She was still screaming when they appeared in their bedchamber.
“It’s going to be okay,” Hades said, his arms were tight around her, holding her up.
“She took that spear for me,” Persephone cried, burying her face in his chest.
“Aphrodite will be well,” Hades said. “It is not yet her time to die.”
Even hearing those words, it took a while for Persephone to calm down. The day had begun on such a beautiful note—a euphoria she’d never felt before—and it had quickly spiraled. Sybil was still missing, there were thousands of dead buried beneath that avalanche, and the Olympians were now divided.
“Sit,” Hades said, guiding her to the edge of the bed.
“Hades, we cannot stay here,” Persephone said. “We have to find Sybil.”
“I know, I know. Just let me make sure you are well,” he said.
Persephone’s brows knitted together. She felt fine, then her eyes lowered to her shirt and she realized it was covered in blood.
“I’m fine. I healed myself.”
“Please.”
The word was quiet, breathless, and so she nodded and let him unbutton her shirt. He seemed to relax when he found unmarred skin.
“Hades,” she started to reach for his face, but he stood.
“Fuck!” he yelled.
She flinched.
“I never fucking wanted this for you,” he said, raking his fingers through his unbound hair.
“Hades, this is not your fault.”
“I wanted to protect you from this.”
“You had no control over how the gods would act today, Hades.” He kept his eyes averted, glaring, jaw ticking. “I made a choice to use my power, Zeus made a choice to end me.”
“I will destroy him.”
“I have no doubt,” she said and rose to her feet. “And I will be beside you when you do.”
She expected Hades to say no, but instead he reached to stroke her cheek.
“Beside me,” he repeated, and let his hand fall. “Tell me about Sybil.”
Persephone explained what she’d found on the desk this morning—the black box, tied neatly with a red ribbon, containing Sybil’s finger.
“You are certain it was Sybil’s?”
“Yes.” Persephone knew Sybil’s energy for one, but she also recognized the polish on the bloodied nail.
“Where is it now?”
“It’s still in my office,” she’d been too frantic to think to bring it with her when she left to check Sybil’s apartment.
“We’ll have to retrieve it,” Hades said. “Hecate can cast a tracing spell which will at least tell us where her finger was removed.”
It was hard to believe they were speaking so casually about Sybil’s abduction and what, essentially, was torture. The reality sent a shiver of rage through Persephone.
“What do we do if she isn’t there?” Persephone asked.
“I cannot say,” Hades replied. “It depends on what we find when we trace her.”
Persephone knew why Sybil had been taken—it was a way to lure her, but where? Persephone suspected the kidnapping was Demeter’s idea based on the prophecy she’d given to Ben, but who had taken her? The same people who had mercilessly attacked Adonis and Harmonia and Tyche?
“Come, we must hurry. We cannot spend much time outside of the Underworld given how we left the Olympians,” Hades said.
As soon as they appeared in her office, Persephone knew something was wrong. Hades stiffened beside her, his grasp tightened around her waist. There was a dried, bloody rectangle on her desk where Sybil’s finger had rested in the box too long, and it was gone. Her eyes shifted to the couch where Theseus sat. He looked much the same as when she’d met him, if not more relaxed, one leg cross over the other, arms stretching out on the back of the seat.
Persephone scowled. “You.”
The demi-god looked amused, his dark brows rising over aquamarine eyes.
“Me,” Theseus said, mouth tilting into a smirk.
“Where is Sybil?” Persephone demanded.
“She’s right here,” he said, and held up the finger.
Persephone’s eyes darkened.
“What do you want with her?”
“Your cooperation,” Theseus said. “I will need it after I collect my favor.”
Favor?
That word made Persephone’s blood run cold.
The demi-god’s eyes shifted to Hades and there was a horrible silence. Whatever Theseus was here to collect caused Hades’ grip to tighten on her, his fingers dug into her side painfully. Persephone looked at the god, but all she could see was the bottom of his jaw as he glared at the demi-god.
“What favor?” she asked.
“The favor Hades owes me,” Theseus explained, his voice still so casual. “For my aid in saving your relationship.”
“What is he talking about?” Persephone looked at Hades again. When he didn’t respond, she whispered his name.
“Hades?”
“He returned a relic to me which fell into the wrong hands,” Hades gritted out, then he added, as if to explain why he’d felt obligated to grant such a monumental gift, “You have learned the devastation such a piece can cause.”
She had. The relics had resulted in Harmonia’s injuries and Tyche’s death.
Persephone’s eyes returned to Theseus whose smile was wicked—he took pleasure from this, she realized with disgust.
“What is it you want from him?”
“You,” the demi-god replied, as if it were obvious.
“Me?” Persephone repeated.
“No,” Hades said, and Persephone felt his magic rise.
“Favors are binding, Hades,” Theseus said. “You are obligated to fulfill my request.”
“I know the nature of favors, Theseus,” Hades hissed.
“You would face Divine Death?” Theseus asked, rising from his spot on the couch.
“Hades, no!” Persephone said, she clutched his robes, but he would not look at her, his gaze trained upon Theseus, his body tense and ready for battle. Horrible memories ravished her mind. They were false memories, drawn from her greatest fears when she’d battled Hades in her grove, but they’d felt real. She still remembered the weight of his head in her lap and the way his blood darkened as it dried.
“For Persephone?” Hades asked. “Yes.”
“I’m only asking to borrow her. You can have her back when I’m through.”
Disgust made Persephone’s stomach roil.
“Why me?” she asked.
“That is a conversation for another time. For now, you must leave here with me and Hades cannot follow. If you do not do as I say, I will murder your friend in front of you.”
Persephone’s eyes burned, and she turned to Hades, gripping his arm until he stared down at her.
“Persephone.” He said her name, desperate and pained.
“It’s going to be okay.”
“No, Persephone.”
“I have lost too many people. This way…I can keep you all.”
He held her, his fingers digging into her arms. She knew what he was thinking—this was the last time he would see her. She pressed her lips to his and they kissed softly. As she pulled away, she whispered.
“Trust me.”
“I trust you,” he said.
“Then let me go.”
And to her surprise, he did.
Behind them, Theseus chuckled and opened the door, waiting for her to pass though.
“You have made the right decision.”
She brushed passed Hades, and as much as she’d encouraged him to let her go, she felt the weight of his absence immediately. All she wanted was to return to him. She paused when she came to stand beside Theseus, which only seemed to make Hades grow more tense.
“Persephone,” Hades said her name again and her heart ached in a way it never had before, like it was wrapped in thread pulled so tight, it could barely beat.
“I love you,” she said. “And I know you.”
The second this door was closed, he would come after her and she could not risk it. Sybil would die, and Hades would face an eternity of being hunted by Nemesis.
She couldn’t let that happen.
His eyes widened at her words and then great, black vines sprouted from the ground, wrapping around his feet and wrists. Their weight anchored him to the ground, causing it to buckle beneath his feet. He struggled against the bindings, his muscles rippling, veins popping, but he could not break free of them.
“Persephone!” Hades bellowed as the door slammed closed, blocking him from her view. Guilt slammed into her and tears welled in her eyes. She was left facing Theseus whose lips were curled, eyes alight with amusement.
“Well done. He will never forgive you for that.”
