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A moment later, the mist parted, and an inky black longboat appeared, seemingly from nowhere and carrying a single cloaked figure. As it glided to a stop beside the pier, the rider turned to him, but there was only blackness beneath the wool hood.
Erus snorted. “Dude, you have got to get a new schtick.”
The figure pushed his hood back to reveal a young, handsome face with a square jaw and a beaming smile. “Nah. Mortals love it.”
Fair enough.
“What are you doing here?” Charon continued. “I haven’t seen you since the plague.”
It had also been the last time he’d been summoned. Back then, at least he’d known why he was there. With hundreds of millions of souls flooding onto the banks, it had been utter chaos. Both topside and in the Underworld.
As such, Hades had ordered all hands on deck. Even gods who hadn’t been seen in eons had answered the call. Though many would argue their sudden presence had caused more harm than good.
Not Erus, though. He wouldn’t say that…out loud. Especially not in front of Styx. Despite her ethereal beauty, the goddess was crazier than a bag of cats.
“I’m here to see the boss,” he answered as he stepped into the boat. It didn’t rock. It didn’t sway. There was no indication that the structure floated on the river. “Have you seen him?”
Charon glanced at a spot beyond Erus’ shoulder and dipped his head.
Following his gaze, he found a tall, muscular figure dressed in all black—apart from his scarlet leather jacket with silver studs—standing at the end of the pier. He choked back a growl, sighed, and stepped out of the boat.
“Thanks,” he grumbled to the ferryman.
Charon didn’t move, and his cheery expression never changed, yet the boat began to glide smoothly across the water, back in the direction it had come from. “It was good to see you, Cerberus.”
That time, he did growl. “Don’t call me that.”
A faint chuckle as the boat and its rider disappeared into the mist was his only response.
He took a deep breath to compose himself, pulled his shoulders back, and strode to the end of the rickety dock. There, he stopped a respectful distance from the male, pressed his right hand to his abdomen, and bowed his head.
“My lord.”
Hades snorted. “Knock it off, asshole.”
Ah, so it was going to be one of those visits. He could roll with that.
Dropping both hands to his sides, he straightened and cocked an eyebrow. “Why am I here?”
Hades answered with a question of his own. “When are you planning to return to your duties?”
Never, if he had any say in the matter.
The task of guarding the iron gates and preventing souls from leaving the Underworld was a lonely, thankless job. While he didn’t exactly have friends or many social connections topside, at least California had warm, sandy beaches and an abundance of sunshine.
“The gates are protected,” he hedged.
A gust of frigid wind whipped across the water, sending mist swirling onto the dock to curl around their ankles. Locks the color of moonlight fluttered around Hades’ waist, and the glow from the River of Souls reflected in his obsidian eyes.
With a flawless, fair complexion, high cheekbones, and an angular jaw, outwardly, the male appeared to be in his early twenties. Of course, no one knew his real age, but he had lived many lifetimes over before Erus had even been born.
Dressed in a pair of distressed black jeans with combat boots laced and buckled to his knees, no one would ever guess the guy was the King of the Underworld. Black lines peeked out from beneath the collar of his black shirt and snaked up the side of his neck.
Erus knew he had more tattoos hidden beneath his jacket, including a gothic sleeve on his right arm and an ancient timepiece on his back done in faerie ink, so that it glowed. On a few occasions, he had tried asking what the clock and symbols represented, but Hades either changed the subject or flat-out ignored him.
After a while, he’d stopped asking.
Hades cocked a silver eyebrow at him. “It’s not the Keres’ job to guard the gates.”
