“You know, we haven’t even discussed it. We’ve been very busy.”
“Of course,” the barista said. “Well, I’ll let you get back to work.”
Persephone offered a half-hearted smile as the barista turned to leave. She took a sip of her latte before turning her attention to her tablet, opening an article Helen had sent her late last night for review. She couldn’t quite describe how she felt when she read the title, but it was something akin to dread.
The Truth About Mortal Activist Group Triad
In the years since the Great Descent, mortals have been restless at the presence of gods on Earth. Since then, various groups have formed in opposition to their influence. Some choose to identify with the ideology of an Impious. These mortals do not pray or worship the gods, nor look to them for reprieve, preferring instead to avoid the Divine altogether. Some Impious prefer to take a passive role in the war against the gods.
Others take a more active role and have chosen to join Triad.
“Gods have a monopoly on everything—from the restaurant industry to clothing, even mining. It’s impossible for mortals to compete,” says an anonymous member of the organization. “What good is money to a god? It isn’t as if they have to survive in our world.”
It was an argument Persephone had heard before, and while she could not speak for other gods, she could defend Hades. The God of the Dead was the wealthiest of the Olympians, but his charitable contributions made a great impact on the mortal world.
Helen’s article continued:
Triad stands for three mortal rights—fairness, free will, and freedom. Their objective is simple: remove the influence of gods from everyday life. They claim to have new leadership that encourages a more peaceful approach to their resistance to the gods as opposed to their previous antics, which included bombing several public gathering places and god-owned businesses.
There was no evidence to suggest Triad had been behind any recent attacks. In fact, the only thing they’d been connected to in the last five years was a protest that had sprung up in the streets of New Athens to object to the Panhellenic Games. Despite being viewed as an important cultural event to some Greeks, Triad abhorred the act of gods choosing heroes and pitting them against one another. It was a practice that inevitably led to death, and while Persephone had to agree that fighting to the death was archaic, it was the mortal’s choice.
Gods, I’m starting to sound like Hades.
She read on:
Despite this claim of peace, there have been a reported 593 attacks against people with a public association with the gods in the last year. Those responsible say they are upholding Triad’s newest mission by ushering in a rebirth. This growing death toll has gone unnoticed by god and mortal alike, overshadowed by news of a marriage, a winter storm, and Aphrodite’s newest fashion line.
Perhaps the gods do not see Triad as a threat, but given their history, can they be trusted? As demonstrated, they are not the ones who will suffer if the so-called activist group decides to act. It will be innocent bystanders, and in a world where mortals outnumber gods, should we be asking what the Divine should do?
It was the last sentence that left Persephone with a sour taste in her mouth, especially on the heels of Adonis’s death. Still, even given the truths Helen highlighted in her article, Persephone needed more. She wanted to hear from Triad’s leadership—had they taken responsibility for those 593 attacks? If not, did they plan to condemn rogue actions? What were their plans for the future?
She was so focused on making notes, she didn’t notice anyone approach until a voice startled her from her work.
“Are you Persephone Rosi?”
She jumped, head snapping to meet the gaze of a woman with large brown eyes and arched brows. Her face was heart-shaped and framed by thick, dark hair. She wore a black coat, trimmed with fur, and clutched a cup of steaming coffee between her hands.
Persephone smiled at her and answered, “I am.”
She expected the woman to ask for a photo or an autograph, but instead, she took the lid off her coffee and poured it in her lap. Persephone jumped to her feet as the burn settled skin-deep and the whole shop went quiet.
For a moment, Persephone was stunned, silenced by the pain and her magic, which shook her bones, desperate to defend.
The woman turned, her task fulfilled, but instead of leaving, she came face-to-face with Zofie, an Amazon and Persephone’s aegis.
She was beautiful—tall and olive-skinned, dark hair falling in a long braid down her back. When Persephone first met her, she’d been dressed in gold armor, but after a trip to Aphrodite’s boutique, she’d come away with a modern wardrobe. Today, she wore a black jumper. The only item that didn’t fit was a large sword she held and swung at her assaulter’s head.
Screams erupted in the shop.
“Zofie!” Persephone cried, and the Amazon’s blade halted a hair from the woman’s neck. Zofie’s eyes locked with Persephone’s, her expression frustrated, as if she did not understand why she could not continue with her execution.
“Yes, my lady?”
“Put the sword away,” Persephone ordered.
“But—” Zofie began to protest.
“Now.”
The command slipped between clenched teeth. That was all Persephone needed, Zofie spilling blood on her behalf. This would already make headlines—people were shamelessly filming and taking pictures. She made a note to inform Ilias of this incident; perhaps he could get ahead of the media.
The Amazon grumbled but obeyed, and her sword vanished from sight. Without the threat of bodily harm, the woman regained her composure and turned to Persephone again.
“Lemming,” she hissed with more hatred in her eyes than Minthe or Demeter had ever possessed and stormed out of the Coffee House, signaling the pleasant chime of the bell on the door.
As soon as she was gone, Zofie spoke.
“One word, my lady. I’ll slay her in the alley.”
