A Touch of Ruin (Hades & Persephone Book 2)

by Scarlett St. Clair

  Persephone couldn’t tell if Aphrodite was being serious or not. It was easy for an immortal to say something like that. Gods were virtually invincible.

  “Let’s hope you won’t have a reason to fight anyone while you’re guarding me,” Persephone said.

  Zofie disappeared behind the curtain again. She tried on several outfits, preferring pant suits over skirts and dresses. Persephone did manage to convince the Amazon to buy one dress, a floor length gown in the same color blue as the first one she’d tried on, arguing that if the warrior was going to be her Aegis, she would have to attend formal events.

  When they were finished shopping, Persephone and Zofie stood outside Aphrodite’s shop.

  “Do you have a home?” she asked.

  “My home is in Terme,” she answered.

  That was north and several hundred miles away. “Do you have a place to stay here in New Athens?”

  Zofie frowned and seemed confused. “I must go where you go, Persephone.”

  It was then, a thought occurred to her.

  “Where would you have stayed had I not discovered you?”

  “Outside,” she said.

  “Zofie!”

  “It is fine, my lady, I am resilient.”

  “Resilient I have no doubt. I won’t have you sleeping outside—as a cat or otherwise. You can sleep on the couch for now.”

  They would work out sleeping arrangements again once Lexa returned home. Sybil had taken Lexa’s bed for the time being, and it wasn’t likely Persephone would be sleeping in the Underworld for the next few weeks.

  “I cannot sleep,” Zofie said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I do not need sleep. Who will watch over you if I am not awake?”

  “Zofie, I’ve survived this long without being abducted. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  But as the words left her mouth, she felt foreign magic grip her and the familiar pull of being sucked into a void.

  Someone was forcing her to teleport.

  “Zofie—”

  The Amazon’s eyes widened, and the last thing she saw before she vanished was the determined look on Zofie’s face as she reached for her.

  A second later, Persephone was thrust into the middle of a screaming crowd. The air around her was hazy and sticky. It smelled like tobacco and body odor.

  “There she is!” Apollo wrapped an arm around her neck and hauled her against him. He was sweaty and dressed casually, in a polo shirt and jeans.

  “What the actual fuck, Apollo?” Persephone demanded, pushing away savagely, but the god held her tight, pulling her along through the crowd toward a small stage at the front of the room. As he did, he turned his head toward hers, whispering against her ear.

  “We had a bargain, Goddess.”

  She hated the feel of his breath on her skin. She should have expected Apollo to abduct her at any given moment. It was a part of the deal she’d forgotten to clarify and now she regretted it.

  She was thrust beneath bright lights, they blinded her and made the whole place appear darker, so it was hard to tell just how many people were in the crowd in front of her.

  Apollo grabbed the mic and cried into it.

  “Persephone Rosi, everyone! You may know her as Hades’ lover, but tonight, she’s our jury, judge, and executioner!”

  The crowd cheered.

  Apollo returned the mic to its cradle and reached for Persephone’s arm. She recoiled, but the god placed his hand on her back, guiding her to a chair to the side of the stage.

  “Stop touching me, Apollo,” she said through her teeth.

  “Stop acting like you don’t like me,” the god replied.

  “I don’t. Liking you wasn’t part of the deal,” she snapped.

  Apollo’s eyes flashed. “I’m not opposed to ending the bargain, Persephone, if you can live with the death of your friend.”

  She glared and sat. Apollo smiled.

  “Good girl. Now, you are going to sit here with a smile on that pretty face and judge this competition for me, got it?”

  Apollo patted her face. She wanted to kick him in the balls, but refrained, gripping the edges of her chair. As he turned back to the crowd, they began to chant his name. The god encouraged this by pumping his arms in the air.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the Lyre, we have a challenger in our midst.”

  The crowd booed, but Persephone felt relieved that she finally knew where she was. The Lyre was a venue in New Athens where musicians of all kinds performed. It was located in the Arts District at the edge of the city.

