“I’m sorry, Sybil.”
She shrugged. “That’s what I get for trying to rebound,” she joked. Still, Persephone frowned. Sybil was referring to her short-lived relationship with Aro. The mortal had been a long-time friend of Sybil’s, and it had seemed like a good match, but for whatever reason, Aro had just wanted to remain friends.
“I think I’m more upset that I will never be able to go into Four Olives again. That was one of my favorite lunch spots.”
“Guess there’s always delivery,” Persephone said.
“Yes, but he’s likely to show up with my order, and I really do not want him to know where I work.”
“Based on his creep factor, I’d say he already knows where you work.”
Sybil offered Persephone a dull look. “Thanks, friend.”
Persephone grinned. “Don’t worry. I don’t think he could get past Ivy.”
Ivy was the receptionist for Alexandria Tower. She was a dryad—a woodland nymph. She was organized and regimented. No one went beyond her desk who was not invited.
“Let’s have lunch soon,” Sybil said, offering another hug before returning to work.
Persephone wasn’t left alone long before Leuce and Helen arrived. Helen squealed at the news of their new office space, and the two ran around the floor in a flurry, checking out the offices, arguing over which desk they would take, and discussing decor. Persephone wandered into the first office on the left, shed her jacket, and pulled out her laptop.
As she sat, there was a knock at the door. Looking up, she found Helen waiting in the doorway.
“Hey, did you have a chance to read my article?”
“Yes. Have a seat,” Persephone said.
“You didn’t like it,” Helen said immediately, stepping farther into the office.
“It isn’t that, Helen. You have some valid points, but…this is a dangerous article.”
Helen’s brows knitted together. “How is it dangerous?”
“You comment on the gods,” Persephone said and quoted, “In a world where mortals outnumber gods, should we be asking what the Divine should do?”
“I am not asking for anything less than you did when you wrote about Hades,” Helen argued.
“Helen—”
“Fine. I’ll take the sentence out,” Helen said, her tone clipped, her frustration obvious. It gave Persephone pause—she’d never witnessed this behavior from her before. In all the time she had worked with her at New Athens News and since launching The Advocate, Helen had been cheerful and enthusiastic. Then again, Persephone had never critiqued her work before.
Despite her reaction, Persephone felt relieved that she’d agreed to delete her commentary on the gods.
“I also want you to find someone in Triad’s leadership to interview.”
Helen’s lips flattened. “You don’t think I tried? No one returned my emails. These people don’t want to be known.”
“Email isn’t the only way to track down a source, Helen. If you want it bad enough, you’ll do the footwork.”
Helen’s blue eyes sparked. “And how do you suggest tracking down the secret leadership of a terrorist organization?”
Persephone shrugged a shoulder. “I’d pretend I was one of them.”
“You want me to pretend I’m a member of Triad?”
“You want to break a story? You want to be the first to reveal the higher ranks of New Greece’s most dangerous terrorist organization? This is what it will take. In the end, it’s entirely up to you. What do you want?”
Helen was silent, staring at Persephone. After a long moment, she asked, “And what if they find out what I’m doing?”
Persephone stiffened but answered. “I can protect you.”
“You mean Hades can.”
“No,” she said. “I mean that I will protect you.”
Helen left and Persephone’s shoulders sagged. Why had her conversation with Helen felt like a standoff? She definitely expected Helen to be a little more receptive to her feedback, and the fact that she hadn’t was surprising. It felt contrary to the person she thought Helen was—but perhaps she didn’t know the girl at all.
All of a sudden, magic curled around her, straightening her spine, and the familiar scent of laurel permeated the air.
“Fuck,” Persephone said right before she vanished from sight.
Chapter IX
The Palaestra of Delphi
She would never get used to being stolen away by another god’s magic, save Hades. She didn’t like the feel of it, the way it cradled her, caressed her skin, invaded her senses, but at least she knew who was doing it based on the scent of the magic.
“Apollo,” she growled.
The cold hit her instantly as she manifested at the center of a long, rectangular courtyard surrounded by a roofed porch. The snow falling from the sky was minimal—a few flurries swirling in the air—but the earth at her feet was wet and muddy. She scanned her environment, attempting to figure out exactly where she was, but froze as a well-muscled, naked man stumbled backward, like he’d been pushed.
Her eyes widened, heart hammering. Move, she told herself, but for some reason, her feet wouldn’t go. Then she was yanked by her arm, crashing into a hard, leather-clad chest. Persephone planted her hands and pushed, but whoever held her released her quickly. She staggered back, and her eyes slowly made their way up the colossal frame of a man. From his strong calves wrapped with the leather straps of his sandals to his leather linothorax to his round, white-irised eyes. They were probably the most stunning part about him—and the most unnerving. His jaw was strong, his face handsome and framed by inky curls. The man was a warrior, a hoplite, if she had to guess judging by his outfit.
Persephone started to thank the man for helping her when she heard a loud thud behind her. She whirled to find the naked man had rolled onto his stomach while another naked man had his hands cupped beneath his chin, his head pulled back.
