A Game of Fate (Hades Saga #1)(16)

He considered challenging what was building between them, stepping close and drawing her gleaming hair away from her neck. He could practically hear her shuddering breath as he pressed as kiss to her soft skin. Would she melt in his arms then? Or would she fight?

He drew close. He did not think it was possible, but she became even more rigid, back ramrod straight. She was wound tight, a viper ready to strike. It was a bite he would endure willingly, and he leaned in, his jaw brushing the side of her face, his lips touching her ear.

“You are full of surprises, darling.”

He was too arrogant, he realized, unprepared for his body’s reaction to her. Her scent sunk into his skin, igniting his blood. He grew heavy and hard at the thought of wrapping his arm around her waist, pulling her against him, consuming her.

Fuck.

An audible breath brought him back to reality, and before she could face him, he was opening the interior door to Nevernight, breaking the strange spell between them.

“After you, goddess.”

She blinked, and he noted the confusion in her expression. Maybe she thought what she had just experienced was an illusion. He half-expected her to flee, but again, that spark of defiance entered her eyes. She kept his gaze as she brushed past him—both a challenge and a tease.

He followed behind her and watched as she approached the balcony, eyes scanning the floor below. He wondered what she was looking for but did not ask, just waited until she looked at him and continued down the stairs.

Her heels clicked as she followed him across the floor, which was how he knew she had stopped moving, because the club grew quiet.

“Where are we going?” she asked. There was suspicion in her voice, and he reminded himself that just because she had entered Nevernight willingly, it was not show of trust.

Hades paused, turning to look at her.

He should not have looked back. It almost made him question what he was doing, luring this beautiful goddess farther into his realm.

“My office,” he said. “I imagine that whatever you have to say to me demands privacy?”

She raised a brow, glancing at the empty space. “This seems pretty private.”

“It isn’t.” He turned and headed upstairs, pleased when he heard the click of her heels following.

At the top of the stairs, he turned toward his office and opened one of the two large doors bearing one of his symbols in gold—a bident—coiled with vines and flowers. When he turned to Persephone, she was still standing a few feet away. Her distance frustrated him.

“Will you hesitate at every turn, Lady Persephone?”

She scowled. “I was just admiring your décor, Lord Hades. I didn’t notice this last night.”

“The doors to my quarters are often veiled during business hours,” he replied, and then indicated to the open door. “Shall we?”

She lifted her chin and breezed past him. He tracked her as she moved across the black marble floor and familiarized herself with his office, eyes settling first on the wall of windows that overlooked the club floor. It was a common feature in most of his offices, a way to observe from above. Despite the heat outside, Hades kept the fire going in his hearth. He liked fire, liked the way the flames danced, liked to watch it from his obsidian desk, but rarely used the sitting area arranged before it. Perhaps he would today, and invite the Goddess of Spring to sit.

But that seemed too civil, and Hades had a feeling that whatever the goddess had come to say, it was anything but polite.

When he closed the door, she again became rigid. It was then he realized he should have done more to reassure her she was safe with him after her horrific interaction with Duncan. He moved across the floor noisily, not wishing to startle her, and stopped in front of her, eyes searching her face, grazing her lips, before falling to her neck. Her perfect skin was reddened from the ogre’s grip.

It took everything in his power to stay where he was and not teleport to the Underworld to torture Duncan.

Anticipation is part of the torment, he reminded himself.

He reached toward her, wanting to heal those marks upon her skin, but her hand fastened upon his arm. Their gazes snapped together.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“No,” she whispered.

There was something intimate about this exchange. Maybe it was their proximity, inches from one another, skin touching skin. After a moment, he nodded and pulled his arm free from her grasp. He crossed the room, needing the distance so he did not do something stupid. Like kiss her.

The smell of Demeter’s magic alerted him that she was about to raise her glamour.

“Oh, it’s a little too late to be modest, don’t you think?” he asked, leaning against his desk, tugging his tie free from his neck. He did not like the way it felt against his skin, like a restraint, but the movement drew her gaze, and he recognized the hunger in her eyes because he felt it, too. Deep in his gut.

“Did I interrupt something?”

Her tone was almost accusatory, and he considered questioning her jealousy but thought against it. Instead, his lips curled as he explained, “I was just about to go to bed when I heard you demanding entrance to my club. Imagine my surprise when I find the goddess from last night on my doorstep.”

She glowered, “Did the gorgon tell you?”

He fought the urge to smile at her frustration. “No, Euryale did not. I recognized your magic as Demeter’s, but you are not Demeter.” He tilted his head, studying her like he’d studied her image in the Library of Souls. “When you left, I consulted a few texts. I had forgotten Demeter had a daughter. I assumed you were Persephone. Question is, why aren’t you using your own magic?”