Persephone stood bundled in her warmest jacket, still freezing as they exited the back of Hades’ limo. Beneath her coat, she wore a thin, black gown that showed more skin than was appropriate for this kind of weather. A deep V-neck exposed the swell of her breasts while high front slits showed off her thighs. She had a hard time deciding if Hades would approve of the dress, but she imagined he would be just as conflicted if he saw her—torn between frustration and a deep desire to fuck her.
Sybil also wore black, though her dress was shorter and looked more like lingerie. It reminded Persephone of something Aphrodite would wear. Leuce dressed in a red, see-through top and tight jeans while it appeared Zofie had raided her amour, wearing a black steal-boned corset that showed off her elegant frame and dark pants. Surprisingly, Hermes wore a more tamed outfit—a white V-neck and grey jacket with dark jeans. Secretly, Persephone had hoped he’d show up in his jumper.
“Enjoy your evening,” said Antoni as he returned to the driver’s seat.
“I’ll call when we’re ready,” Persephone promised.
“I don’t see a sex club,” said Leuce, looking at the buildings lining the sidewalk.
She was right—there was no sign for Club Aphrodisia. There was a restaurant, a bar, and an empty building.
“It’s around the back,” Hermes said.
They followed him down the dark alleyway, which had been shoveled and sanded, making the walk easier than Persephone had expected.
The club was discreet and there was no signage—just an entry where a pool of yellow light spilled over a set of emerald doors where two bouncers stood. They checked their identification and held the doors open for them. Inside, they were greeted by a man dressed in an impeccable black suit.
“Ah, Master Hermes,” said the attendant. “Welcome.”
“Sebastian,” the God of Trickery greeted.
The man’s eyes shifted to Persephone, Sybil, Leuce, and Zofie.
“You’ve brought guests. Women.” Sebastian seemed surprised, raising his brows.
Hermes cleared his throat. “Yes. These are my friends. You have heard of the Lady Persephone. She is soon to marry Hades.”
“Of course,” he said. “How could I be so blind to your beauty. I did not know the Lord Hades shared.”
“He doesn’t,” Persephone said.
Hermes cleared his throat. “And these are her friends—Sybil, Leuce, and Zofie.”
“We are truly honored. I hope you find your time here pleasurable. Follow me.”
Sebastian led them upstairs and as Persephone followed beside Hermes, she elbowed him.
“Never been here before, huh?”
“Only a couple times,” he said.
Persephone eyed him. “Only twice and you are so well known?”
He grinned. “What can I say? My skills are legendary.”
Persephone rolled her eyes and elbowed him harder.
“Ouch!” he rubbed his side. “What? I’ve had a lot of practice!”
She shook her head and while part of her wanted to laugh, another part of her was reminded of her conversation with Hades shortly after their game of Never Have I Ever. She was still learning. Sometimes she wondered if she gave Hades’ exactly what he needed, especially after the way he’d taken control in his office earlier today. He’d been rough and unapologetic while he’d thrust into her mouth. It wasn’t the first time they’d had rough sex, or the first time she sensed he needed something more than their standard experience. Perhaps this club would give her some ideas.
As they reached the top of the steps, they found themselves in a dark hallway. Persephone reached out her hand to hold the wall for support and found that it was soft—velvet. They passed a number of doors, all with names like Carnal, Passion, Lust before coming to one called the Craving.
Inside, the suite was lit with muted blue lights, which cast most of the place in darkness. There were two large black leather couches that looked more like beds and a bench with restraints. A paddle lay atop. Persephone kept her coat on as she approached the balcony where red light streamed from the ceiling, bathing the floor in shadowy crimson.
Below, there were several beds, large couches, benches, and two cages. There were people everywhere. Some wore masks and some did not, some engaged in sex of all kinds—oral and otherwise, some sat on couches and in chairs chatting and watching. There was also a dance floor, though small, a few people swayed there while they touched and explored. It was all sort of quiet and not at all like Persephone had imagined.
She supposed what she had imagined was more like the sex she had with Hades, but what she shared with him was far more intense. It wasn’t about sharing—not like this place.
