A Game of Fate (Hades Saga #1)(14)

“Perhaps if you got laid more often, you wouldn’t feel the need to torture your subjects,” Hermes said.

Hades grinded his teeth, something he had done all day. His jaw would hurt tomorrow. Hermes’ words frustrated him for two reasons—that the god felt the need to comment on his sex life at all, and because his thoughts turned to the beautiful Persephone.

He felt a tightening in his groin that almost made him groan.

“Has anyone ever told you, you might need therapy?” Hermes asked. “Because I’m pretty sure torturing people is a sign of psychopathy.”

Hades glared at Hermes, who was now holding a cattle prod. Suddenly, it sparked, making a terrible clicking sound. The god yelped and dropped it immediately.

Hades raised a brow. Sometimes, it was hard to remember that Hermes was actually a skilled warrior.

“What?” he challenged. “It scared me!”

Hades swiped the cattle prod from the ground and turned toward the man named Isidore sitting in the center of his office, then said, “Wake.”

The man’s head lolled, and his eyes opened and closed, heavy with fatigue.

Hades waited while the mortal familiarized himself with his surroundings, only speaking when he saw recognition on his face.

“Welcome to my realm,” Hades said.

Isidore’s eyes widened. “Am I…am I in Tartarus?”

Hades did not answer. Instead, he said, “You are Impious.”

The Impious were mortals, and immortals alike, who rejected the gods when they came to Earth during The Great Descent for a number of reasons—some felt abandoned, some felt the gods were hypocrites, others no longer wished to be ruled. In the end, the two sides went to war, the Impious and the Faithful. Hades had not been eager to join in the fight; after all, it did not matter which side he joined, his realm would grow either way.

“And a loyal member of Triad,” Hades added.

Triad was a group of Impious mortals who opposed the gods, demanding fairness, freewill, and freedom. They called themselves activists, the Olympians called them terrorists.

“Tr-Triad? What makes you think I’m a member of Triad?”

He stared at the man for a moment. He did not like answering questions, did not really like speaking at all, but he would answer this, as it might prevent the man from trying to lie further.

“Three reasons,” Hades said. “One, you stutter when you lie. Second, even if you did not stutter when you lie, I can sense lies. Yours are bitter and they taste like ash, a mark of your soul. Third, if you do not want to advertise your allegiance, you should not tattoo it upon your skin.”

Hades noted how the man’s eyes drifted to his right arm where the triangle—the symbol of Triad—was inked.

“So, you will torture me for my allegiance?”

“I will torture you for your crimes,” Hades said. “The fact that you are a member of Triad is merely a bonus.”

Isidore gave a guttural cry as Hades shoved the cattle prod into his side. The smell of burnt flesh filled his nostrils. After a few seconds, he pulled away. The mortal’s back was arched, his breathing harsh.

“Gods, Hades! Do you really have to do this?” Hermes asked, but he made no move to cover his eyes or even look disgusted.

“Don’t pretend you haven’t tortured a mortal, Hermes. We all know differently,” Hades spat. As the cattle prod sparked again, the man glared at Hades and challenged.

“I’ve been tortured before.”

Hades smiled wickedly. “Not by me.”

The cattle prod was just the beginning of Isidore’s torture. Hades moved from electrocution to fire, setting the ground beneath the man’s feet aflame, keeping him alive as the flames licked his skin. He screamed, inhaling smoke, which made him cough until blood spilled from his mouth.

At some point, Hades doused the flames with his magic, and in the quiet aftermath, Hermes spoke.

“You are seriously fucked up, Hades.”

“You,” Isidore’s voice rasped, his chest rose and fell slowly. “You think you are untouchable because you are gods.”

“That’s exactly why we are untouchable,” Hermes said.

Hades held up his hand, silencing the God of Trickery.

“You don’t know what is coming,” Isidore continued, voice hollow. His head lolled to the side, and he was no longer looking at Hades but the wall. The god gripped the mortal’s charred face so he would look at him.

“Um, Hades—” Hermes started to say.

“What’s coming?” Hades demanded.

“War,” the man answered.

***

It was almost noon, and Hades had yet to sleep. His eyes felt like sandpaper, and Hermes’ voice grated in his ears. The god had followed him back to his palace and now walked beside him as he made his way to his bedchamber. Hades took a drink from the bottle he had brought from his office in Tartarus.

“You could have told me you were torturing him for information,” Hermes complained.

“Are you saying if I had told you, you would have refrained from telling me how fucked up I am?” Hades asked.

Hermes opened his mouth to reply, but Hades spoke instead—a rare occasion.

“Triad is reorganizing. I need your eyes and ears.”

Hermes laughed. “You aren’t actually…afraid of them, are you?”