When they appeared in the Underworld, within the walls of Hades’ bedchamber, a hot pain settled deep in her bones, radiating from her shoulder. Persephone moaned, forcing herself to breathe through the pain as Hades settled her upon the bed. He started to ease her arm out of her blazer and then tore her dress for access to the wound, and as his fingers brushed it, she inhaled sharply between her teeth.
“Wh-what are you doing?” she said between her teeth.
“I need to see if the bullet left your body,” Hades said.
“Let me heal it.”
“Persephone—”
“I have to try,” she snapped. “Hades—”
He curled his hands into fists and stepped back, rubbing his forehead with bloodied fingers.
“Do it, Persephone,” he growled.
She closed her eyes against his frustration, knowing that his panic was winning. He’d never wanted to see her bleed again, and here they were. She drew in deep breath after deep breath until a calmness overtook her and she was able to focus on the fiery pain emanating from her wounded shoulder. This time, she just wanted the heat to end, so she imagined that the magic she used to soothe it was cool and crisp—a kiss of frost in early spring.
“Now,” she heard Hades’ low growl.
But Persephone knew her magic was working—the wound throbbed as it healed.
Finally, Hades let out a low breath and Persephone opened her eyes, staring down at her exposed shoulder to see that the skin was slightly pink and puckered, but the wound was healed.
“I did it,” she said and smiled as she looked at Hades.
“You did,” he said, his eyes moving from her wound to her gaze, and she got the sense that he didn’t quite believe her.
“What are you thinking?” she asked, her voice quiet.
“Nothing you wish to know,” he said.
She believed it.
Finally, he approached.
“Let’s clean you up.”
Once again, Hades gathered her to his chest and took her into the bathroom. When her feet touched the floor, she reached to brush loose tendrils of hair from Hades’ face, her blood was still smeared on his skin.
“Are you well?”
Instead of answering, he turned on the shower, letting the water grow hot.
He took her hand and kissed her palm before reaching behind her and unzipping her ruined dress, guiding it down over her breasts and hips until it puddled on the floor. Her bra followed—his touch lingering on her breasts, then her waist, then her thighs as he slid her panties down her legs, pausing as he knelt on the floor to gaze up at her.
“Hades,” she whispered his name, and then his lips touched her skin as he kissed a fiery path back up her body. Her hands tangled into his hair as he paused to tease each of her nipples, before his mouth devoured hers.
When her fingers tangled into his jacket, she pulled away.
“Shall I undress you?” She asked, eager to have his skin against hers.
“If you wish,” he said.
She reached for the buttons on his shirt, but a sharp pain in her shoulder made her wince and she dropped her arm. Hades frowned.
“Let me,” he said, making quick work of the buttons. Shedding his jacket, shirt, and slacks. When he was naked, he gripped her sides, and drew her to him, his arms wrapping tightly around her. His mouth slanted against hers and she opened for him. The feel of him inside her in anyway was like injecting magic into her veins—it made her feel wild and passionate. Except that soon, she felt real magic—healing magic—as Hades’ palm came to rest upon her.
She broke the kiss and looked down at her shoulder. Where she had left a scar, there was now smooth skin.
“Was I not good enough?” she asked.
It wasn’t exactly the question she intended to ask, and she knew once the words were out of her mouth, that they hurt Hades, but it was all she could think to say because this kind of magic was important to her and she wanted to master it.
“Of course, you are good enough, Persephone,” Hades said, and he brought his hands to her jaw, sliding his fingers into her hair. “I am over-protective and fearful for you and perhaps selfishly, I wish to remove anything that reminds me of my failure to protect you.”
“Hades, you did not fail,” she said.
“We will agree to disagree,” he said.
“If I am enough then you are enough.”
He did not speak, and she moved her hands up his chest, twining her arms around his neck.
“I am sorry. I never wanted to see you suffer again, not like you did in the days following Tyche’s death.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said and kissed her.
This time, he guided her into the shower. They stood outside of the spray as he reached for the soap and wet a cloth. He started with her shoulder, gently washing the blood away. He moved to her breasts, groping and squeezing, his slick hands teasing each one before moving onto her stomach and sides, her thighs and her calves. On his knees before her, he gave an order.
“Turn.”
