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“Let’s go.” My lips twitch. “Bring Aphrodite along for the ride. We might need her again.”
“What?” Aphrodite protests, starting to fight again. “I already helped you when I didn’t have to! You should be grateful!”
Eros reaches out and grabs Aphrodite by the throat, squeezing hard enough to make a strangled sound leave her mouth. “Do what he says, pet. Maybe ye’ll live long enough to get to come back to this shit hole.”
Her hands scrabble with his, clawing at his skin. But he’s too busy looking down the front of her loose caftan to even notice the bright red marks that her fingernails leave behind.
“I’ll get the car,” Ares says.
I turn, looking at the dusty highway stretching out before us. My thoughts have already shifted.
To Persephone.
To revenge.
To the cold-blooded murder of my fiercest enemy.
Constantine won’t even know what fucking hit him.
Ares pulls up the car beside me and I climb into the passenger seat, ready to feel the warmth of Persephone back in my arms and taste Constantine’s final bitter tears.
PartOne
King’s Capture Bonus Scenes
ChapterOne
Penny
The engine's rumble is a beast beneath my fingertips, a pulse of life that vibrates through the leather seats of Hades' car as we merge onto the narrow country roads. The coastline flirts with us, a lover's tease veiled by the veil of trees and evening shadows. I inhale deeply, the scent of freedom mingling with the lingering fear that clings to me like a second skin.
"Tell me, Penny," Hades prompts, his voice low and steady.
I turn my head away. “Tell you what?”
His face is serious, so his question seems to come out of left field.
"Tell me yer favorite places. The corners of the world that have made an impression."
I’m stunned into momentary silence. He asks casually, as if my past is a lock and his question the key I'm not sure I want to turn. The scenery blurs, a watercolor wash of vivid blues and greens and browns. My heart sets an irregular rhythm against my ribcage.
"The New Orleans Museum of Art," I murmur, almost surprised by the confession slipping off my tongue. "It's where...” I pause, gathering my thoughts to get the wording exactly right. He doesn’t rush me or push for an answer. He’s patient, I’ll give him that much. “It’s where colors speak when words fail me."
My fingers trace the window's edge, the cool glass a stark contrast to the warmth bubbling inside at the memory. A place where art breathes life into the silence of my existence before Constantine turns my world into a canvas of fear.
"Art has power," I add quietly, the truth resonating in the confined space between us.
The road unfurls before us, a ribbon of asphalt slipping through the road’s tight curves. I watch as Hades' hands, assured and steady, dance across the steering wheel with a grace that belies the power rumbling beneath the hood of his black sports car. The landscape is a living painting shifting with each mile. It’s a testament to the world's quiet splendor.
“What about you?” I nudge him. “Where is your favorite place?”
"Scotland," he says. His voice has a deep timbre that seems to harmonize with the purr of the engine. "The moors there are wild, unforgiving. There's raw beauty in desolation. It's a sense of being utterly alone, but never quite lonely."
I turn to look at him taking in his profile. He’s a man who has mastered his own universe. He speaks of solitude yet here he is, a gravitational force pulling me into his orbit. His eyes remain on the horizon but I sense something shifting in him—a door slightly open to few allowed glimpses.
"Untamed landscapes for an untamed heart?" I venture. I think my voice is lost to wind rushing past us but his lips twitch.
"Perhaps," he concedes with a hint of smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Or maybe it's just silence there. It listens well."