“Do you yield?” yelled the man.
The other man growled, an angry sound that came from deep in his chest.
Beside her, the man who had saved her chuckled.
She looked at him.
“Where am I?” she asked.
The man did not seem to hear her, so she asked again.
“Do you know where I am?”
Again, he did not seem to hear. This time, she stepped in front of him. His gaze fell, meeting hers.
“Can you tell me where I am?”
His brows knitted together, and he looked around. Maybe he was confused by her question. After a moment, he stuck out his hand, as if asking for hers. Hesitantly, she obliged and he flipped it, tracing letters into her palm.
D-E-L-P-H-I, he spelled, and then P-A-L-A-E-S-T-R-A.
A palaestra was a training center, primarily used for wrestling.
The Palaestra of Delphi.
She was in Delphi.
“Apollo,” she gritted out, frustrated that the God of the Sun had brought her here with absolutely no notice. Despite his warning last night at Aphrodite’s, she thought he’d at least visit before whisking her away to some unknown engagement.
Then she looked up into the man’s haunting, white eyes.
“You are deaf?” she asked.
He nodded.
“But you read lips,” she said.
He nodded again.
“Thank you for saving me earlier.”
He brought his flat palm to his lips and moved it in a forward motion, speaking, “You’re welcome.”
His speech was slightly distorted, almost guttural.
She smiled just as a voice rang out that made her cringe.
“There you are, sugar dumplin’!”
Persephone whirled to find the God of the Sun striding toward them. He looked luminous, especially in the gloom o
f the day. He wore a similar outfit to the enormous man behind her, but his breastplate was gold and laurel leaves twined through his dark hair. Despite the exuberant tone of his voice, he seemed almost frustrated, his jaw tight, his eyes an unnatural shade of purple.
“Apollo,” she gritted out as he took hold of her arm.
“Don’t like that one, either, huh?” he asked.
“We talked about nicknames.”
“I know but I thought you might…warm to it.” She glared and Apollo sighed. “Fine. Let’s go, Seph!”
“Apollo,” she warned, planting her feet. “Let go of my arm.”
He whirled to face her, eyes aglow. Something was definitely off.
“Bargain,” he snapped, as if that word would convince her to let him push her around.
“The word you are looking for is please.”
They glared at one another, and then all of a sudden, she felt a presence behind her. She tilted her head back and found the massive man who had helped her earlier. He hovered, glaring at Apollo, thick arms crossed over his chest.
“Are you challenging me, mortal?” Apollo’s eyes narrowed. Persephone could feel his magic gather.
“You will not fight him,” Persephone said, glaring at him pointedly.
Apollo chuckled. “Fight? There would be no fight. This one couldn’t take me in battle.”
“I’ll fight for you, my lord.” Another voice joined the fray, and they all turned to see the naked men who had been wrestling earlier. They’d stopped and now stood bare and muddy, completely oblivious to the cold—or too numb. The one speaking had been the one with the advantage earlier. He was handsome, with large brown eyes, a mass of short, curly hair, and a beard.
“There’s no need,” Persephone said.
“I do not answer to you, woman.”
For the briefest second, Persephone saw fury flash in Apollo’s eyes.
“This woman is Hades’s betrothed, the future Queen of the Underworld. Kneel before her or face my wrath.”
The man’s eyes widened before he dropped to his knee, followed by his opponent and the deaf man, her new friend. When she looked at the God of the Sun, he was smiling.
“See what your title does to men, Persephone?”
She sighed. “I should have left this bargain when I had the chance.”
She pushed past Apollo and headed for the cover of the porch. She didn’t know where she was going, but it was cold, and she was angry.
“You don’t even know where you’re going, Seph,” Apollo said, jogging to catch up.
“As far away from your dick-measuring contest as possible,” she replied.
“You act like that was my fault,” he said. “You were the one who didn’t come when I asked.”
“You didn’t ask. You commanded. We talked about this.”
Apollo was silent as he walked beside her. After a moment, he started to make what sounded like hissing sounds. “I’m…s-s—”
Persephone slowed as Apollo struggled beside her. He tried again.
“I’m sor—”
His mouth quivered, as if the words made him want to vomit.
“I’m sorry,” he finally managed, shuddering.
“Is your brain hemorrhaging?” Persephone asked.
“This might surprise you, but apologizing isn’t my thing,” Apollo said, glaring.
“I am astonished. I would have never guessed.”
“You know, you could acknowledge how difficult that was for me. Isn’t that what friends are for?”
“Oh, we’re friends now? Because it sure didn’t feel like we were friends earlier.”
Apollo frowned.
“I…didn’t mean to upset you,” Apollo said. “I was…frustrated.”
“I noticed. Why?”
“I got…distracted while bringing you here,” he admitted. “I thought…I lost you.”
Persephone’s brows furrowed. “Why were you distracted?”
Apollo started to open his mouth and then closed it. “The snow started falling again.”
At the mention of snow, she turned in the direction he was gazing. The flurries swirled, thicker now, and her stomach knotted.
“Can we please agree that you will not teleport my entire being without permission?”
