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“What do you feel?” he asked, concentrating on her. Everything was about her.
He spoke against her skin and felt her take a breath as Pirithous began to beg.
“Persephone, please.” His voice shook. The longer the demigod was awake, the more he recalled the torment at Hades’s hands, and it made him desperate. “I–I am sorry.”
Sorry.
That word burrowed beneath Hades’s skin, calling tothe darkness that lived just beneath the surface. It made him feel…
“Violent,” Persephone said, and he knew it because there was an edge to her power that he had never felt before. Beneath the warmth and the flora was something sharp and desperate. He wanted to taste it, run his tongue along it.
“Focus on it,” Hades commanded, his hand twining with hers. “Feed it.”
In the quiet moment that followed, Hades remained still, relishing the feel of her magic as she concentrated on gathering it into her palm. It was a rush, a great wave of power that hit him deep in his stomach.
“Where do you wish to cause him pain?” he asked.
“This isn’t you.” Pirithous’s voice turned to a keen whine, and Hades wished more than anything that he would shut the fuck up. “I know you. I watched you!”
Yes, he had watched her.
He had targeted and stalked her. He had taken pictures of her in her home, where she was meant to be safest. He had felt entitled to her body for no other reason than the fact that she existed.
And he would be punished eternally.
“He wanted to use his cock as a weapon,” she said. “And I want it to burn.”
Hades grinned wickedly.
“No! Please, Persephone,” Pirithous screamed, struggling violently against his restraints. “Persephone!”
“Then make him burn.”
He let her go, and she lifted her hand, which burned with magic, sending a current of energy straight to Pirithous’s cock. He began to writhe, his body jerkingagainst the ropes that restrained him, cutting into his skin. His head snapped back and he bared his teeth. Hades imagined her magic felt much like being electrocuted. Even he could feel the current, like the residual heat from a fire, and it raised the hair on his arms and the nape of his neck.
“This…isn’t…you,” Pirithous ground out.
Hades felt Persephone stiffen at his words, and she straightened, lifting her chin as she stared at the demigod, and while he could not see her full expression from where he stood behind her, he knew she must look like a queen, because something changed even in Pirithous’s contorted expression—something that made him realize just how futile his appeals were.
“I am not sure who you think I am, but let me be clear,” Persephone said, her voice clear and resolute. “I am Persephone, future Queen of the Underworld, Lady of Your Fate. May you come to dread my presence.”
Her words tangled in Hades’s chest, stealing the air from his lungs. He had never felt so in love and so desperate to protect someone in his life, and while he had desired for so long to hear her embrace this part of herself—the title and power he had to offer—he wished it had come under different circumstances, that it had been born out of a love for the happier parts of the Underworld and not the darkest.
But there were few in this world who learned the truth of their power without strife. He and Persephone were no different.
“How long will he stay like this?” she asked.
Hades looked at Pirithous, who was still convulsing.
“Until he dies,” he said, and for a moment, hewondered if she was disturbed by the sight of his torture, if she would ask him to end it, but instead, she turned to him, tilting her head back to look at his face. He knew in that moment she was changed. He couldn’t exactly say how, but it lingered between them, as tangible as the violence that had punctured her magic.
His goddess was no longer made up of innocent things, and there was a part of him that did not know how to feel about it, that wondered if she had never met him if that would still be the case.
“Take me to bed,” she said.
Hades touched her cheek and then threaded his fingers through her golden hair. There were things he wanted to know, things he wanted to say. Did she still love him the same way she did before they came here? Would the trauma of this night fester in her mind until she realized she had become someone she did not wish to be? And would she blame him?
But he said none of those things and instead bent to kiss her. She welcomed him, her lips parting as his tongue sought hers, and his desire, which had not ceased, grew stronger than ever. He groaned and his arm tightened around her back, sealing every part of his hard body against every soft part of hers, and he considered that perhaps Pirithous’s greatest punishment of all might be that he had to watch them make desperate love to one another as he died for the thousandth time.
