A Game of Retribution (Hades Saga #2)(16)

The mortal’s hands dug into Hades’s arms as he held him down—even the broken ones.

“Di-Dionysus!”

Hades released the man.

“How long ago?”

“They were shipped off just yesterday.”

The God of Wine was as much a collector of monsters as Hades, and while Dionysus probably thought the Graeae would make a nice addition to his collection, it was likely what he really wanted was the eye, and Hades wanted to know why. What information did he hope to obtain?

Hades reached for the box and placed it inside the pocket of his jacket before heading toward the door.

“You cannot just take what’s mine,” Acacius said. “That eye was bought and paid for.”

“Perhaps my generosity has led you to believe you are entitled to make demands,” Hades replied. “It doesn’t.” At the door, Hades paused.

“Dionysus will come for you. He always does. I would remain alert, not that it will do you much good.”

“You cannot leave me to him,” Acacius argued.

“Tell me one more time what I can and cannot do,” Hades said, and as he stepped outside, he found that Hecate had transformed many of Acacius’s men into topiaries.

“I think they look better this way,” she said. “I trimmed them after.”

Hades raised a brow. “I’m assuming they did something to deserve this?”

She shrugged. “They didn’t like cats.”





Chapter V

Power Play

While Hecate returned to the Underworld, Hades went to Nevernight and informed Ilias of the situation with Acacius, advising him to maintain surveillance on the mortal’s shop. It was not so much with the intention of providing protection as much as it was to see who visited.

“I’m not so certain that man will live long,” said Ilias.

“Agreed,” Hades replied. “He fucked with a god.”

Ilias shook his head. “Acacius established himself as someone who has answers. Now he doesn’t. He’ll find himself at the end of someone’s gun soon enough.”

Hades did not doubt it. It was just another consequence of using relics.

“Wonder what Dionysus wants with the Graeae,” Ilias mused.

Hades did not know, but he would find out.

In the meantime, he also had to deal with Hera’s fucking labors, the thought of which filled him with both anger and dread. It tightened his muscles and filled his stomach with an almost arresting feeling that he couldn’t shake when he thought of the daunting task of executing someone he cared for. And what happened after? What if she asked him to murder again? He could only hope that by then, he found a way out of these labors that left his future with Persephone intact—not only their future, Persephone’s future.

Hera was not above torturing gods, and Hades knew if she did not get her way, she’d set her sights on Persephone.

It would be a move the goddess regretted for the rest of her life.

Hades crested the stairs that led to his office and paused outside the gilded doors. Something was wrong. The feeling raised the hair on the back of his neck and trickled down his spine. He noted it and continued inside to find his office empty. He started across the room, intent on heading for the bar, when something snuck up behind him.

“Boo!”

Hades whirled and punched Hermes in the face.

The God of Mischief stumbled back and clamped his hands over his nose.

“Motherfucker! Why did you do that?” he demanded.

“You scared me,” Hades said simply, lips curling at the sight of the god’s pain.

“I did not,” Hermes said, dropping his hands. Any evidence of the strike to the face was already healed. “You wanted to punch me.”

“Don’t give me an excuse,” Hades said, making his way to the bar, where he poured himself a drink. “To what do I owe your visit, and what can I do to prevent it in the future?”

“Rude,” Hermes said, sauntering to the bar. “You’re talking to a hero.”

Hades raised a brow.

“You should be thanking me,” he continued. “I distracted a whole crowd of screaming fans so Sephy could go to work.”

Hades frowned. “Was she not escorted to the door by Antoni?”

Hermes’s face fell, as if he realized he’d brought something to Hades’s attention that he shouldn’t have.

“Well, I could be wrong, but she kept repeating that she wanted a normal, mortal life, which is hard to do when you arrive at your day job in the God of the Underworld’s personal car and allow his personal driver to escort you to the door.”

“She’s a goddess,” Hades countered.

“A new one by her standard and ours,” Hermes argued. “You have to give her time to transition into her role. She’s played mortal for the past four years, and she’s liked it. She will resent you if you take her normalcy away too quickly.”

“You sound like Hecate,” Hades accused.

“I resent that,” Hermes sniffed. “I can be wise.”

Hades sighed, frustrated. The problem was, she was no longer normal.

People saw her differently just by her association with him.

“We’ve been famous all our lives,” Hermes said. “Persephone hasn’t, and she will not learn how to live this life without mistakes, so you might as well let her make them.”