“Are you well?” Hades asked.
Persephone closed her eyes when they teleported because it usually made her dizzy. Now she looked up, meeting his gaze, and nodded.
Hades settled her on the edge of a bed covered in black silk sheets. She looked around, discovering he’d brought her to a bedroom. It reminded her of Nevernight with its shiny obsidian walls and floor, and despite all the black, the room was somehow comfortable. Perhaps it had to do with the roaring hearth opposite the bed, the fur rug at her feet, or maybe the wall of French doors that led to a balcony overlooking a forest of deep green trees.
Hades kneeled on the ground before her, and she felt a little panicked, hands trembling. “What are you doing?”
He said nothing as he pulled Hermes’ cloak from her body. She hadn’t been prepared or she would have fought for it; instead, she stilled, exposed under Hades’ gaze. He sat back on his heels as his eyes travelled over her body, lingering longest on her torn shoulder, catching in all the places her silver dress clung. She drew an arm over her chest, trying to maintain some modesty as Hades came up onto his knees, bracing his arms on either side of her. From this angle, his face was level with hers. She felt his whiskey-laced breath on her lips when he spoke.
“Which side?” he asked.
She kept his gaze a moment before reaching for his hand and pressing it to her side. She was surprised by her boldness but rewarded with his warm, healing touch. She moaned and leaned into him. If anyone entered his room at this point, they might think he was listening to her heart with the way he was positioned—pressed between her legs, head turned away.
She took a few deep breaths until she no longer felt the ache of her bruised ribs. After a moment, he turned toward her, but did not pull away.
“Better?” His voice was low, a husky whisper that trailed over her skin. She resisted the urge to shiver.
“Yes.”
“Your shoulder is next,” he said, standing.
She started to turn her head to get a glimpse at the wound, but Hades stopped her with a hand on her cheek.
“No,” he said. “It’s best if you don’t look.”
He turned from her then and stepped into an adjacent room, and she heard the sound of running water. While she waited for him to return, she rested on her side, eager to close her tired eyes.
“Wake, my darling.” Hades’ voice was like his touch—warm, luring. He kneeled before her again, blurry at first, and then coming into sharp focus.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“Do not apologize,” he said, and set to work cleaning the blood from her shoulder.
“I can do this,” she said, and started to rise, but Hades held her in place and met her gaze.
“Allow me this,” he said. There was something raw and primal in his eyes she knew she couldn’t argue with, so she nodded.
His touch was gentle, and she closed her eyes. So he would know she wasn’t asleep, she asked questions: “Why are there dead people in your river?”
“They are the souls who were not buried with coins,” he said.
She opened on eye. “You still do that?”
He smirked. She decided she liked when he smiled. “No. Those dead are ancient.”
“And what do they do? Besides drown the living.”
“That’s all they do,” he replied matter-of-factly, and Persephone paled. Then she realized that was their purpose. No souls in, no souls out. Anyone who found their way into the Underworld without Hades’ knowledge would have to cross the Styx, and it was not likely they would survive.
She fell silent after that. Hades finished cleaning her wound, and once again, she felt his healing warmth radiate through her. Her shoulder took far longer than her ribs, and she wondered just how bad the injury had been.
Once he was done, he placed his fingers under her chin. “Change,” he said.
“I…don’t have anything to change into.”
“I have something.” He helped her to her feet, directed her behind a screen, and handed her a short, black satin robe.
She looked at the piece of fabric and then at him. “I’m guessing this isn’t yours?”
“The Underworld is prepared for all manner of guests.”
“Thank you,” she said curtly. “But I don’t think I want to wear something one of your lovers has also worn.”
She wished he would have told her there were no lovers, but instead he frowned and said, “It’s either this or nothing at all, Persephone.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“What? Undress you? Happily, and with far more enthusiasm than you realize, my lady.”
She spent a moment glaring at him, and then her shoulders sagged. She was exhausted and frustrated and not interested in challenging the god. She took the robe from him. “Fine.”
He gave her the privacy she needed to change. She stepped out from behind the partition in the robe and immediately fell under Hades’ gaze. He stared at her for a long moment before clearing his throat, taking her wet dress and hanging it over the screen.
“What now?” she asked.
“You rest,” he said and lifted her into his arms. She wanted to protest—he had healed her, and despite her weariness, she could walk—but being in his arms made her feel flush and shy, so she remained quiet, unable to speak. Hades held her gaze even as he laid her down and drew the blankets over her body.
Her eyes were heavy with sleep.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and then noted the harsh set of his face. Frowning, she said, “You’re angry.”
