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

Kal took his hands out of his pockets to bow, and Hades glared—not only at Kal but those who stood near, warning off any approach they may have been considering after watching this exchange.

“A pleasure,” Kal said, grinning as he straightened.

“Kal,” Hades said. “To what do I owe the interruption?”

The words fell from his tongue, heavy with disgust. If the mortal caught on, he ignored it.

“Forgive me,” Kal said, though he did not sound all that sorry. “I would have approached you elsewhere, but I have been requesting a meeting for weeks and have heard nothing.”

Hades’s irritation increased, a subtle heat that burned the back of his throat.

“Silence is usually taken to mean no, Kal,” he replied, focusing on the gate again. If it had been anyone else, they would have understood this to be a dismissal, but Kal had always made the mistake of flying too close to the sun, and it seemed that everyone understood the implications but him.

Kal dared to step closer. Hades’s spine went rigid, and he clenched his fist, noting Ilias’s warning glance.

“I hoped to discuss a possible partnership,” Kal said. “One of…mutual benefit.”

“The fact that you believe you could possibly benefit me, Kal, illustrates a significant amount of arrogance and ignorance.”

“Considering your recent experience with a certain journalist, I think not.”

There was a note of irritation in Kal’s voice, but it was his words that drew Hades’s attention—and made that small scratch of irritation a full-on inferno.

“Careful with what you say, Kal,” Hades warned, uncertain of where this conversation was heading but disliking the possibility that Persephone’s name would soon pass this mortal’s lips.

Kal smirked, oblivious to the danger, or perhaps he wished to antagonize him, force him to act out in public merely for the benefit of his reporters.

“I could ensure your name never appears in the media again.”

Those words hit like hot oil, though Hades did not outwardly react.

Despite the fact that he was not the least bit intrigued by Kal’s offer, he asked, “What exactly are you suggesting?”

“Your public relationship with one of my journalists—”

“She is not your journalist, Kal,” Hades snarled.

The mortal stared for a moment but continued. “Regardless, you allowed her to write about you, which will encourage others to do the same with an emphasis on your relationship. Is that what you want?”

It wasn’t what he wanted at all, mostly because it placed Persephone in more danger.

“Your words ring eerily threatening, Kal,” Hades said.

“Not at all,” the man said. “I’m merely pointing out the consequences of your actions.”

Hades was not certain what the mortal meant by actions. Was it that he had let Persephone write the articles? Or was he referring to their public reunion outside the Coffee House, when she had run and jumped into his arms, both heedless to onlookers who had photographed and filmed the entire thing?

“I can help ensure your privacy.”

“For a price, you mean?”

“A small one,” Kal said. “Only a share in the ownership of Iniquity.”

Kal’s voice was drowned out by a loud bell, followed by the clang of the gates opening and the thundering of hooves as all twenty steeds sped down the track. The announcer’s voice rose over the roaring crowd, narrating with a lyrical inflection.

“Kosmos has an early lead as expected, then it’s Titan…”

He rattled off more names—Layland has the rail, Maximus on the outside.

Throughout, Kosmos maintained the lead, with Titan only a length behind.

The continued reporting from the announcer made Hades’s chest tighten and his teeth grind together, exacerbated by the crowd’s cheering, but then there was a shift in the race. Titan seemed to gain a better foothold and practically sailed past Kosmos across the finish line.

The announcer’s voice rose with excitement as he announced the winner.

“Titan, the dark horse and Divine superstar, wins the Hellene Cup!

Kosmos is second!”

In a matter of minutes, the race was over, and Hades turned from the rail to make his escape when a hand landed on his arm.

“Our bargain, Hades,” Kal said.

The god turned quickly, catching Kal’s wrist within his grip and shoving him away.

“Fuck off, Kal.”

He offered nothing else before he vanished.



*

Hades manifested at the Nevernight bar.

The club was pristine, the floor empty, though he knew his employees lurked, navigating within the shadows of the club to prepare for opening tonight—an event that never saw peace. Inevitably, someone always assumed their status would grant them access and, depending on their sense of entitlement, always led to a very public tantrum that Mekonnen—or, in very serious cases, Ilias—would have to handle.

Mortals and immortals alike never ceased to illustrate the faults of humanity. There were moments when Hades wondered if he had done right to create such a paradise in the Underworld. Perhaps it was best when they feared the afterlife—feared him, even. Then people like Kal would never dare approach with such imperious requests.