“Does Hades need permission?”
Again, she glared.
“How else am I supposed to summon you?”
“Like normal people do.”
“I am not people.”
“Apollo—”
They’d been together for seconds and she had already warned him twice.
“Fine,” he sighed, folding his arms over his chest as he pursed his lips.
“Why did you bring me here?” Persephone asked.
“I wanted to introduce you to my hero,” he said. “But you already met him.”
“The big one?” she asked, thinking he meant the deaf man, and was surprised when Apollo’s features hardened.
“No, that is my hero’s opponent, Ajax. My hero is Hector, He Who Holds Everything Together.”
She expected him to look a little prouder of that fact, but as he continued to speak, she understood his frustration.
“The one who insulted you.”
“Hmm, where did you find him?”
“Delos,” he said. “He is a decorated hero but arrogant. It will be the death of him.”
“And yet you give him your favor?”
“Delos is where my mother took refuge to give birth to me and Artemis,” he said. “Those are my people, and he protected them. I owe him favor.”
They cast their gazes toward the field where several men lingered, all naked. She noted Hector, whose eyes were narrowed, expression mocking. She followed his gaze and saw that he stared at Ajax, who was in the middle of removing his clothes. Persephone averted her eyes. She knew it was traditional for Greeks to participate in most sports naked—with the exception of chariot races—but did they really need to practice that way too?
“Hades is not going to be happy when he finds out how I spent my day,” she mused.
She expected Apollo to make a sarcastic reply, but all he said was, “Hmm.”
When she looked at him, his gaze was fixed to Ajax, eyes burning. She knew that look, even in someone else’s eyes, because it was the way Hades looked at her. She elbowed Apollo.
“I thought Hector was your hero,” Persephone said.
“He is.”
“Then why are you staring at Ajax?”
A muscle feathered in Apollo’s jaw.
“It would be foolish of me not to watch my hero’s opponent.”
“When he’s undressing?” she asked, raising a brow.
Apollo sneered. “I don’t like you.”
She cackled, but her amusement was short-lived when she heard something that darkened her spirits.
“Look at him—dressed like a warrior and can’t hear a thing,” one of the men on the field said. He stood beside another, arms crossed, nodding toward Ajax. “What a joke.”
Persephone’s fists clenched, and she looked to Apollo, whose face remained emotionless.
“I don’t trust him,” said another. “What if he’s fooling us all? Perhaps he’s pretending he is deaf so we will let down our guard or go easy on him?”
“He’s a favor fuck,” a woman added. “Poseidon’s if I’ve heard correctly.”
They all laughed but Persephone was appalled. She looked at Apollo.
“Will you let them continue to speak like this?”
“They are not my heroes,” he said.
“They might not be your heroes, but you are chancellor of the games. Do you not set the standard for their behavior?” She paused. “Or is this the standard?”
Apollo’s gaze was murdero
us, but their attention returned to the field as Hector bent to pick up a wooden staff.
“Apollo.” Persephone’s voice rose in pitch.
Hector reared back, his strength evident in the bulge of his muscles, and threw the staff toward Ajax. Persephone watched in horror as the staff flew through the air, straight for Ajax’s head, but then the mortal turned in time and caught the staff with one hand. He stared at it for a second before his cold gaze fell upon Hector and those who had stood aside during the attempted assault. Their smirks faded into gaping mouths, just as Persephone’s was now.
Ajax broke the staff across his knee and discarded the pieces. Hector smiled.
“So your reflexes are good—but how are you in the pit?”
In the next second, he charged Ajax. Together, they fell into the mud, water sloshing everywhere, spraying the faces of those closest. Apollo drew closer to the edge of the portico as the two wrestled—except they weren’t exactly wrestling, they were fighting. For a moment, Hector seemed to have the upper hand, pummeling Ajax’s face after he landed on his back, but Ajax quickly took charge, capturing Hector’s fist between his hands and throwing him off as if he weighed nothing. The two got to their feet, circling each other, their expressions full of rage.
Hector rushed at Ajax, who bent, punching him in the stomach. Then he lifted Hector off his feet and flipped him onto his back.
“They hate each other,” Persephone said.
“They are opponents,” Apollo replied, but Persephone was not so sure. Hector laughed and joked with the other heroes; it was Ajax he treated differently. She wondered briefly if it was because he was different—deaf—or perhaps it was jealousy. Ajax was strong and capable despite his hearing. Still, Persephone felt as though she knew this rage—she had felt it in the Forest of Despair.
Her gaze returned to Hector, who moaned on the frozen ground.
As quick as their fight had begun, it was over. Ajax did not stand over Hector to gloat, but he did turn and glare at Apollo before gathering his clothes and leaving the courtyard.
Persephone’s brows drew together as she looked from the mortal’s retreating form to the God of the Sun.
“Aren’t you going to check on your hero?” she asked.
“No. It is Hector’s punishment for his hubris,” Apollo said. “Perhaps this will humble him before he faces Ajax in the Panhellenic Games.”
A Touch of Malice Page 10