She reached out to smooth his knitted brows, tracing her finger along the side of his face, over his cheek, and to the corner of his lips. He did not relax under her touch, and she withdrew quickly, closing her eyes, not wanting to witness his frustration.
“Persephone,” she said.
“What?” he asked.
“I want to be called Persephone. Not ‘lady.’”
“Rest,” she heard him say. “I will be here when you wake.”
She didn’t fight the sleep that came.
***
Persephone’s eyes felt like sandpaper when she opened them. For a moment, she thought she was home in her bed, but quickly remembered she had almost drowned in a river in the Underworld. Hades had brought her to his palace, and she now lay in his bed.
She sat up quickly, closing her eyes against her dizziness. When it passed, she opened them again and found Hades sitting in a chair, watching her. In one hand he held a glass of whiskey, apparently his drink of choice. He had shed his suit jacket and wore a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the buttons halfway undone. She couldn’t place his expression, but she felt that he was upset.
Hades took a sip of the whiskey, and the fire behind him cracked in the silence that stretched between them. In that quiet, she was hyper-aware of the way her body was reacting to him. He wasn’t even doing anything, but in these close quarters, she could smell him, and it ignited a fire in the pit of her stomach.
She found herself wishing he would speak—say something so I can be mad at you again, she thought. When he didn’t oblige, she promoted him:
“How long have I been here?” she asked.
“Hours,” he replied.
Her eyes widened. “What time is it?”
He shrugged. “Late.”
“I have to go,” she said, but didn’t move.
“You have come all this way. Allow me to offer you a tour of my world.”
When Hades stood, his presence seemed to fill the room. He downed the last of his whiskey, walked to where she sat on the bed, grasped the covers and drew them away. As she slept, the robe he had given her loosened, exposing a sheath of white skin between her breasts. She held it closed, her cheeks flushed.
Hades pretended not to notice and held out his hand. She took it, expecting him to step away when she got to her feet, but he remained close and kept a hold of her fingers. When she finally looked up, he was watching her.
“Are you well?” His voice was deep and rumbled through her.
She nodded. “Better.”
He drew his finger along her cheek, leaving a trail of heat. “Trust that I am devastated that you were hurt in my realm.”
She swallowed and managed to say, “I’m okay.”
His gentle eyes hardened. “It will never happen again. Come.”
He led her onto the balcony outside his room, where the view was breathtaking. The colors of the Underworld were muted, but still beautiful. The grey sky provided a backdrop for the black mountains, which melded with a forest of deep green trees. To the right, the trees thinned, and she could see the Styx’s black water snaking through the tall grass.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“It’s beautiful,” she answered, and she thought he looked pleased. “You created all of this?”
He nodded only once. “The Underworld evolves just as the world above.”
Her fingers were still laced with his, and he tugged, leading her off the balcony, down a set of stairs that emptied into one of the most beautiful gardens she had ever seen. Lavender wisteria created a canopy over a dark stone path, and clusters of purple and red flowers grew wildly on either side of the trail.
The garden awed her and angered her. She turned on Hades, pulling her hand from his. “You bastard!”
“Names, Persephone,” he warned.
“Don’t you dare. This—this is beautiful!” It made her heart ache and was something she longed to create. She stared longer, finding new flowers—roses of inky blue, peonies in pink, willows and trees with dark purple leaves.
“It is,” he agreed.
“Why would you ask me to create life here?” She tried to keep her voice from sounding so despondent, but she couldn’t manage it, standing at the center of her dream manifested outside of her head.
He stared at her for a moment, and then, with a wave of his hand, the roses and peonies and willows were gone. In their place was nothing but desolate land. She gaped at Hades as she stood in the ruins of his realm.
“It is illusion,” he said. “If it is a garden you wish to create, then it will truly be the only life here.”
She stared half in awe, half in disgust at the land before her. So all this beauty was Hades’ magic? And he maintained it effortlessly? He was truly a powerful god.
He called the illusion back, and they continued through the garden. As she followed Hades, the scents accosted her—sweet roses, musky boxwood, peppery geraniums, and more. The smell of dense foliage reminded Persephone of the time she spent in the greenhouse where her mother’s flowers bloomed so easily and the promise she’d made never to return. Now she realized she would just trade one prison for another if she failed to fulfill the terms of their contract.
Finally, they came to a low stone wall where a plot of land remained barren, and the soil at their feet was the color of ash.
“You may work here,” he said.
“I still don’t understand,” Persephone said, and Hades looked at her. “Illusion or not, you have all of this beauty. Why demand this of me?”
“If you do not wish to fulfill the terms of our contract, you have only to say so, Lady Persephone. I can have a suite prepared for you in less than an hour.”