  “A satyr who claims he is a better musician than me!”

  More boos from the crowd.

  “You know what I say to that? Prove it.”

  He drew away from the mic, his face awash in the light from the stage.

  “Bring the competitor forth!”

  There was a disruption, and Persephone watched as the crowd split. Two burly men dragged a satyr between them. He was young and blond, his hair a nest of curls atop his head. His jaw was set, and his chest rose and fell quickly, giving away his fear, but his eyes were narrowed, black, and set upon Apollo with a hatred that Persephone could feel.

  “Satyr! Your Hubris will be punished.”

  The crowd cheered, and Apollo motioned for the men to bring the young man forward. They shoved him onto the stage, and he stumbled, falling to his knees. Persephone watched as Apollo summoned an instrument from thin air. It looked like a type of flute, and when the satyr saw it, his eyes widened. Clearly, it was important to him.

  Apollo tossed it to him, and he caught it against his chest.

  “Play it,” the god ordered. “Show us your talents, Marsyas.”

  For a moment, the boy seemed even more frightened at hearing his name leave the god’s mouth, and then she watched as he rose to his feet, his expression determined.

  Marsyas put the flute to his lips and began to perform. At first, Persephone could barely hear the music he created because the crowd was so unruly. She couldn’t help thinking that they seemed to be under some sort of spell, but slowly, they fell silent. Persephone watched Apollo, noting the way he clenched his fists and the tension in his shoulders. Clearly, he hadn’t expected the satyr to be good.

  His music was beautiful—it was sweet, and it swelled, filling the whole room, seeping into pores and twinning with blood. Somehow, it knew exactly how to target each dark emotion, each painful memory, and by the end, Persephone found herself crying.

  The crowd was quiet and Persephone couldn’t tell if they were stunned into silence, or if Apollo was preventing them from reacting with his magic, so she started to clap, and slowly, the rest joined in, whistling, cheering, and chanting the satyr’s name. Apollo’s face reddened and he gazed menacingly at Persephone and the young man before summoning his own instrument, a lyre.

  As he strummed, a pretty tune emerged, and each note seemed to carry longer than the last. It was a strange and ethereal sound, one that didn’t calm, but commanded attention. Persephone felt as if she were on the edge of her seat, and she couldn’t figure out why. Was she fearful of Apollo? Or was she waiting for the music to transform into something more?

  When he ended, the crowd erupted into applause.

  Persephone felt like an invisible hand had clasped her heart and just released it. She sagged into her chair, taking deep breaths.

  Apollo bowed to the crowd and then turned to Persephone.

  “And now let us welcome our beautiful judge!” He smiled, but his gaze was threatening.

  He gestured for Persephone to join him in the spotlight. She did, cringing when his arm snaked around her waist.

  “Persephone, beautiful goddess that you are, tell us who is the winner of tonight’s competition? Marsyas,” he paused to let the crowd boo, the earlier hypnosis they’d experienced while listening to his music, gone. “Or me, the God of Music.”

  The crowd cheered, and Apollo shoved the mic in her face. She could feel her heart
beating hard in her chest and sweat beaded on her forehead. She hated these lights; they were too bright and too hot.

  She looked at Apollo and then at Marsyas, who seemed just as frightened by what she might say.

  She spoke, her lips brushing the hard metal of the mic.

  “Marsyas.”

  That was when all hell broke loose.

  The crowd cried in protest and some rushed the stage. At the same time, the burly men who had dragged the satyr to the stage, returned and grabbed him again, forcing him to his knees.

  “No, no, please!” It was the first time the young man had spoken. He pleaded with her, his dark eyes desperate, “Take it back! Lord Apollo, I was wrong to speak against your talent. You are superior!”

  But his pleas fell on deaf ears because Apollo only had eyes for Persephone.

  “You dare defy me?” he said through his teeth. His jaw was clenched so hard, the veins in his neck popped.

  “There is no fine print, Apollo. Marsyas was better than you.”

  It didn’t help that she had never actually liked Apollo’s music.