“No, Zofie. That’s all we need, a murder on our hands.”
“It’s not murder,” she argued. “It’s retribution.”
“I’m fine, Zofie.”
Persephone turned to gather her things, conscious that people were still watching. She wished she had control over lightning like Zeus, because she would electrocute every device in this place just to teach them to mind their own business.
“But…she wounded you!” Zofie argued. “Lord Hades will not be pleased with me.”
“You did your job, Zofie.”
“If I had done my job, you would not be injured.”
“You came as soon as you could,” Persephone said. “And I am not injured. I’m fine.”
She was lying, of course, mostly to protect Zofie. The Amazon was liable to attempt to resign again if she knew how much pain Persephone was in.
Who would have ever thought to use coffee as a weapon? Persephone thought. What a betrayal.
“Why did she attack you?”
Persephone frowned. She didn’t know.
Lemming, the woman had called her—another word for a blind follower. Persephone knew the word, but she’d never been called one before.
“I don’t know,” she said and sighed. She met Zofie’s gaze. “Call Ilias, and advise him of what happened. Perhaps he can get ahead of the media.”
“Of course, my lady. Where are you going?”
“To find Hades,” she said. And to assess the damage to her legs. Her skin stung beneath her clothes. “The last time someone tried to hurt me, he tortured them.”
She shrugged on her coat and sent Leuce and Helen a quick text, letting them know their morning meeting was canceled and she’d see them later tonight.
“I will see you at Sybil’s?” she asked the Amazon.
“Yes, for the housewarming,” Zofie said, and her brows pinched t
ogether. “Shall I bring wood?”
Persephone laughed. “No, Zofie. Bring…wine or food.”
Persephone didn’t know much about Zofie’s upbringing, but it was evident that the island from which she originated did not evolve with modern society. When she’d asked Hecate about it, she’d said, “That’s how Ares prefers it.”
“Prefers…what?”
“The Amazons are his children, bred for war, not the world. He keeps them sequestered on the island of Terme so that they will never know anything but battle.”
After learning this, Persephone wondered how Zofie had come to know Hades and became her aegis.
She focused on the Amazon again. “If you need ideas, just text Sybil and ask her what to bring. She’ll help.”
When Persephone stepped outside, the cold sliced into her, and it was worse where her clothing was wet, freezing her skin beneath. She made her way down the sidewalk, slick with water and gathering snow, rounding the corner of the building until she was out of sight of passersby before teleporting to the Underworld.
She appeared in her bedchamber, half expecting Hades to be there, waiting, frustrated, ready to inspect her for injury, but he had not arrived yet. She set her purse aside and shrugged out of her jacket, peeling off her faux leather leggings. She could still feel the residual sting where the hot coffee had sat against her skin. Luckily, the damage was minimal—her thighs were red and a little swollen, a hint of bubbled skin speckled across her legs. Maybe running cold water over it would help, she thought.
As she turned to enter the bathroom, she found her way blocked by Hades.
Persephone startled, her hands pressing to her heart, over her naked breast. The god stood with glittering eyes, smartly dressed in his tailored black suit. His hair was slick and tied into a perfect bun at the back of his head, not a wisp out of place. His chiseled jaw was close shaven and well manicured. He was immaculate and sexual, a presence that stole her breath and made her ache.
“Hades! You scared me.”
His gaze dropped to her chest and he grinned, reaching for her hand.
“You should have known I would find you once you took your clothes off. It is a sixth sense.”
As he bent to brush his lips along her knuckles, his eyes dipped lower, and a frown touched his mouth. He released her hand only to press his palm against her thigh. She shivered, his touch cool against the heat of the blisters.
“What is this?” His question was almost a hiss.
Apparently, word hadn’t reached him yet.
“A woman poured coffee into my lap,” Persephone explained.
“Poured?”
“If you are asking if it was intentional, the answer is yes.”
Something dark flashed in Hades’s eyes. It was the same look she’d seen last night when he’d brought news of Adonis’s death. After a moment, he knelt before her. A wave of magic burst from his hands, settling into her skin until she no longer felt the pain of the burns or saw the scalding upon her skin. Despite being healed, Hades remained on his knees, hands drifting to the backs of her legs.
“Will you tell me who this woman was?” Hades asked, his lips grazing the inner part of her thigh.
“No,” she said, inhaling sharply, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders.
“I cannot…persuade you?”
“Perhaps,” she admitted, the word escaping on a breath. “But I do not know her name, so all your…persuading would be in vain.”
“Nothing I do is in vain.”
Hades’s grip tightened on her, and his head dipped between her legs, his mouth closing over her clit. Persephone gasped, her fingers threading into his slick hair.
“Hades—”
“Don’t make me stop,” he said, his voice rough.
“You have thirty minutes,” she said.
Hades paused, looking up at her from the ground.
Gods, he was beautiful and so fucking erotic. The heat in the bottom of her stomach melted her insides. She was wet for him. By the time he put his mouth on her, she would come—he wouldn’t even need to coax an orgasm from her.
“Only thirty?”
