A Game of Fate (Hades Saga #1)(35)

He poured a glass of whiskey and drank quickly, approaching the window to look out upon his realm, spotting Hecate walking with Persephone. The two goddesses talked and smiled and laughed, and Hades could not help thinking how perfect Persephone looked in his realm, like she belonged there, like she should have always been there.

“My lord?” Ilias asked.

Hades turned his head and found the satyr beside him, brow raised.

“Enjoying the view?” he asked, amused.

Hades would have liked it better if he had realized Ilias had arrived.

“I have a job for you,” he said. “Poseidon gave Sisyphus a relic. A spindle, to be exact.”

The satyr’s eyes widened. “A spindle? Where did he get that?”

“That is your job,” Hades said. “Trace it.”

“And what would you like me to do when I find it?”

Usually, Hades gave Ilias free rein over how he dealt with illegal dealers. The satyr would organize raids, burn shops, destroy merchandise. On rare occasions, he found someone worthy of joining Iniquity.

“I want their name,” he replied. He would be visiting them personally.

“Consider it done,” Ilias bowed, but he did not leave Hades’ side. Looking outside, nodding toward Persephone and Hecate.

“She is curious about you,” he said.

“She is eager to examine my flaws,” Hades corrected.

The satyr chuckled. “I like her.”

“I am not seeking your approval, Ilias.”

“Of course not, my lord.”

With that, the satyr departed, and Hades watched until Persephone was no longer in view, but he could feel her presence in his realm, a torch that scorched a path across his skin. He considered seeking her out but thought against it. As much as he hoped to change Persephone’s opinion of himself, he also needed her to find solace and friendship in his realm.

Not needed.

Wanted.

He wanted her to find solace in his gardens, to walk the paths of the Underworld with Hecate, to celebrate with the souls. He wanted her to, one day, think of the Underworld as her home.

A strange feeling overcame him, one he was familiar with and hated—embarrassment. If anyone could hear his thoughts, they would laugh. The God of the Dead, hopeful for love, and yet he could not help it. When he had taken Persephone into his arms in the garden, when he had kissed her, he had suddenly understood what their life could be—passionate and powerful. He wanted that desperately.

And despite her dislike for him and his bargains, she could not deny her desire. He had felt it in the pull of her fingers through his hair, the mold of her soft body to his, and the desperation in her kiss.

His head started to rush, and a warmth spread through him that went straight to his cock. He groaned; he was going to have to expel some of this energy.

He shed his jacket and shirt and headed for the Asphodel Fields.

“Cerberus, Typhon, Orthrus, come!” he called, and turned in the direction of his approaching Dobermans. They charged through the grass, determined in their stride.

“Halt,” Hades commanded when they drew near, and the three obeyed and sat. Cerberus sat in the middle, Typhon on the right and Orthrus on the left. They were handsome dogs with glistening black coats, pointed ears, and wedge-shaped heads.

The three were never apart, always traveling in a pack, guarding the Underworld from intruders or unwelcomed deities who lived outside the gates of his realm. Sometimes, Hecate recruited them for various punishments, commanding them to feast upon innards or maul a deserving soul.

Hades preferred playtime.

“How are my boys, huh?” he asked, roughing up their ears. Their demeanor changed from fierce to playful. The dogs’ tails wagged, and their tongues lolled out of their mouths. “Punished a lot of souls today?”

He took some time to scratch behind their ears.

“Good boys, good, good boys.”

He summoned a red ball from thin air. When the dogs saw it, they sat straight, panting with anticipation. Hades grinned, tossing the ball into the air, once, twice, the dogs eyes following with rapt attention.

“Which one of you is fastest, huh? Cerberus? Typhon? Orthrus?”

As he called each Doberman’s name, they offered a growling bark, impatient for the chase.

Hades smirked, feeling a little devilish.

“Stay,” he commanded, and then threw the ball.

Fetch with Cerberus, Typhon, and Orthrus was not like fetch with normal dogs. Hades’ strength was great, and when he threw the ball, it went on for miles, but his Dobermans were unnaturally fast, able to travel across the Underworld in minutes.

Hades waited until the ball disappeared, before turning to the dogs. “Fetch.”

At his order, the dogs took off, muscles working powerfully. Hades laughed as the three raced to find the ball. They returned in no time, running in sync, the red ball clutched in Cerberus’ mouth, who brought it obediently to Hades and dropped it at his feet. He continued playing with his dogs, running in circles through the meadow, working off his frustration and lust until he felt breathless and sweaty.

He tossed the ball once more, free from the burden of his feelings, when he turned and found Persephone standing in the clearing, watching him with wide eyes.

Fuck.

She was beautiful, and his eyes traveled the length of her, unashamed. She had flowers in her hair—camellia, if he had to guess—and they threaded through long strands of curly blonde locks. She wore a blue tank that was cut in a low V at the neck, drawing attention to her breasts. Her shorts were white, revealing her long legs—legs he had fastened around his waist just days ago. As his eyes traveled back up her body, he found that her gaze had made the same descent, and he smirked.