She obeyed the command, placing her hands flat on the wall as he made his way back up her body. He spent time washing between her thighs, fingers teasing her flesh. By the time he rose to his feet, she was flustered, and though his erection swelled between them, he did not move to take her. Instead, he stared at her intently and said, “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she said, and there was something in this moment—in the exchange of words that brought tears to her eyes. “More than anything.”
They weren’t powerful enough words, but she couldn’t find the ones she needed, the ones she wanted. The ones that conveyed just how much her blood and bone, heart and soul ached for him.
“Persephone,” Hades whispered her name, brushing a stray tear from her face. He gathered her into his arms and carried her out of the shower. They were not even dry as he settled beside the fire. Cradled against his chest, they sat in silence as the events of the evening rushed back into their reality.
Talaria Stadium had been the perfect space for an attack. The distraction of the chariot races, the added drama between Apollo, Ajax, and Hector. No one suspected a thing.
“All those people,” she whispered. “Gone.”
She wondered how many had died, then the guilt settled upon her as she realized she should have been at the gates to greet them, to calm them.
Hades’ arms tightened around her. “You will not be able to console everyone who makes their way to the gates unexpectedly, Persephone. Those deaths are far too numerous. Take comfort, the souls of Asphodel are there, and they will represent you well.”
“They represent you, too, Hades,” she said.
Then she considered something—the innocent weren’t the only ones to die tonight. Among them, were those who had started the violence.
“What about the attackers who died tonight?”
She met Hades’ gaze. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but he answered her question without hesitating.
“They await punishment in Tartarus,” he paused, then asked, “Do you wish to go?”
A smile tugged at her lips. It wasn’t in anticipation, but in response to his question. Weeks ago, he would have never suggested a trip to the chamber of torture he used to punish souls, and yet now, he did so without faltering.
“Yes,” she answered. “I wish to go.”
***
They arrived in a part of Tartarus Persephone had never visited before. It was a cavernous hall, each side of it flanked with massive obsidian columns. It took her a moment to realize that each set of columns was blocked by a gate. They were in a dungeon. The air here was thick, heavy with an ancient power. She tipped her head back, searching for the source of the magic.
“There are monsters here,” said Hades, as if to explain.
“What…kind of monsters?” she asked.
“Many,” he said, looking slightly amused. “Some are here because they were slain, some are here because they were captured. Come.”
He took her hand and lead her past many darkened cells. As they went, she heard hissing and growls and a horrible wailing. Persephone looked to Hades for an explanation.
“The harpies,” Hades said. “Aello, Ocypete, and Celaeno—they get restless, especially when the world is chaos.”
“Why?”
“Because they sense evil and wish to punish,” he said.
They passed many more, including a creature who was half woman, half snake. Graceful fingers wrapped tight around the bars of her cell as her head came into view. She was beautiful, her hair was long and fell over her shoulders in red waves, curtaining her bare breasts.
“Hades,” she hissed, her slitted eyes gleaming.
“Lamia,” he said in acknowledgement.
“Lamia?” Persephone asked. “The child-killer?”
The monster hissed at her words, but Hades answered. “The very one.”
Lamia was the daughter of Poseidon and a queen. Her affair with Zeus lead to Hera cursing her to lose any child she birthed, eventually, she went mad, stealing babies from their mothers only to feast upon their flesh. Her story was horrifying, especially given that Lamia had gone from desiring a child above all else to consuming them.
They continued further until they came to the end of the passage where a gate kept a massive dragon-like creature imprisoned. It had seven snake-like heads, scales, and webbed fins along its neck. They hissed, barring fangs that dripped a black liquid into a pool that came up to their large, bulbous belly. In that water were several souls, whose faces were burned beyond recognition.
“What is this?” she asked.
“That is a hydra,” Hades said. “Its blood, venom, and breath are poisonous.”
Persephone stared.
“And the mortals in the pool? What did they do?”
“They are the terrorists who attacked the stadium,” he said.
“Is this their punishment?”
“No,” Hades said. “Think of this as their holding cell.”
Persephone let Hades’ words settle between them. That meant there was no reprieve when the judges assigned a soul’s fate to Tartarus. Their punishment began immediately—and these burns, the venom eating through their skin straight to bone—was only the beginning.
