for you.”

The words hurt more than the knife. They cut apart vital organs. It’s one thing to acknowledge a truth, another to have it thrown at you. Yet, I can’t force myself to agree, as if it will be the last thing to obliterate my chances with her.

I press my lips together. Blood drips down my face, mingling with the grime and sweat.

“You will stay far from her, or I’ll ...” She pauses, touches her lips with a venomous thorn and giggles. “You’d think after living with the Gods for so long, I’d be better at threats.”

“Trust me, Nat’s covered it. Anything else before I drink myself to sleep?”

The Goddess clenches her teeth, studying me, dissecting. “You know who you remind me of?”

“I’d rather you stab me again than say Hades.”

White pain erupts on my cheek. The slap echoes in the alley. Throws my blood into a pink glow on the detritus. I taste ichor on the back of my tongue and suck it off my teeth, wishing it didn’t have a coppery bite, wishing it was Nat’s sweet poison.

“You don’t deserve to say his name. Not without your forehead on the ground as you thank him for the messes he’s cleaned for you, the protections he’s offered. Over and over. The trouble he fixes for you—” She cuts herself off, heaving with ancient, Olympian rage. She grabs my jaw with tight fingers, thorns scratching, puncturing.

I refuse to struggle, meeting her wrath head on.

The pavement separating us cracks, jutting apart, as if the God of the Dead is stepping between us. Playing mediator.

Persephone puffs out a breath, releases me, and puts space between us. “You remind me of Admetus, the Thessalian king.”

“Let’s just assume I don’t know every Greek in history.”

Her eyes flash. “Admetus was a dear friend to Apollo, who, on the king’s behalf, begged the Fates for his eternal life. Hades has a rule. Life in exchange for life. If Admetus wished to live forever, someone had to die. Apollo agreed to the terms that if someone willingly gave their life for Admetus, he would gain immortality.”

“Hate to break it to you. I was born immortal.”

“Admetus first asked his parents. They declined. Then he went to his friends, but none were willing.” She examines her hand under the broken moonlight, thorns glowing with my blood. “It was his wife Alcestis who agreed. She announced her intention to the Fates as soon as he asked. And Hades collected.”

“Great guy that he is.”

She ignores me. “Except, Admetus changed his mind. He realized life was hopeless without his beloved Alcestis. He was distraught.”

I snort derisively, wiping blood from my cheek with the back of my hand. “Why would that remind you of me?”

“It occurs to me that you never had to pay for your immortality. You just got it handed to you and you fucked off with it.”

“Like you.”

The earth shakes, pavements cracks, sending me back a step.

“He’s mine, dearest,” Persephone coos to the tattered ground, sweet, and light, before she drills narrowed eyes on me. “I was born a game piece to be stolen and bartered. Never given my own choices, and expected to be two things and neither. Don’t speak to me of sacrifice.”

“Here I thought you loved Hades.”

“I do. And if I had my way, I’d be with him now. Always. There’d be no flowers in the mortal realm to speak of.”

I bark out a harsh laugh that grates my own ears. “So what should I sacrifice? Huh? You want me to send Natasa home? Take away her choice like you lost yours? Is that justice?”

The Queen of the Underworld takes a menacing step closer, looming over me despite her short stature. “I am here to ensure you never again taint her with your unworthy presence. The Fates gave you the greatest gift in all the realms and you hurt her. You are as selfish and undeserving as Admetus. You will stay away from her, you will release her. She is your sacrifice. That’s the price of your immortality. To live forever knowing she is better without you.”

Shame and regret war with the defensive anger in my chest. I want to roar that she knows nothing of what Nat and I share. That she cannot possibly comprehend the depth of my remorse.

But I can’t.

Can I?

Deep down, I know she’s right. I am unworthy. I am everything Nat accused me of.

I am worse.

My only defense is, “What about her?”

“What about her?” A challenge.

“She must live alone for eternity? Without me? Without her Fated?” I scrape the word from my throat, the confirmation.

The devastation.

Persephone’s eyes flash, a dangerous glint like Greek fire reflecting off obsidian. “Hasn’t she asked you for that? Told you she does not want you? Let go of her. She has suffered enough.”

The words pierce through me sharper than any blade, laying bare the enormity of my transgression. I want to look away from Persephone’s accusing gaze, but I make myself confront her.

I owe Nat that much, at least.

“Let it be another’s turn. She found love without you. She’ll do it again.” The fact is meant to kill me. “With someone who will fight for her. Did she tell you about Evan? Such a sweet male.”

More bile rises and I swallow it down, along with the excuses that threaten to spill from my tongue. There are no justifications for what I’ve done. No pretty words that can absolve me of this sin.

“I ... I never meant to hurt her.” The words grinding like broken glass. “I didn’t think …”

“Where is the mortal you run with?” she asks. “Handsome. Tall. Strapping.”

Luke? “I don’t know who you mean,” I lie, protecting him from being targeted by the Argos. “What did Hades sacrifice for you?” I ask, wanting the fight I refused Nat. “You’re the pawn and he lives with everything he wanted. Nat loves him.”

“He sacrifices every day for me,” she sneers. “He sets aside pride and power every minute I walk on this realm and above. The mortal? Luke, I believe? With the dimples?”

“Don’t know him.”

“Don’t test me.”

“There’s no mortal.”

“Hmm.” She frowns. “There’s some hope in you yet.” Faster than a mortal eye could follow, thorny vines explode from her hand to snare my throat. They constrict, penetrating flesh, choking off my air. “Stay away from Natasa, or not even Hades will be able to protect you from what I’ll do to you.”

Black spots dance in my vision as the vines tighten their stranglehold.

I crash to a knee, scratching at my throat.

And just before unconsciousness claims me, the vines disintegrate. And I’m alone.

The sun is halfway through the sky.

I’m late.