A Game of Fate (Hades Saga #1)(3)

Sisyphus was silent after Hades’ words. Ribbons of smoke danced from the cigarette poised between his fingers. After a moment, he put it out in his drink.

“Tell me something,” he said. “Why do it? Bargain and balance? Have you hope for humanity?”

“Have you none?” Hades countered.

“I live among mortals, Lord Hades. Trust me, when given the choice to tip the scale one way or the other, they’ll choose darkness. It’s the fastest path with the quickest benefit.”

“And the most to lose,” Hades said. “Do not educate me on the nature of mortals, Sisyphus. I have judged your kind for a millennium.”

Hades paused outside the door, looking down at the two men who lay at his feet. He did not revel in the idea of restoring them to life to spread violence and death themselves, but he knew the Fates would demand a sacrifice—a soul for a soul—and it was likely they would choose souls that were good and pure and innocent.

Balance, Hades thought, and he suddenly hated the word.

“Wake,” he commanded.

And as they inhaled sharp breaths, Hades vanished.





CHAPTER II – A GAME OF FATE




Hades appeared in his office at Nevernight, one of his most popular New Athens clubs. It was close to eleven, and at midnight, he would wander through the upstairs lounge, choosing mortals who longed to bargain for their greatest desires and wishes—health, love, and riches. Those were just the things he could grant. It did not include requests like creating life, returning life, or bestowing beauty—desires he would not award.

“You’re late.”

Minthe’s voice was like a whip, shattering his thoughts. He had sensed her the moment he entered the room—all fire and ice—and preferred to ignore her when she was like this.

He focused on adjusting his tie and cufflinks, silently relieved that he had chosen to use shadow magic to take Sisyphus’ bodyguards down, so he did not have to hear the nymph demand answers. With his appearance restored, he turned to the flaming-haired nymph. Her lips, a shade darker than her hair, were twisted into a pout. She did not like being ignored.

“How can I be late, Minthe, when I abide by no one’s schedule but my own?”

Minthe had been his assistant since the beginning of time, and she went through phases where she would try to exercise rights over him—rights to his time, to his realm, and to his body. Her eagerness for control was not lost on him. He recognized the trait in her because he possessed it himself.

“Tardiness is not attractive, Hades, even from a god,” she snapped.

A smile threatened his lips, but he remained composed. His amusement would only anger her further.

“While you were dallying,” Hades narrowed his eyes at the jab, “I’ve had to entertain your guests.”

Hades’ brows furrowed and dread crawled up the back of his throat. “Who is waiting for me?”

He knew by Minthe’s expression—the way her eyes narrowed, the slight curl of her mouth—that he would not like her answer.

“Lady Aphrodite.”

“Fuck,” Hades muttered.

Minthe did not even trying to hide her amusement, her lips coiled into a full smirk.

“You might want to hurry,” she said. “When I insisted she wait for you here, she said there was plenty to entertain her downstairs.”

Fantastic. The only thing to ever come out of Aphrodite entertaining herself was war.

He sighed. “Thank you, Minthe.”

Clearly pleased by Hades’ expression of gratitude, Minthe uncrossed her arms, letting them fall at her sides.

“Shall I bring you a drink, my lord?”

“Yes. In fact, I am not to have an empty glass tonight.”

Hades vanished and appeared on the floor of his club, where he walked, silent and unseen. As always, it was packed with mortals and humanoids—nymphs, satyrs, chimeras, centaurs, ogres, and cyclopes. Some used glamour, others did not. Some merely wished to experience the thrill of attending the most notorious club in New Athens, others glanced longingly toward the upstairs lounge, hopeful one of Hades’ staff would offer the night’s password.

A password did not guarantee a game with the God of the Dead, it was just another step in the process. Once mortals passed through the doors of the lounge, fear settled in, and that fear either drew them away or made them desperate. It was the desperate Hades was most interested in—the ones who might change if offered the chance.

It was a delicate process and involved many players. Hades had lost his fair share of bargains, and he could feel those against his skin, a never-ending itch and reminder of failure, but if he could save one life on the path to destruction, he felt it was worth it.

Hades picked up the scent of Aphrodite’s magic—sea salt and roses—and found her sitting on the lap of an older, middle-aged man. He had dark, thinning hair. His forehead was greasy and his face chubby, melting into a sweaty neck, around which Aphrodite’s arms were laced, her breasts pressed against his chest. Hades noted a gold band on the man’s left ring finger. He did not have to look at the mortal’s soul to know he was a cheating bastard.

“Why don’t we go back to my place, baby?” the man asked as his hands explored Aphrodite’s body, moving across her ribs and over her thighs. Hades cringed as he observed the interaction.