Still, it was slow and kind and respectful. A woman was being spanked by a man while she gave another man a blow job, several couples were having sex, their faces contorted in pleasure, another woman was restrained while a man pleasured her. For a long moment, Persephone was drawn to their play in particular. She couldn’t decide why she was fascinated but she realized it was because she’d always thought of restraints as one thing—a loss of control—but this looked different. Sensual and teasing and loving. It looked like trust.
She started to feel warm all over and cleared her throat, a deep ache settling in. She’d given Hades what she’d considered her best work earlier in the day. Their encounter had been hot and heavy, and her need was desperate. She curled her fingers around the balcony’s ledge.
“So, what do you think?” Hermes asked sidling up alongside her.
“It’s…different,” she said, searching for the right words.
“Not as seedy as you thought?” He asked, quirking a brow.
“No,” she said. “It’s…actually kind of…tamed.”
Even with a community vibrator.
“See anything you’d like to try?”
Persephone stared.
“I mean with Hades,” he added.
She rolled her eyes and changed the subject.
“Where do you think this meeting is taking place?” Persephone asked.
“I suppose it depends on the kind of meeting she’s having,” Hermes said.
Sybil, Leuce, and Zofie joined them at the balcony.
Leuce offered a small laugh. “I guess some things never change.”
Persephone assumed the nymph was referring to the fact that ancient Greek society was hyper-sexualized, and in truth, their views of sex hadn’t changed all that much. Even in their modern society, prostitution was legal.
“Quick, cover your eyes, Zofie,” Leuce joked.
“Why?” the Amazon asked. “I am familiar with sex.”
Everyone stared, surprised.
“What?” she asked, sounding exasperated. “I may not know modern society, but sex is not modern.”
Hermes chuckled and Sybil smirked.
“You’ve had sex?” Leuce asked.
Zofie rolled her eyes. “Of course.”
“But…we played Never Have I Ever,” Leuce said. “And you didn’t drink! Not once!”
Zofie was quiet for a long moment and then said, “I think I misunderstood the game.”
They laughed and watched for a while, commenting on various acts and positions. Couples mingled, trading and engaging in different types of sex, but overtime, Persephone noticed a few leaving the floor—one-by-one, moving into the darkness.
She stiffened.
“Where do you think they’re going?” Sybil asked.
“I don’t know,” Persephone answered.
“Shall we investigate?” Hermes asked.
“Someone needs to stay and watch for Helen,” Persephone said. “Sybil, Leuce—will you watch for her and text when she arrives?”
“Of course,” Sybil said.
“Zofie, I need you to stay here with them.”
“My orders are to protect you, my lady.”
“Actually, I swore an oath to protect her tonight,” said Hermes. “You will forgive me for not trusting anyone else to do so.”
The Amazon glared at Hermes and started to protest when Persephone interrupted.
“Zofie, this is important. I am ordering you to protect my friends. If Helen is here with Triad and she recognizes any of us, we’re in trouble.”
“Very well, my lady,” she said, still glaring at Hermes.
Persephone shed her jacket and the two left the suite, placing cloth masks over their faces before heading to the floor of the club. Hermes paused in the darkness of the stairwell.
“Do as I do,” he said, and drew her arm through his as they wandered onto the floor. They took their time, strolling around beds of tangled limbs and couches with men and women lost in the throes of passion. What struck her was how quiet it was here—even with music and moaning.
One couple smiled at them—the man was poised between his partner’s legs.
“Would you like to join?” he asked.
“We’re more than happy to watch,” said Hermes.
They didn’t seem upset as the man went down on the woman. Persephone averted her eyes, feeling strange standing in the center of this room, watching people freely engage in sex so openly. She was not sure she could do this; was not sure she would feel comfortable with people watching her or Hades. She was possessive—he was possessive. It would not end well.
Soon, they moved into the darkness, navigating down a hallway where a man stood.
“My Lady,” he said.