“And how will you punish them?” she asked, tilting her head to meet his gaze. Hades stared down at her.
“Perhaps…you would like to decide?”
Again, she found herself smirking despite the horror of their conversation. Hades was asking her to determine the eternal punishment of a soul—and she liked it. It made her feel powerful, trusted. For the briefest moment, she wondered what that made her—but she already knew. It made her his queen.
Her gaze returned to the souls in the poisonous lake.
“I wish for them exist in a constant state of fear and panic. To experience what they inflicted upon others. They will exist, for eternity, in the Forest of Despair.”
“So you shall have it,” Hades said, and lifted his hand for her to take. As her fingers settled into his, the souls beneath the hydra vanished.
“Let me show you something.”
He took her to the library, to the basin she’d stumbled upon early in her visits to the palace. When she’d first found it, she’d assumed it was a table—but at her approach, she discovered a partial map of the Underworld reflected in the dark surface Then, she’d only been able to see the palace, Asphodel and the Rivers Styx and Lethe. When she’d asked Hades why it was not complete, he’d told her the rest would be revealed when she’d earned the right.
At that point, only Hecate and Hermes were able to view the whole of the Underworld.
Now when she looked, she saw every river and meadow and mountain. She knew the chances of the map remaining the same were small as Hades often manipulated his world—adding, moving, or erasing locations.
“Show the Forest Despair,” Hades said, and the water rippled until a harsh scene played out before her eyes. When Persephone had wandered between those trees, she’d been alone, the forest quiet around her, but now she saw it for what it was—full of thousands of souls all living some form of their personal hell. There were souls who sat at the bases of trees, knees pulled to their chest, shaking. Others hunted one another, lashing out and murdering—only to be revived and hunted again.
“Those who hunt,” she said. “What is their fear?”
“Loss of control,” Hades said.
“And the ones being killed?” she asked quietly.
“They were murderers in life,” he responded.
There were others, too—souls who drank from streams and died slow and painful deaths, souls who were caught in a part of the forest that remained perpetually on fire, souls who were tied and stretched between trees as they were poked and prodded until exposure lead to their eventual death.
As each cycle ended, it began again—and endless loop of torture and death.
After a moment, Persephone turned away from the basin. “I have seen enough.”
Hades joined her, taking her hand in his and kissing her knuckles.
“Are you well?”
“I am…satisfied,” she answered and met his gaze. “Let’s go to bed.”
Hades did not argue, and as they returned to their chamber, she realized that vengeance had a taste—it was bitter and metallic with an underlying sweetness.
And she craved it.
“Persephone,” Hades said her name, a tinge of concern in his voice. She knew he wondered if he’d gone too far in showing her the Forest of Despair.
She shed her robes, feeling tense. She rolled her shoulders before turning to face him.
“Hades,” she replied. She needed him inside her, needed the distraction and release he would provide.
“You’ve been through a lot,” he said, though his eyes burned with a desire so potent, her legs already shook. “Are you sure you want this tonight?”
“It’s all I want,” she said.
He took another step, closing the space between them and their mouths collided, tongues sweeping together. She shivered beneath his hands, arching into him, her hips desperate to move against his. She helped him out of his robes as she kissed down his chest, making her way to his swollen sex. As her lips touched his head, he gave a sigh—it was heavy and almost raw, scraping against his throat.
She peered up at him, curious to see his expression—full of dark passion. It only encouraged the fire in the pit of her stomach. The space between her thighs dampened, her body preparing to accommodate him.
“Is this okay?” She wasn’t sure why she asked. Maybe she just wanted to hear him say yes with that all-consuming fire in his eyes.
“More than,” he replied, and she returned to him, tongue tasting from tip to base, teasing each ridge and lapping at velvet skin. He inhaled between his teeth when he hit the back of her throat, fingers twining into her hair. She looked up at him. His gaze was tender, loving, and yet it scorched her soul, heating every part of her until she was molten.
“You don’t know the things I wish to do to you,” he said.
She held his gaze, giving the crown of his cock a final hard suck and then released him. She straightened, her head tipping toward his, their mouths level as she whispered, “Show me.”