“We do not get along well enough to be housemates, Hades.” His brows rose, and she lifted her chin. “How often am I allowed to come here and work?”
“As often as you want,” he said. “I know you are eager to complete your task.”
She looked away and bent to scoop up a handful of the sand. It was silky and fell through her fingers like water. She considered how she would plant the garden; her mother could create seeds and sprout them out of nothing, but Persephone couldn’t touch a plant without it wilting. Perhaps she could convince Demeter to give her a few of her own seedlings. Divine magic would have a better chance in this dirt than anything a mortal might offer.
She thought through her plan, and when she rose to her feet, she found Hades watching her again. She was getting used to his gaze, but it still made her feel exposed. It didn’t help that she only wore his black robe.
“And…how shall I enter the Underworld?” she asked. “I’m assuming you don’t want me to return the way I came.”
“Hmm.” He tilted his head thoughtfully to the side. She had only known him for three days but had seen him do this before when he was particularly amused; it was a move he made when he already knew how he was going to act.
Even with that knowledge, she was surprised when he took her by the shoulders and pulled her flush against him. Her arms shot out, fitting against his chest, and when his lips met hers she lost her grip on reality. Her legs gave out, and Hades’ arms slipped around her, holding her tighter. His mouth was hot and consuming. He kissed her with everything—his lips and teeth and tongue—and she reciprocated with just as much passion. Though she knew she should not encourage him, her body had a mind of its own.
As her hands moved up his chest and around his neck, Hades made a sound deep in his throat that both thrilled and frightened her. Then they were moving, and she felt the stone wall at her back. When he lifted her off the ground, she wrapped her legs around his waist. He was so much taller than her, and this position allowed him to trace her jaw with his lips, nip at her ear, and kiss down her neck. The sensation made her gasp, and she arched against him, driving her fingers through his hair, loosening the tie that held his dark strands in place, and when his hands moved under her robe, grazing soft, sensitive skin, she cried out, gripping his hair in her hands.
That’s when Hades pulled away. His eyes lit with a need she felt deep in her core, and they struggled to catch their breath. For a long moment, they remained still. Hades’ hands were still under her robe, gripping her thighs. She wouldn’t stop him if he continued. His fingers were dangerously close to her core, and she knew he could feel her heat. Still, if she gave into this need, she couldn’t say how she might feel after, and for some reason she didn’t want to regret Hades.
Maybe he sensed that, too, because he pried his fingers from her flesh and lowered her to the ground. His dark hair fell in waves well past his shoulders, creating a dark halo around his face. “Once you enter Nevernight, you have only to snap your fingers, and you will be brought here.”
The color drained from her face, and she stopped breathing for a moment. Of course, she thought. He was bestowing favor. In the aftermath of the kiss, Persephone felt ashamed. Why had she allowed this? Why had she allowed things to get so intense? She knew not to trust the God of the Underworld—not even his passion.
She tried to push him away, but he didn’t budge.
“Can’t you offer favor another way?” she snapped.
He looked amused. “You didn’t seem to mind.”
She blushed and touched her tingling lips with shaking fingers. Hades’ eyes flashed, and for a moment, she thought he might pick up where they’d left off.
And she couldn’t let that happen.
“I should go,” she said.
Hades nodded once, then wrapped his arm around her waist.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
Hades snapped his fingers. The world shifted, and they were in her room. She gripped Hades’ arms, lightheaded. It was still dark outside, but the clock beside her bed read five in the morning. She had an hour before she had to be up and ready for work.
“Persephone.” Hades’ voice was a low rumble, and she met his gaze. “Never bring a mortal to my realm again, especially Adonis. Stay away from him.”
She narrowed her eyes. “How do you know him?”
“That is not relevant.”
She tried to draw away from him, but he kept her where she was, pressed against him.
“I work with him, Hades,” she said. “Besides, you can’t give me orders.”
“I’m not giving you orders,” he said. “I am asking.”
“Asking implies there’s a choice.”
She wasn’t sure it was possible, but Hades held her tighter. His face was inches from hers, and she found it hard to meet his eyes because her gaze kept falling to his mouth—the memory of the kiss they’d shared in the garden a phantom on her lips. She shut her eyes against it.
“You have a choice,” he said. “But if you choose him, I will fetch you, and I might not let you leave the Underworld.”
Her eyes flew open, and she glared at him. “You wouldn’t,” she said between her teeth.
Hades chuckled, leaning in so that when he spoke, his breath caressed her lips. “Oh, darling. You don’t know what I’m capable of.”
Then he was gone.
