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“I will erase the memory of him from your skin.”
She was surprised by his ferocity, but it thrilled her. He tore away the silk sheet and she stood naked before him. He lifted her off the ground and she wrapped her legs around his waist without a second thought. He gripped her bottom tight and kissed her. The friction of his clothes against her bare skin drove her to the edge, and liquid heat pooled at her core. Persephone raked her hands into Hades’ hair, grazing his scalp as she freed his long strands, gripping it hard in her hands. She pulled his head back and kissed him hard and deep. A guttural sound escaped Hades’ mouth, and he moved, backing her into the bedpost, grinding into her hard. His teeth grazed her skin, biting and sucking. It kept her from breathing, eliciting gasps from deep in her throat.
Together they were mindless, and when she found herself sprawled out on the bed, she knew she would give Hades anything. He wouldn’t even have to ask.
But the God of the Dead stood over her, breathing hard. His hair spilled over his shoulders. His eyes were dark, angry, aroused—and instead of closing the distance he had created between them, he smirked.
It was unsettling, and Persephone knew she wasn’t going to like what came next.
“Well, you would probably enjoy fucking me, but you definitely don’t like me.”
Then he was gone.
***
Persephone found her dress neatly folded in one of the two chairs in front of Hades’ fireplace. A black cloak sat beside it. As she pulled on her dress and the cloak, she thought of how Hades had looked at her when she awoke. How long had he sat watching her sleep? How long had he simmered in his rage? Who was this god who appeared out of nowhere to rescue her from unwanted advances, claimed it wasn’t jealousy, and folded her clothes? Who accused her of hating him, but kissed her like he had never partook of something so sweet?
Her body flushed as she thought about how he’d lifted her and moved her to the bed. She couldn’t recall what she’d been thinking, but she knew it wasn’t telling him to stop—still, he’d left her.
That heady flush turned to anger.
He’d laughed and left her.
Because this is a game to him, she reminded herself. She couldn’t let her strange and electric attraction to him overpower that reality. She had a contract to fulfill.
Persephone left Hades’ room via the balcony to check on her garden. Despite her resentment of the greenhouse, Persephone still loved flowers, and the God of the Underworld had managed to create one of the most beautiful gardens she’d ever seen. She marveled at the colors and the scents—the sweet smell of wisteria, the heady and sultry scent of gardenias and roses, the calming scent of lavender.
And it was all magic.
Hades had lifetimes to learn his powers, to craft illusions that deceived the senses. Persephone had never known the feel of power in her blood. Did it burn hot like the need Hades ignited within her? Did it feel like last night when she?
??d boldly straddled him and whispered challenges in his ear as she tasted his skin?
That had been power.
For a moment, she’d controlled him.
She’d seen lust cloud his gaze, heard his growl of passion, felt his hard arousal.
But she’d not been powerful enough to keep him under her spell.
She was beginning to think she would never be powerful enough.
Which is why a mortal life suited her so well—why she could not let Hades win.
Except she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to win when her garden still looked like a scorched piece of Earth. As she came to the end of the path, the lush gardens gave way to a bald patch of earth where the soil was more like sand, and black as ash. It had been a few weeks since she’d planted the seeds in the ground. They should be sprouting by now. Even without magic, mortal gardens at least produced that much life. If it had been her mother’s garden, it would already be fully grown. Persephone had harbored a secret hope that through this process, she would discover some dormant power that didn’t involve stealing life but standing before this barren patch of Earth made her realize how ridiculous that hope was.
She couldn’t just wait around for power to manifest or for mortal seeds to sprout in the Underworld’s impossible soil. She had to do something more. She straightened and went in search of Hecate.
Persephone found the Goddess in a grove near her home. Hecate wore purple robes today, and her long hair was braided and snaked over her shoulder. She sat, cross-legged, in the soft grass petting a furry weasel. Persephone squealed when she saw it.
“What is that?” she demanded.
Hecate smiled softly and scratched the creature behind its small ear. “This is Gale. She is a polecat.”
“That is not a cat,” Persephone argued.
“Polecat,” Hecate said, laughing quietly. “She was once a human witch, but she was an idiot, so I turned her into a polecat.”
