A Game of Fate (Hades Saga #1)(98)

He’d have liked to have her here now and chuckled at the thought of teleporting her to him. Would she be in the middle of writing a story or in an important meeting? Would she be angry for long when he took her mouth in a searing kiss? When his hands skimmed up her thighs, when his fingers teased her opening and he finally gave her what she begged for—release.

“You win,” Aphrodite said. She looked more severe than usual. Even when she was angry, she didn’t have this…look. It was hard for Hades to place at first, but he soon recognized it for what it was because he had felt the same thing multiple times in the last six months.

Hysteria.

“She loves you.”

Hades’ brows knitted together.

“What are you talking about?”

“I visited her today, your little love,” the goddess explained.

His stomach suddenly felt endless. He rose from his chair, his anger coiled like a snake.

“What did you do, Aphrodite?” His voice shook as dread descended, cloaking his body. He felt as if he were trying to breath with no air.

“I only meant to gauge her affection for you. I—”

“What did you do?” he snarled.

“I told her about the bargain.”

“Fuck!”

Hades slammed his fists on his pristine table. This time, it shattered. Aphrodite’s eyes widened, but she stood her ground and did not flinch at his outburst.

“Why?” he demanded. “Is this revenge for Adonis?”

“It began that way,” she admitted, looking surprisingly devastated.

“And how did it end, Aphrodite?”

“I broke her heart.”

***

“Where is she?” Hades demanded as he teleported to the Underworld. He was not calm enough to sense her yet. He appeared in the middle of his palace, where his staff were meandering, oblivious to his agony, his fear, the potential end to the happiest he had ever been.

He had known this would be a possibility, but he had been grossly unprepared, because at the end of it all, he loved her.

“Persephone! Where is she?”

“Sh-She went for a walk, my lord,” a nymph said.

“She was following Cerberus,” another added.

“Toward Tartarus.”

Fuck.

He vanished and appeared on the outskirts of Tartarus. This part of his realm was vast and covered hundreds upon hundreds of acres. Why would she come here? he thought as he attempted to focus on finding her, rather than his racing heart and the dread boiling in the pit of his stomach.

He’d told her from the beginning he did not want her to know the path to Tartarus, that her curiosity would get the best of her. Had she heard Aphrodite’s words and sought to prove herself right about him? Perhaps she had come in hopes that she would find something to prove he was just as cruel and calculated as she thought.

Well, she would find it here.

It wasn’t long before he felt her—a faint pull at the edge of his senses.

She was in The Cavern, the oldest part of Tartarus. When he appeared there, he felt her presence strengthen and he knew where he’d find her.

In Tantalus’ cave.

Disgust curled in Hades gut.

Tantalus was a king, a demi-god born of Zeus, and among the first generation of mortals to populate the Earth. Gifted with Zeus’ particular brand of arrogance, he thought to test the gods by committing filicide. The wicked king killed his son, Pelops, ground him to a pulp and attempted to feed him to the Olympians. Hades remembered the smell of burnt flesh wafting through the Great Hall. The merriment had ended immediately, and their wrath had been swift. Hades had stood, pointed at Tantalus, and sent him straight to Tartarus, while the others attempted to assemble Pelops again.

That had not been the end of Tantalus’ punishment, either, as Zeus had cursed his legacy, the impact of which was still felt to this day.

Hades made his way into the darkness that blanketed the cave, where Tantalus had lived and suffered for an eternity. He saw Persephone race toward him, terror written across her beautiful face. She slammed into him, and he grabbed her shoulders to steady her.

“No! Please—” Her voice broke, full of fear and his emotions raged.

“Persephone,” Hades said quickly, trying to calm her.

When she looked at him, recognition and relief descended upon her face.

“Hades!”

Her arms tightened around his waist. She buried her head in his chest and sobbed.

“Shh.” His kissed her hair, thankful that she still touched him, that she still found comfort in his presence. “What are you doing here?”

Then he heard Tantalus’ voice cut through the dark and Hades’ blood turned to ice.

“Where are you, little bitch?”

Hades set Persephone aside and approached the grotto where Tantalus was imprisoned, snapping his fingers so that the pillar where Tantalus was chained turned. The man was a sack of bones, loose skin sagging over sharp angles. He was pale and withered, his hair scraggly and matted, like wire coming out of his face and head.

He had not looked upon the prisoner in years, as his method of torture tended to take care of itself, starvation and thirst while always being within reach of food and water. Except that Hades knew he had partaken of drink because his lips, drained of color, glistened.

Hades flung his hand toward Tantalus, and the mortal’s knees gave out, pulling the manacles that held his arms overhead tight, and he cried out.