  The god’s fury soon turned to amusement, and a wicked smile cut across his beautiful face. The sudden change in his demeanor turned her blood to ice.

  “Jury, judge, and executioner, Persephone.”

  He turned toward the crowd.

  “You have heard Persephone’s verdict,” he cried into the mic. “Marsyas, the winner.”

  The crowd was still angry. They shouted obscenities and threw things at the stage. Persephone ducked behind Apollo.

  “Careful,” he warned. “She is protected by Hades.”

  She found it odd that he would say that, thinking he might prefer that she face the abuse, but at his reminder, the crowd calmed.

  “Though Marsyas is the winner, he is still guilty of Hubris. How shall we punish him?”

  “Hang him!” someone yelled.

  “Gut him!” another said.

  “Flay him!” several cried. The cheers were the loudest then.

  “So be it!” Apollo returned the mic to its cradle and twisted toward Marsyas who was struggling in the arms of the men who held him.

  “Apollo, you cannot be serious!” Persephone reached for him, and the god shoved her aside.

  “Hubris is the downfall of humanity and should be punished,” he said. “I will be the punisher.”

  “He is a child!” she argued. “If he is guilty of Hubris, you are, too. Is your pride too wounded to let him live?”

  Apollo clenched his fists. “His death is on your hands, Persephone.”

  The goddess jumped in front of him, blocking Marsyas from view.

  “You will not touch him. You will not hurt him!” She was desperate, and she feared she might lose control. She could feel her magic pulsing, making her flesh tingle and her hair rise.

  Apollo laughed. “And how will you stop me?”

  Apollo’s magic surrounding her, suffocating her with the smell of laurel. She glared at him.

  “Now,” he turned back to Marsyas. “Let the skinning begin.”

  Persephone felt nauseous.

  This can’t be happening.

  Apollo summoned a blade from thin air, its edges gleamed beneath the burning lights.

  Persephone struggled to free herself, but the more she resisted, the heavier Apollo’s magic felt.

  She watched, wide-eyed and terrified as Apollo knelt before the satyr, and pressed the blade to his cheek.

  When she saw blood drip down his face, she lost control.

  “Stop!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. Her magic fled from her body. It was an unusual feeling, like it was coming out of all her pores and her mouth and her eyes. It burned as if it were tearing skin and blinded as if it were pure light.

  When the feeling faded, she was shocked to find everyone frozen: Apollo, his men, the crowd, everyone except Marsyas.

  The satyr stared at Persephone, face pale and stained with crimson from the wound Apollo had made.

  “Y-you’re a goddess.”

  Persephone rushed to him and tried to pry the man’s fingers from the satyr’s arm, but they were wrapped too tightly. Frantic, she looked for another option. She didn’t know how long her magic would hold. She wasn’t even sure how she’d managed to freeze the whole room.

  Then her eyes fell to the knife Apollo held inches from Marsyas’ face. She reached for it, and the slick handle slipping from his grasp. She took a few deep breaths before cutting into the man’s fingers so that Marsyas could free himself.

  “Run,” she said.

  “He will find me!” he argued, rubbing his arm.

  “I promise you he won’t come after you again,” she said. “Go!”

  The satyr obeyed.

  She waited until he was out of sight to turn to Apollo and kick him hard in the balls.

  The release of aggression was enough, and the whole room came to life again.

  “Motherfucker!” the man behind her roared clutching his hand to his chest while Apollo collapsed to the ground, groveling.

  Persephone loomed over him.

  “Don’t you ever put me in that situation again,” Persephone’s voice shook with anger. Apollo breathed heavily, glaring up at her. “We might have an agreement, but I will not be used. Fuck you.”

  She left the building with a smile on her face.

  CHAPTER XXI - A TOUCH OF BETRAYAL

  When Persephone returned home, she found Sybil, Zofie, and Antoni in her living room.

  “Oh, thank the gods!” Sybil said, rushing to embrace her. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Persephone said. Truthfully, she hadn’t felt this good in a while.

