9

9

Taunting Gods

I swallow what I was going to say next, fear snaking up my spine. “O—kay.” I draw the word out, my eyes darting around for whomever is apparently coming for us.

One eyebrow lifts, probably at my immediate agreement, but Hades doesn’t comment. “What I’ve gotten us involved in is…important.”

Choosing a new ruler of the gods? I would say so, but I don’t get the impression that’s what he means. “Important how?”

He shakes his head. “The less you know, the better. The only information you need right now is that until the end of the Crucible…”

I blink at him. “Until the end… What?”

He searches my gaze for a beat. “You are mine.”

My throat tightens in immediate reaction even as my foolish stomach decides to flutter. I’ve never been anyone’s. And, despite recent events, I have feelings for Boone. There should be no fluttering.

“We need to present a united front if you want to win. Understand?”

I shake my head. “I don’t understand anything. Why the united front?”

“You’ll find that out in a moment. But before the others get here, I’ll make you a deal… Win and I’ll remove your curse.”

He might as well have slapped me. I jerk back so fast I stumble, and he grabs my hand to keep me upright. He can do that? I can lose my curse?

I’m still processing this when the rest of the deities and their chosen champions arrive without so much as a whisper of sound. One second, we’re alone. The next, we’re not.

And they’re all staring at our hands.

Instead of dropping his hold, Hades steps closer to me and turns so we both face the new arrivals. I get the impression that he’s looking each and every one of the other gods and goddesses directly in the eyes, his own like chips of ice.

Is he daring them to stop him? To protest? To speak up?

They don’t.

Not even Zeus, despite the glaring and crackling. Then again, Hades threw down a gauntlet to his brother in front of the entire world.

Hera stands closest to us. Elegantly regal, Zeus’ long-suffering spouse is dressed in intricately decorated, layered golden armor over a lavender undergown. A swift look around tells me all the gods and goddesses are in armor now, Zeus included.

Meanwhile, the mortal standing beside Hera appears to be the youngest one here. Sixteen at most, with a chiseled chin stuck out at an arrogant angle that I think might be covering fear. He’s dressed in a deep-purple suit with an impressive overcoat that has tails that sweep the ground. Gold laurel leaves nestle in his dark, silky hair.

I glance around, and sure enough, all the mortals are decked out in fancy clothes in colors matching their gods—green, purple, turquoise, and burgundy.

What color did I get?

I drop my gaze, and irritation rises then falls in a way that is all too familiar. While everyone else is clothed in splendor, I’m still in my jeans and T-shirt. Marked as separate, yet again.

“Hey.” I gesture to myself and then at the others.

Hades looks me over with blank, uncaring eyes. “You’re fine.”

Someone nearby snaps their fingers, and I’m instantly wearing a black, spangled wisp of a dress made of a sheer material that leaves little to the imagination.

“Really?” I grumble under my breath. “Never mind, then.”

Hades’ brows slash down. “Aphrodite.” Her name might as well be a curse on his lips.

The goddess of love and beauty offers an unperturbed smile, clearly missing the undertone of ire in Hades’ voice. Her armor isn’t cutesy hearts like I halfway expected—it’s rose gold and curved into couples and groups of all genders doing…all kinds of things.

Beside her stands a very tall, blond mortal wearing a satiny wine-colored gown with a slit up to her hip showing off the best pair of legs I’ve ever seen, and even she isn’t this…exposed.

Hades points an accusing finger in my direction.

“What?” Aphrodite bats long-lashed, innocent eyes. “You weren’t listening, so I thought I’d help. So much better, don’t you think?” Then she tips her head. “Where is your armor?”

Hades slips his hands into his pockets, a seemingly casual move that up close looks more like leashing a tiger. “I only wear armor if I’m going to fight.”

Beyond Aphrodite, I think Dionysus winces, but the goddess merely arches her eyebrows. “How boring.”

That’s when what Hades is wearing finally sinks in. No more jeans and boots. I run my gaze from the top of his shiny black hair with its one curling, stark-white lock down to the high-collared, formal black velvet jacket, embroidered subtly in black thread with a single butterfly on his collar and stars along the cuffs and bottom hem, and then farther down to—I almost laugh—polished black shoes. “Now this is what I pictured. I mean, except for the tail.”

He shrugs a nonchalant shoulder. “Sometimes one must play to the crowd. The Overworld is ruled by a mob mentality, is it not?”

He’s not wrong. “The immortal world, too?”

“Definitely.”

“Remember what I said about your perception problem?” I glance around. “Maybe you have one up here, too.”

While Hades’ lips remain smiling, his eyes narrow at me. He waves a hand, and the noise of the waterfalls and, well, the sound of everything but his voice disappears. “Are you trying to manage me?”

My ribs tighten around my lungs. “Are you manageable?”

“No.” He snaps his fingers.

The only indication that anything has changed is a rustle of material. I glance down to discover that I’m wearing a formal pantsuit paired with a sheer cropped jacket and silver-strapped stilettos. The material is soft and silky against my skin and luxurious in a way that makes me want to run my hands over it. The long sleeves and high collar of the jacket give the outfit an almost innocent air. Stars are embroidered in silver, two on one collar and one on the other, reminding me of my tattoos.

It’s simple and not nearly as fancy as the others’.

The little girl in me who used to marvel at the beautiful clothes the pledges would swipe from wealthy marks wants to look in a mirror and see the entire effect. To feel pretty just for the fun of it for once.

Hades has turned so still I’m not sure he’s even breathing. I lift my head to find his gaze on me. On me. As if he’s taking in every inch.

I blow out a quiet breath and say the first distracting thing that comes into my head. “Next time you snap your fingers, maybe send me home instead.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

I’m not giving up. “It isn’t too late to back out of this.”

“No, Lyra.”

My chin juts out. “Then don’t expect me to cooperate.”

He goes a different kind of still, caging me with his gaze. “You will obey me in all things, Lyra Keres.” A command, not a question, and with absolute certainty of my submission.

A small flower of curiosity blooms. What would it be like to just…obey him?

Heavens help me.

Containing my reaction behind a mask of indifference is like trying to stop my heart from beating.

After years with the Order, I know how to operate under someone’s thumb. But this is different. I’ve been the only one keeping me safe and making decisions for myself, despite the Order’s involvement, since I was three years old. Who knew the simple idea of submission to a powerful being like Hades would be so…enticing?

And it shouldn’t be.

Maybe I’m broken.

“I’m a better partner than I am a puppet,” I insist.

In a move I don’t even see him make, he steps into me, his shoulders blocking my view of all the others. He doesn’t speak as he studies me with silver eyes gone diamond sharp as if he’s trying to figure out where my soft, squishy, vulnerable parts are. Then he leans forward just slightly, and I know he means these words for me and me alone. “I don’t do partners.”

Am I a puddle on the ground yet? I clear my throat. “That sounds…inefficient.”

I was going to say lonely, but I have a feeling he’d know I’m talking about myself, too.

His lips quirk almost imperceptibly, but then he turns serious. “Things will go better for you…if you heed me.”

Why do I feel like there’s a deeper meaning to his words? A warning, but one meant to help me. I don’t picture Hades as the helpful type. Is this about the games-and-winning thing again?

With a whoosh, the sound of the waterfalls returns.

“What are you doing, brother?” Poseidon calls out from across the platform. “Your poor mortal looks scared half to death.”

Hades doesn’t move, doesn’t look toward his brother. Instead, he lifts a single eyebrow at me. “Is that what you are, my star? Scared?”