“What could I have offered, Hecate? A wilted rose? The sun on a cold day?”
“You mock yourself and yet your mother terrorizes the Upperworld with snow and ice. The sun is just what the mortal world needs.”
Persephone frowned. The idea of attempting to counter her mother’s magic was overwhelming. Again, Hecate stopped her.
“Coming from the woman who used Hades’s magic against him.”
Persephone narrowed her eyes. “Hecate, have you been hiding that you can read my mind?”
“Hiding implies that I willfully misled you,” Hecate replied.
Persephone raised a brow.
“But yes, of course I can read minds,” Hecate answered, and then, as if it would explain everything, she added, “I am a goddess and a witch.”
“Great.” Persephone rolled her eyes.
“Don’t worry,” Hecate said. “I’m used to tuning out, especially when you’re thinking about Hades.”
The goddess scrunched her nose and Persephone groaned.
“My point is, Persephone, there will come a time when you can no longer masquerade as a mortal.”
A frown pulled at Persephone’s lips, but even she was beginning to wonder how long she would be able to keep up this charade, especially with her mother’s magic running rampant in the Upperworld.
“It was noble, to want to be known for your work, but you are more than Persephone, a journalist. You are Persephone, Goddess of Spring, future Queen of the Underworld. You have so much more to offer than words.”
She thought of something Lexa had told her about what it meant to be a goddess. You are kind and compassionate and you fight for your beliefs, but mostly, you fight for people.
Persephone took a deep breath.
“And what am I supposed to do? Announce my divinity to the world?”
“Oh, my dear, do not worry about how the world will come to know you.”
Persephone shivered, and while part of her wanted to know what Hecate meant, another part of her didn’t.
“Come. You wanted to practice.”
The goddess sat on the grass and patted the spot beside her. Persephone sighed, knowing Hecate intended for her to meditate. She did not like meditating, but she had been working on drawing upon her magic, and while she was getting better, it was usually via Hades’s instruction she was most successful.
She took her place beside Hecate, releasing Nefeli to wander in the surrounding meadow. Hecate began, coaching her to close her eyes as she narrated how Persephone should think of her magic—as a well or pool that she could draw from anytime.
“Imagine the pool—glistening, cool.”
The problem was Persephone didn’t think of her magic as a pool at all—it was darkness, shadow. It wasn’t cool; it was fire. It wasn’t calm; it was furious. It had been locked away so long, freedom had made it feral. When she got close, it gnashed, sprouted, drew blood. It was the opposite of peace—the opposite of meditation.
While she sat with her eyes closed, she felt magic stir around her—it was Hecate’s—a heavy and ancient power that smelled like a fine wine, aged and sharp, and felt like dread. Persephone’s eyes flew open only to find that the small, fluffy dog from earlier had transformed into a massive hellhound. She was no longer cute but fierce. Her eyes glowed red, her teeth were long and sharp, and her jowls dripped, salivating with hunger.
Nefeli growled, and Persephone’s eyes darted to Hecate, who had moved to hover behind her new grim.
“Hecate—” Persephone’s voice took on an edge of warning.
“Yes, my lady?”
“Don’t my lady me,” she snapped. “What are you doing?”
“We’re practicing.”
“This isn’t practice!”
“It is. You must be prepared for the unexpected. Not all are as they appear, Persephone.”
“I think I get it. The dog isn’t cute.”
A deadly growl erupted from Nefeli’s throat. She inched toward Persephone like a predator cornering its prey, pinning her against the ground.
“Did she insult you, my sweet?” Hecate asked, her voice sweet but chiding.
Persephone glared at the goddess as she encouraged the hound she’d decried earlier.
“If you want her to yield, use your magic,” Hecate said.
Persephone’s eyes widened. What magic was she supposed to use to call off a hound? “Hecate—”
The goddess sighed. “Nefeli!”
As Hecate said the hound’s name, her ears went back, and for a brief moment, Persephone thought that she was going to call off the dog.
Instead, Hecate said, “Attack.”
Persephone’s eyes widened, and in the next second, she teleported, landing in the grass beside the Aleyonia Ocean. She’d only been here once, on a night when she’d wandered from Hades’s palace and gotten lost. She rose onto her hands and knees, realizing that she’d missed falling from the cliffside by an inch. Her limbs shook as she settled into the grass, drawing her knees to her chest. She sat for a long while, letting the salty wind dry the tears that streaked her face, replaying what had happened in the meadow.
Teleporting had felt like her only option as soon as Hecate had given her orders, and while she was now safe, she also felt like she’d failed. She did not blame Hecate. She knew what the goddess was trying to teach her. She had to think faster. As soon as she had felt Hecate’s magic surround her, she should have been on alert. Instead, she’d grown too comfortable—so comfortable she had not taken her instruction seriously.
She would not make the same mistake a second time—because eventually, there would be no room for second chances.
Chapter VI
A Treat
Persephone paced her bedchamber.
Hades had not returned since leaving her in the limo, and while she wasn’t anxious about his absence, she was nervous about trying to sleep without him. Each time she looked at their bed, she felt dread. At least when Hades was here, she knew he would guard her sleep and wake her from her nightmares if Pirithous decided to show.
