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She gazed at him, her legs still spread as if inviting him. She looked sweet and feverish.
“You want honesty?” she whispered, voice husky, shivering down his spine.“You once said you would erase the memory of Adonis from my skin. You swore it, seared your own name upon my lips. Now I will do the same. I will erase the memory of every woman from your mind.”
Darling, he wanted to say.You are the only woman in my mind. But he kept quiet as she swore her oath, his heart and cock swelling with every single fucking word. She drew her legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass.
“I want you inside me,” she said.“Fuck me, say my name as you come. Dream of me, and only me, for the rest of eternity.”
“Yes,” he hissed, as his hips surged forward. It was everything he’d wanted, a prayer answered by the Fates, and as he gave her exactly what she asked for, he prayed to them and threatened them.
Take her, and I will destroy this world. Take her, and I will destroy you. Take her, and I will end us all.
When they left the dining hall, he did so with a smile on his face, and his thoughts on her article aggravated him less, so he felt like that was some sort of victory. He led Persephone outside, their fingers laced, and called for Thanatos.
The God of Death appeared instantly, his pale features glared against his black robes. When he manifested, his expression was severe, and Hades imagined it was because the god had assumed he was being summoned to discuss Sisyphus. The mortal had weighed heavily on both of their minds.
But then his eyes settled on Persephone and softened.
“My lord, my lady.” He bowed.
“Thanatos, Lady Persephone has a list of souls she’d like to meet. Would you mind escorting her?”
“I would be honored, my lord.”
Hades used their entwined hands to draw her toward him.“I will leave you in Thanatos’care.”
“Will I see you later?” she asked, and her blatant hope made him smile.
“If you wish.” He brushed his lips over her knuckles, and her cheeks reddened. He chuckled quietly, thinking she had not been so quick to blush when he had lain between her thighs and drank her sweet passion.
Then, he vanished.
CHAPTER XXII – A BITTER BARGAIN
Leaving Persephone was the last thing Hades wanted to do. If Sisyphus did not still roam free, threatening his future with the beautiful Goddess of Spring, he wouldn’t have, but the fact remained that the mortal was still on the run, and holding the organization’s Magi prisoner had not lured Triad like he thought it might. Hades was unsure of their motives, but he did not feel good about their involvement.
It was inevitable that forces would rise to oppose the gods. They had come in all forms throughout history—scholars and naysayers and atheists and the Impious.
Hades understood the Impious’resentment of the gods. They resented them for their distance and rejected their rule when they came to Earth, and they had reason to. Very few of the gods had done their job, never offering words of prophecy or importance. Hades himself had never encouraged mortals to believe in a blissful eternity in the Underworld. Instead, they spent their time toying with mortals for their entertainment, pitting them against each other in battle.
Still, Triad was different. Triad was organized and their tactics hurt innocent people. In their early life, they had set off bombs in public places, and in the aftermath, demanded to know why the gods had not stopped them if they were all-powerful. Their goal seemed to be to continue to illustrate how the Olympians remained detached and uninterested in mortal society, and while that was true for some, it was not true for all. Something Triad was about to discover.
Hades appeared on the floor of Nevernight. His intention was to find Ilias to begin their search for Theseus, but instead, the satyr found him.
“My lord,” Ilias said.“There is a man here to see you. A demi-god who calls himself Theseus.”
Hades stiffened at the name, feeling uneasy that his nephew would approach willingly. What was his game?
“Show him in.”
Ilias nodded and left, returning with a man who looked more like a warrior stuffed into a suit. He had dark hair, trimmed short, and a perpetual five o’clock shadow. The only thing he had retained of Poseidon’s were his aquamarine eyes, which looked like two suns blazing against his brown skin. Two men also followed him. They were large and their discomfort obvious. Hades got the sense he did not need these men to protect him, that they were merely for show.
“You are a man of few words, so I will get straight to the point,” Theseus said and, reaching into the pocket of his jacket, he withdrew a spindle—the one Poseidon had given Sisyphus. He held it out to Hades, but the god did not approach to take it. Ilias did, and then handed it to him.
Hades stared at the spindle. It was gold and sharp, and he could feel the Fates’ magic radiate from it, distinct in its smell but hard to describe. It was the scent of life—the smell of wet grass after rain and of fresh air and wood, undercut with the odor of smoke and blood and the tinge of death.
It was a scent that triggered Hades and unearthed memories of darkness, battle, and strife. He handed the spindle back to Ilias, wondering what sort of horrors the relic had managed to pull from Sisyphus, even Theseus.
“That is a start,” he replied.“But only one of two things I want.”