She stiffened at the title, but realized as Hermes released her arm, he was there to help her down the steps. She accepted his hand and walked ahead of Hermes into a circular, crowded room, lined all around with columns and recessed archways. It was a theater but built more like an amphitheater. The stage sat at the lowest point of the room and at its center was a goddess.
She was being restrained, her arms and legs pulled tight across a black bench. She was not conscious and there was blood dripping from a wound at her head.
Persephone froze for a moment, a cold trickle of fear shivered down her spine. She did not recognize the goddess, but she sensed that she was still alive. Bystanders booed her and threw things at her, others chanted cut her horns over and over.
“That is Tyche,” Hermes said.
Persephone jumped. She hadn’t felt the god approach, but now that he was near, her anxiety lessened a bit.
“Tyche,” Persephone whispered back. “The Goddess of Fortune and Prosperity?”
“The only one,” he replied, his voice grim. She looked at him, noting the tightening of his jaw and the hardening of his eyes.
“What are we going to do?” Persephone asked.
They had to help her.
“We wait,” Hermes said. “We do not know who or what is on their side.”
Persephone felt dread at that comment—an overwhelming force that pulled her into a fast current. She thought of the weapon that had taken Harmonia down and her mother, whose magic had powered it. What would they face here?
She studied the large crowd but did not find Helen among them.
More people joined until the room was packed and hot. The mask stuck to Persephone’s skin, uncomfortable and wet. With more people, came more anger and taunting. There was violence in the air, and she pressed closer to Hermes, feeling more and more uncomfortable. The god tightened his hold on her, which was less comforting than it should have been because she knew Hermes, too, was tense.
Sudden applause drew their attention to the stage where a man stood. He was dressed in a navy suit, tailored to his large body. He had wavy blond hair and eyes so bright and blue, she could see their sparkle, even from a distance.
Demi-god, she thought.
“That is Okeanos,” Hermes said.
“Who is Okeanos?”
“He is a son of Zeus,” Hermes said. “He has a twin, Sandros. They are not usually far from each other.”
Persephone watched Okeanos as he circled Tyche like a predator, a look of disgust upon his face. He stopped at her head, and took hold of one of her horns, breaking it effortlessly. The snap made bile rise in Persephone’s throat, but drew cheers from the crowd. After he had broken the second horn from her head, he held them aloft like a trophy while the crowd hailed him like some hero from ancient times.
Then, he tossed them aside as if they were nothing—as if he had not just mutilated the goddess restrained upon the table.
“The Olympians make a mockery of power!” he shouted. “They parade around, celebrities more obsessed with their image and their wealth and hurting mortals than granting your desperate prayers.”
The crowd roared in agreement.
“It is a tale older than time. Gods outlive their usefulness to the world and must be replaced by new ones, those who understand it and see its potential. We are those gods. It is time to take back our world.”
More cheers.
Persephone felt sick. It was the narrative she’d expected, and the one Helen had perpetuated. These demi-gods really wanted to overthrow the Olympians. The problem was these people—Adonis, Harmonia, Tyche—were not Olympians—they were innocent. What was the point of hurting them?
Movement from Tyche drew Okeanos’ attention. The Demi-god continued to speak as he approached the goddess.
“We will have a rebirth! A new world where your prayers are answered, where the gods intercede only when asked, where they heal and do not hurt, but the price is dire.”
He picked up a blade that must have been sitting above Tyche’s head. It gleamed, sharp and dangerous.
“Are you willing to pay it?” He asked and the crowd responded with a resounding yes.
Just then, Persephone smelled her mother’s magic. It drew her attention and sent her heart racing. For a moment, she felt panic, her breath came in short gasps and her vision blurred, but as quickly as she felt the magic, it was gone and when her eyes returned to the stage, Amphion was lifting the blade.
“No!” Persephone cried, and flung out her hands—just as several heads moved in her direction, they froze—except Okeanos whose gaze narrowed upon her.
Fuck.
Demi-gods may not be as powerful as other gods, but it was impossible to know what magic they were born with and it looked like Okeanos could control time. Without a word, he flung out his hand and sent a bolt of lightning barreling toward her.