She paused in front of the fireplace, and her eyes fell to Hades’s decanter of whiskey. Curious, she picked it up, studying the amber liquid. Through the crystal, it glittered like citrine gems. Once, she’d asked Hades why he preferred whiskey as his drink of choice.
“It’s healthy,” he’d said.
She’d snorted.
“It is,” he’d argued. “It helps me relax.”
“But you drink it constantly,” she pointed out.
He’d shrugged then. “I like to feel relaxed constantly.”
If it helped Hades relax, maybe it would help her.
She pulled the cap free and took a drink. It was surprisingly…sweet. It reminded her of vanilla and caramel, two ingredients she had a lot of experience with. She took another drink, detecting a hint of spice similar to Hades’s smell. She liked it. Tucking the bottle against her breasts, she left the bedroom and wandered into the kitchen, flipping on the lights, which seemed far too bright after walking through the shadowed halls of the palace.
She was becoming more familiar with Milan’s kitchen, and surprisingly, the cook was happy to share the space, most likely because Persephone could teach him more modern recipes. In particular, he was eager to learn how to make cakes.
“You know,” Persephone had said one afternoon as she taught him how to decorate sugar cookies. “I’m sure there are plenty of celebrated chefs in Asphodel. Have you ever thought of bringing them into your kitchen?”
“I never had any reason to,” Milan said. “My lord is a creature of habit. He has eaten the same thing for eternity—no wish for variety or…flavor.”
That sounded like Hades.
“I am sure he will be open to trying a few new dishes.”
“If the suggestion comes from your l
ips, I have no doubt he will bend to your will.”
Milan was not wrong. Persephone understood the power she wielded over Hades. He would do anything for her.
Burn the world for her.
Those words shuddered through her, their truth ringing deep, and she wondered as the snow and ice coated the earth above if Hades would hold true to his words.
She sighed and focused on her task. She decided that what she needed other than whiskey was brownies. She set to work, locating ingredients, bowls, and measuring cups. She started by melting butter, then mixed it with sugar. She took pleasure in beating the eggs, which was a good thing because she didn’t want to take her frustration out on the actual batter—over beating wouldn’t give her the texture she wanted. After the eggs, she added vanilla, flour, and cocoa powder. Once the batter was mixed, she poured it into a pan, smoothing the blunt end of her spoon over the top before sampling.
“Hmm,” she sighed at the flavor upon her tongue—warm and sweet.
“How does it taste?”
The sound of Hades’s voice was followed by his presence as he manifested behind her. Persephone turned her head toward him—she could feel his breath on her cheek as she answered.
“Divine.”
She turned to him and dragged her finger along the spoon, gathering enough batter for him.
“Taste,” she whispered as her fingers parted his lips.
It took no coaxing—Hades’s tongue glided along her finger, the pressure of his mouth increasing as he sucked away what remained of the batter. When he released her, he made a deep sound in the back of his throat and his voice rumbled as he spoke.
“Exquisite,” he said. “But I have tasted divinity and there is nothing sweeter.”
His words tightened her chest and made the space they shared feel even smaller. They stared at one another for a moment, simmering in the heat they shared until Persephone turned away, returning the spoon to the bowl.
“Where were you?” she asked, picking up the pan of brownies and sliding them into the oven. An overwhelming wave of heat hit her face as she opened the door.
“I had business,” Hades replied, evasive as ever.
Persephone let the oven door slam and turned to him. “Business? At this hour?”
She wasn’t even sure of the time, but she knew it was early morning.
He offered a menacing smile and inclined his head. “I make bargains with monsters, Persephone.” He glanced at the bowl on the counter. “And you, apparently, bake.”
She frowned.
“You couldn’t sleep?” he asked.
“I didn’t try.”
It was Hades’s turn to frown, and then his eyes shifted. “Is that my whiskey?”
Persephone followed his gaze to where she’d left the crystal container.
“Was,” she replied.
Then she felt Hades’s hand on her chin as he turned her face to his and pressed his lips to hers, lightly at first and then harder, moving closer, sealing the space between them.
“I ache for you,” he said against her mouth. His hands skimmed down her body, one hand squeezed her ass, and the other pressed against the silk of her dressing gown to stroke her damp center through the fabric. Persephone groaned, her fingers digging into his shirt as heat blossomed in the bottom of her stomach, melting between her thighs. Every part of her felt sensitive and swollen.
Hades broke the kiss and Persephone hissed as he moved to press his erection into the warmth of her body.
“Let’s play a game,” he said.
“I think I am done with games for the night,” she said, breathless.
“Just one,” he said, kissing her jaw, and reached for the batter-covered spoon she’d dropped into the mixing bowl earlier.
Her brows furrowed as she watched him, curious.
“Never have I ever,” he said, trailing the back of the spoon across her chest. The batter was cold, and she shivered.
“Hades—”
“Shh,” he said, smirking, and traced the spoon over her lips. She started to lick the batter away. “Stop.”