“Do you need more?” she challenged.
He offered a wicked grin. “Darling, we both know I could make you come in five, but what if I’d like to take my time?”
“Later,” she said. “We have a party to attend, and I still need to make cupcakes.”
Hades frowned. “Is it not a mortal custom to be fashionably late?”
Persephone raised a brow. “Did Hermes tell you that?”
“Is he wrong?”
“I will not be late to Sybil’s party, Hades. If you wish to please me, then you’ll make me come and on time.”
Hades smirked.
“As you wish, my darling.”
Chapter IV
Never Have I Ever
Persephone manifested on the doorstep of Sybil’s apartment with Hades.
A shiver shook her spine.
It was a combination of the cold and thoughts from the last hour spent with the God of the Dead on his knees. She should be used to Hades’s wickedness, but he still found ways to surprise her—pleasuring her as she stood, one leg drawn over his shoulder. His tongue had tasted and teased, devoured and savored. She’d pressed into him, unable to keep her body from bearing down upon his mouth. She’d come, coaxed by a growl that erupted from deep in Hades’s chest. She’d finished with enough time to make the cupcakes for Sybil’s party.
Another shiver racked her body. The cold was piercing, like needles sinking into her skin. It was unnatural weather for August and nothing—not even the happiness Hades’s love had inspired—could quell the dread she felt as the snow continued to fall.
It’s the start of a war.
They were Hades’s words, spoken the night he had proposed, this time on a bent knee with a ring. It had been the best moment of her life but overshadowed by Demeter’s magic. Suddenly, the tips of Persephone’s fingers tingled with power, reacting to the sudden shiver of rage that shot up her back.
Hades’s hand tightened around her waist.
“Are you well?” he asked, no doubt sensing the surge in her magic.
Persephone had not yet completely managed to keep her magic from reacting to her emotions.
“Persephone?”
Hades’s voice drew her attention, and she realized she had not answered his earlier question. She tilted her head, meeting his dark gaze. Warmth blossomed in the pit of her stomach as her eyes fell to his lips and the inviting stubble on his jaw, recalling how it felt against her skin, a delicious friction that teased and taunted.
“I am well,” she replied.
Hades raised a doubtful brow.
“I am,” she said. “I was just thinking about my mother.”
“Do not ruin your evening thinking of her, my darling.”
“It is a little hard to ignore her given the weather, Hades.”
He lifted his head and stared at the sky for a moment, his body going rigid beside hers, and she knew he was just as concerned, but she didn’t ask for his thoughts on the matter. Tonight, she wanted to have fun, because something told her that beyond this night, nothing would be.
She knocked, but instead of seeing Sybil, a blond man answered the door. His hair fell in soft waves just above his shoulders. His eyes were hooded and blue and his jaw marked by stubble. He was handsome but a complete stranger.
Weird, Persephone thought. She was certain this was Sybil’s apartment.
“Um, I think we might have the wrong—”
“Persephone, right?” the man asked.
She hesitated and Hades’s arm tightened around her.
“Persephone!” Sybil popped up behind the man, ducked under his arm, and pulled her into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here!”
There was a note of relief in her voice. Sybil pulled away, and her eyes shifted to Hades.
“I’m glad you could come too, Hades.” Sybil’s voice was quiet and shy. Persephone was a little surprised, given that she was no stranger to the gods. She had served Apollo only months ago as his oracle…until he stripped her of her powers of prophecy after she refused to sleep with him. His behavior made him the subject of Persephone’s article, but her decision to write about the God of the Sun had been a disaster.
It turned out he was beloved, and Persephone’s article was seen as slander. Not only that, Hades had been furious—so furious that he had held Persephone prisoner in the Underworld until he could bargain with Apollo so the god would not seek revenge.
That experience had taught Persephone a lot of lessons, chiefly that the world was not ready to believe a woman in pain. It was one of the reasons she’d started The Advocate.
“I appreciate the invitation,” Hades replied.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” the blond stranger asked.
Persephone noted the way Sybil froze. It was only a second, as if she had forgotten the man was present, and a small, apologetic smile formed upon her face before she turned.
“Persephone, Hades, this is Ben.”
“Hi,” he said, extending his hand for them to shake. “I’m Sybil’s boyfrie—”
“Friend. Ben is a friend,” Sybil said quickly.
“Well, soon-to-be boyfriend,” Ben said, grinning, but the look Sybil gave her was desperate. Persephone’s gaze slid from the oracle to the mortal as she accepted his clammy, outstretched hand.
“It’s…nice to meet you.”
Ben shifted toward Hades. The God of the Dead looked down at his hand. “You do not want to shake my hand, mortal.”
Ben’s eyes widened a little, and an awkward silence followed, but only for a beat before Ben’s smile returned.
“Well, shall we go in?” he asked.
He stood aside, gesturing for everyone to enter. Persephone arched her brow at Hades as they stepped into the warm apartment. Hades had the ability to see to the soul, and Persephone wondered what he glimpsed when he looked at Ben, though she thought she could guess.
A Touch of Malice Page 4