Persephone’s eyes widened and she dove to avoid the hit, but as she landed on the floor, someone materialized in front of her—a goddess.
“Aphrodite—”
The goddess flung out her arm and in the next second, Okeanos’ body lurched, and his heart flew from his chest into Aphrodite’s waiting hand. His eyes widened and as he fell to his knees, Persephone lost her grip upon her magic and the crowd was mobile once again.
There was a moment of heavy silence before the crowd realized what had happened.
“Gods! There are gods among us!” someone yelled.
Then chaos ensued—some screamed and fled while others peeled off their masks and searched for weapons within the theater.
“Hermes!” Persephone cried. “Get Tyche!”
The God of Mischief was gone in a flash, appearing on stage beside the motionless goddess. The crowd surged forward in an attempt to attack Hermes, but the god’s eyes had begun to glow and some faltered.
Persephone got to her feet.
“Aphrodite!”
The goddess did not seem to hear her, her attention on the still-beating heart in her hand, the blood seeped between her fingers. Then Persephone’s eyes shifted as a mortal rushed the goddess, a long candlestick raised to strike.
“Aphrodite!”
Still, the goddess remained calm, almost passive as she turned her head in the direction of the mortal, threw out her hand and sent him flying backward into the crowd, scattering bodies until he landed with a loud crack against the opposite wall.
Persephone expected the mortals to bolt, but instead, they rushed toward them.
A hand yanked her hair, pulling her head back, throat taunt, and ripped off her mask. The movement was so violent, she was stunned, and it took her a moment to meet a familiar set of eyes.
“Jaison?”
She hadn’t seen him since Lexa’s funeral. He’d ceased all communication with her—now she knew why. His dark curls were longer and his face unshaven. He looked rough and angry.
“Well, well, well, the favor fuck has come to infiltrate our meeting.”
“Jaison—” she said his name, reaching for his hand to lessen the pull he had on her head. She was surprised when mortal released her, and she stumbled back only to be pushed hard by someone. As she lurched forward, she was shoved again. This time, she managed to stop herself before another person could touch her, but she was surrounded.
She met Jaison’s eyes.
“Why?” she found herself asking.
“Isn’t it obvious? Hades could have saved Lexa. You could have saved her.”
“Don’t you dare,” Persephone said, her eyes watering, burning with fresh tears.
“If you had done it right the first time, she wouldn’t have left. She wasn’t the same when she came back.”
“Because she wanted to die!” Persephone shouted. “She was tired, but you were too selfish to see that. I was too selfish.”
“Do not pretend you care,” he said. “If you did, you wouldn’t marry Hades.”
The circle tightened, and Persephone went rigid.
“Don’t do this,” she said. “You will regret it.”
“We do not fear Hades,” Jaison said.
“It isn’t Hades you should fear,” she said. “It’s me.”
He laughed—and the others joined in, but Persephone’s anger was boiling over. A hand reached for her and she exploded—literally. Thorns burst from her arms and legs and palms. They shot out like blades and cut through the mortals surrounding her, skewering many of them—including Jaison—at which ever level they stood—head or throat or chest or belly. She screamed at her anger, at the carnage, at the pain, but as it died, the thorns retracted, reeling into her body as if they were part of her. Still, she was left broken and bloody, her skin split.
She fell to her knees at the center of her massacre, leaning forward, breathing raggedly. She tasted blood.
Heal, she thought. You have to heal.
Then she felt Hades’ unmistakable presence. She saw his shoes first, then her eyes made the slow climb up his body. When she saw his face, she saw a god—an ancient one full of rage and darkness and death.
It took Persephone a moment to realize why the room had gone so quiet—it was because everyone was dead. Had she done this? Or was this Hades’ malice?
“Hades,” she tried to say his name, but the blood in her mouth was thick and she choked on the word, sending a spray of crimson onto his shoes. Her head spun, and she fell the rest of the way to the floor.
Hades bent and scooped her into his arms. She’d never seen him look this way—haunted, triggered—and she knew he was fighting something horrible and dark. She wanted to comfort him and all she could think is that she hoped he knew how much she loved him.
Then everything went dark.