She froze, his eyes heated.
“That’s for me.”
She swallowed hard.
“Never have I ever wanted anyone but you.”
“Never? Even before you knew I existed?” she challenged.
“Yes,” he said, and he licked her lips before parting her mouth. He tasted like fudge and whiskey and he smelled like spice—a blend of cloves and geraniums and wood. His lips drifted to her jaw, and her lips were left swollen from his kiss. He spoke against her skin, the words vibrating in the bottom of her stomach. “Before you, I only knew loneliness, even in a room full of people—it was an ache, sharp and cold and constant, and I was desperate to fill it.”
“And now?” she breathed.
Hades chuckled. “Now I ache to fill you.”
His tongue touched her chest as he licked away the batter on her skin, and his hands came to rest on her breasts, fingers teasing her nipples through her nightdress. Persephone gasped, her fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, but Hades had other ideas as he lifted her onto the edge of the island, settling between her legs. He was so close, she couldn’t continue undressing him.
“Tell me about tonight,” he said, hands trailing her thighs lightly, teasing her entrance. She felt so uncomfortably empty.
“I don’t want to talk about tonight,” she said, reaching for his wrist, attempting to draw him inside her.
“I do,” he said, still circling her, sending a pleasurable thrill up her spine like a lightning strike. “You were upset.”
“I feel…stupid,” she said.
“Never,” he breathed as a finger curled inside her. Hades’s arm kept her head from falling back, their eyes held as he begged. “Tell me.”
“I was jealous,” she said between her teeth, the ugly feeling tearing through her just as powerful as the pleasure he was giving her now. “That you had shared so much with so many before me, and I know you cannot help it and that you have lived so long…but I…”
Her words were swallowed by an overwhelming sensation—a wave of pleasure that rattled her brain and stole her words. She could barely breathe and Hades chased that feeling, fingers spiraling deeper, thumb brushing lightly over her clit.
“I’d have had you from the beginning,” Hades said, his tone low, grating, sensual. “But the Fates are cruel.”
“I was only given to punish,” she said.
“No, you are pleasure. My pleasure.”
He kissed her mouth again as his fingers continued to work and their breaths mingled, coming faster until Hades pressed his palm to her chest and guided her onto her back. He stared down at her as he spoke.
“It is you now, you forever.”
As he bent, coaxing her legs wide, tongue tasting her swollen center, she arched off the granite counter upon which he feasted. His fingers and tongue moved faster, chasing her orgasm with each breathy moan, but before she could come, he stopped, straightened, and pulled her off the counter.
“What are you doing?” she asked as her feet touched the ground. There was something dark in his gaze and it was erotic and violent, and Persephone wanted to challenge it, to bring it to life.
“When I’m finished, the next time we play that damned game, you’ll walk away so drunk, I’ll have to carry you home.”
“So what? You intend to fuck me in all the ways I haven’t been fucked tonight?”
He laughed. “Technically, it’s morning.”
“I have to go to work soon.”
“Pity,” he said and spun her around, and with his hand on her neck, he pushed her forward until her face touched the granite countertop. He kicked her legs apart and entered her from behind, sinking deep. The hand that had grasped her neck moved to her mouth an
d he parted her lips. She sucked on his fingers, tasting the metallic of her come on his skin.
Persephone reached to grip the edge of the counter as Hades pumped into her, but as soon as he started, he lifted her off the counter. A guttural sound escaped her mouth as she moved with him still inside her, his cock touching a different, more sensitive place as her back met his chest.
“I haven’t forgotten your earlier claim.” His voice was gravelly against her ear. He was referring to the game they’d played at Sybil’s, when she’d claimed to have faked an orgasm.
“I lied,” she groaned, trying to move against him, but Hades would not budge.
“I know,” he said, and his teeth grazed her shoulder. “And I intend to discourage such lies. I will fuck you to the point that you are desperate for release—over and over again so that when you finally do come, you won’t even remember your name.”
The promise in his voice excited her.
“You think you’ll be able to stop?” she asked. “To deprive yourself of the satisfaction of my orgasm?”
Hades smirked. “If it means hearing you beg for me, darling—yes.”
He craned her neck and devoured her mouth. His tongue twined with hers, sweeping and sliding, coaxing her mouth so wide, her jaw hurt. She could not even kiss him back. This one was his and she could only cling to him. When he released her, it was to turn her around, lift her leg, and enter her again. The angle let them remain close, and he covered her mouth with his, kissing her so hard, she couldn’t take in air. When his lips left hers, it was to trail kisses and teeth over her neck, pausing to suck the sensitive skin until it bruised beneath his touch. When she could no longer hold herself up, he pressed her into the wall, thrusting harder, faster.
She watched his face, eyes wild and unfocused, a sheen of sweat beading across his face—until she could no longer focus on anything but the feel of him and the pleasure he wrung from within her.
“I love you,” he said. “I have only ever loved you.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“Do you?” he questioned her through his teeth, but not from anger. He was straining, the veins in his neck popped, and his face was flushed.
A Touch of Malice Page 7