It was a dare—and Hades accepted the challenge. His hand tightening on the back of her neck, he brought her mouth to his, tongue invading and twining with her own and then, as if she weighed nothing, he drew her to the center of the bed. Again, his mouth covered hers sucking and caressing. She bowed against him, her fingers digging into his muscled arms until he pinned them over her head—and then she felt something twinning around them—something soft but restraining—she gazed upward and found her wrists were bound with shadow-magic.
A thread of unease shivered through her.
“Is this okay?” he asked, sitting back, his strong thighs straddling her, his cock heavy and erect. She swallowed, that strange thread of disquiet pulling at the back of her mind. Was it okay? She couldn’t decide.
This is Hades, she reminded herself. You are safe.
She nodded, the unease dissipating the longer he raked her with that heated gaze.
Hades smirked, and her heart beat harder in her chest, anticipation curling tight inside her.
“I will make you writhe,” he promised, crawling up her body with predatory grace. “I will make you scream; I will make you come so hard you will feel it for days.”
His mouth closed over hers, moving so that his legs were between hers and he kissed down her body, his skin slithering deliciously against her clit as he made his way to her center—and yet her chest tightened in a way that wasn’t familiar.
She tried to release the feeling that had knotted right beside her heart, but she couldn’t breathe deep enough. She lifted her head, watching Hades descend, pausing to press kisses to the inside of her thighs, licking the sensitive flesh.
Safe, she thought over and over—the feeling in her chest in conflict with the fire in the bottom of her stomach. Safe. Safe. Safe.
Then he spread her wide, flattening her legs against the bed and suddenly, she couldn’t breathe at all. It was like she had found herself in the Styx all over again, being drawn from the surface of the black water to the dark depths in the grip of the dead who lived there. The more she struggled, the harder she was held, the darker everything became. The bindings on her wrist were rough—rope, she realized. The hands upon her thighs were clammy.
“Persephone.”
The voice was muffled, but she moved toward it.
“Hades,” she choked on his name.
A hand broke below the surface of the water, and she reached for it, but as she came up for air, she found herself face-to-face with Pirithous—gaunt face, pale lips, bleeding eyes—and she was suddenly returned to that wooden chair. Its edges biting into her skin. Pirithous loomed on his knees before her.
“Ungrateful,” his voice grated.
“No, no, no!”
She pressed her bare legs together, even as Pirithous’ hand skimmed her from calve to thigh.
“I was protecting you,” he seethed, leering over her, blood dripping from his face onto her skin. “And this is how you repay me?”
“Don’t fucking touch me,” she cried, but Pirithous’ grip tightened, his fingers dug into her, and he pried her legs apart, pinning his body between them. She collapsed forward in an attempt to push away, and something sour crawled up the back of her throat.
She was going to vomit.
“No,” she moaned. “Please no.”
Where was Hades? Why had he allowed this to happen? He said that Pirithous could not reach her, could not hurt her anymore.
Where was her magic? She tried reaching for it, but it seemed just as paralyzed as she was.
“Persephone,” Pirithous said, hands inching closer to her center. Her body clenched; her insides shook. “It’s okay.”
Then Pirithous bent to press his lips to her thigh, and she broke.
“No!”
The bindings around her wrists tore free and she swiped at Pirithous, her hand connecting with his cheek. It was then she realized there were thorns coming out of her skin—like her hands were the stem of a rose. As soon as she saw the blood, she felt as if she had surfaced from the darkness.
She was no longer in that wooden chair but at the center of a sea of black silk on her bed—and it wasn’t Pirithous in front of her, but Hades. His cheek bled from her strike.
The blood drained from her face as she stared at him, eyes wide, her brain scrambling to make sense of what had occurred, but it made no sense.
Safe, she thought.
She started to reach for him—wanting to wipe away the blood, to erase the evidence of her blow, but paused when she saw her hands, full of bloody thorns. Her mouth quivered, her hands shook, and then she burst into tears.
It took Hades a moment to move—to take her into his arms, but when he did, his body was cold and rigid.
“I did not know,” Hades said, his voice was low and rough. It was like he was angry but trying hard not to let it show.
I’m sorry, she wanted to say, but her mouth wouldn’t work.
“I did not know,” Hades repeated. “I’m sorry. I love you.”
He repeated those words until his voice broke.