  “Where were you?” Zofie demanded.

  “The Lyre. Apollo decided today was the day he would take advantage of our bargain,” Persephone said.

  Zofie’s eyes widened. “You have a bargain with Apollo?”

  She didn’t respond and moved into the living room to sit on the couch, suddenly exhausted. The three followed her. “Did you tell Hades I was abducted?”

  Antoni rubbed the back of his neck and turned a little pink. He didn’t need to answer, she knew the cyclops had.

  Persephone sighed. “Someone should let him know I’m okay so he doesn’t destroy the world.”

  Antoni and Zofie exchanged a look.

  “I’ll do it,” Antoni said. “I’m glad you’re okay, Persephone.”

  She smiled at the cyclops. Once he was gone, Sybil sat beside Persephone.

  “What did Apollo make you do?”

  Persephone told Sybil and Zofie what had happened, leaving out how she managed to freeze everyone in the whole room and that she’d cut someone’s fingers off. She decided she did want them to know she had kicked Apollo in the balls, though. Sybil laughed. Zofie tried to hide her amusement, probably because she feared retaliation.

  “I don’t think he’ll force me to judge another competition any time soon,” she said. “Or abduct me from the street.”

  There was silence for a long moment.

  “Any updates on Lexa?” Persephone asked Sybil.

  The oracle shook her head. “She was still asleep when I visited.”

  More silence. There was a strange kind of exhaustion that seemed to settle upon them all at once and Persephone sighed.

  “I’m going to bed. See you guys tomorrow.”

  They said goodnight, and Persephone made her way to her room. She paused as she opened the door, overwhelmed by Hades’ scent. Her heart beat faster in her chest and her skin was hot. She felt silly, both excited and anxious at the possibility of seeing and speaking to him.

  She closed the door and said, “How long have you been here?”

  “Not long.” His voice came from the darkness. There was a rough undercurrent to his tone. She knew he was trying to keep a cap on his emotions. She could feel them raging around her, anger and fear and lust and longing.

  She would take them all if it meant being
close to him.

  “You know what happened?” she asked.

  “I overheard, yes.”

  “Are you angry?” She whispered the words and found that she feared his response.

  “Yes,” he said. “But not with you.”

  He had kept his distance until that point, and then she felt him, his energy reached for hers. His hands found her arms, her shoulders, and then her face. She inhaled sharply at his touch.

  “I couldn’t sense you,” he said. “I couldn’t find you.”

  Persephone placed her hands over his. “I’m here, Hades. I’m fine.”

  She thought he might kiss her, but instead he let go and turned on her light. It burned her eyes.

  “You will never know how difficult this is for me.”

  “I imagine as difficult as it’s been for me to deal with Minthe and Leuce.” Hades eyes darkened. “Except that Apollo has never been my lover.”

  He scowled. She was provoking him, but she needed to see his emotion, to see that he cared.

  “You have not been to the Underworld.”

  Persephone folded her arms over her chest.

  “I’ve been busy,” she said—and angry and afraid.

  “The souls miss you, Persephone,” Hades said at last. She looked at him, unsure where he was going with this. Did he miss her? “Do not punish them because you are angry with me.”

  “Don’t lecture me, Hades. You have no idea what I’ve been dealing with.”

  “Of course not. That would mean you’d have to talk to me.”

  She glared. “You mean like you talk to me? I’m not the only one with communication problems, Hades.”

  “I didn’t come here to argue with you,” he said. “Or lecture you. I came to see if you were okay.”

  “Why come at all? Antoni would have told you.”

  “I had to,” he said, and looked away, setting his jaw. “I had to see you myself.”

  She could feel what he didn’t say. The emotions that swelled between them were heavy with desperation and fear, but why wasn’t he saying that?

  “Hades, I—” She took a step toward him. She wasn’t sure what she was going to say. Maybe, I’m sorry? Those words didn’t quite seem like enough, though, and she didn’t have a chance to figure it out before Hades spoke.