A Game of Retribution (Hades Saga #2)(48)

“Fuck privacy. I needed you, needed to know you still wanted me despite…everything.”

He drew her to him, and as their lips met, he rolled, pinning her beneath him. He resettled himself inside her but did not move, laughing when Persephone wiggled in an attempt to make him.

She glared, but her expression softened as he spoke.

“I will always want you, and I would have welcomed you to my bed any night.”

“I didn’t know,” she whispered.

He touched her lips, parting them beneath his touch.

“Now you do.”

Their mouths collided and Hades’s hips surged forward. Persephone’s moans encouraged him, drove him deep, and she clung to him like he clung to her until they drove each other to the edge and over.

*

Hades woke sometime in the evening. A day had passed since Apollo had come to collect retribution for his slight, a day since he and Persephone had made up on the floor of her silvery meadow, and the thought that pressed heavily on his mind as she slept soundlessly beside him was losing her.

He had never had much to lose, but she was everything, and since they had found each other, it felt like every god had tried—or would try—their hand at tearing them apart, and Hades would be damned if anyone succeeded.

He rose and dressed, taking a few straight shots of whiskey. While the drink didn’t do much to intoxicate him, it did take the edge off his nerves.

Before he left the Underworld, he watched Persephone sleep, eyes following the outline of her body beneath the sheets, the way her chest rose and fell with her breaths. He placed his hand on her head and bent to kiss her forehead, then vanished, appearing on the island of Euboea.

It was an island off the coast of Attica. Once, long ago, it had been attached to the mainland, but earthquakes had separated the landmass and now it stood apart in the Mediterranean Sea. The island itself was not Hades’s ultimate destination. It was one of three volcanic islands off its coast. They were each relatively small, made of layers of volcanic rock, visible from all sides of the island. Despite its rocky foundation, a sheet of green grass made the island look emerald next to the sapphire ocean, and in the fading twilight, it was beautiful.

The islands were connected by a wood rope bridge, both to the mainland and to each other. Hades started toward the one at the center, Lea, named after Briareus’s wife, Cymopolea, Poseidon’s daughter and Hades’s niece.

The thought made each step heavier, yet he kept going, and when he made it to the island, he followed a path of round stones to a small cottage, nestled between two hills. The windows were full of warm and inviting light, and a plume of white smoke rose from a chimney atop its thatched roof.

Hades hesitated a step, his insides twisting mercilessly. It had been a long time since he had reaped a soul, an innocent one at least. Doing so never got easier, and this one was somehow made worse by the fact that Briareus was merely a victim of a war between gods.

Still, he continued to the door and knocked.

He would give Briareus dignity, especially in his own home.

Hades was surprised when Briareus answered the door cloaked in glamour. He had taken on the guise of a middle-aged man with graying hair, face worn into happy lines, a mark of how content he had lived his life since ancient times. Still, Hades could see beneath his glamour, to the giant who towered above him, to his many heads and hands.

“My Lord Hades,” Briareus said. His smile was so wide, deepening the lines around his mouth and making his cheekbones stick out sharply. The giant bowed.

“Briareus,” Hades replied quietly with a nod. He could not raise his voice to match his enthusiasm, given his morose reasons for his visit.

There was a moment of silence, then Briareus’s jovial expression faded.

“It’s time, isn’t it?”

Those were cruel words given how Hades had come to be at this door.

Still, he lied.

“It is.”

The giant nodded and looked at his feet. Hades hated it, to see the peace leak from his eyes as he processed his impending death. “I could feel it, you know? In my bones.”

Hades said nothing, but there was a part of him that wished Briareus would cease speaking, because each word was another knife to his heart.

After a moment, Briareus collected himself and took a breath, an ounce of his previously joyful demeanor returning.

“I was just finishing up a meal,” he said. “Care to join?”

Hades had no expectations when he had come to the giant’s door. He had not known if Briareus would be distraught or angry, beg for his life or beg for it to end quickly.

But he had not at all expected to be invited to dinner.

“Sure, Briareus,” Hades said at last. There was something morbid about accepting his hospitality, but Hades did not want to take away these last wished-for moments.

The giant smiled once more and stepped aside to hold the door open, allowing Hades entrance.

As soon as he entered the cottage, he was in the kitchen. It smelled of salt and fish and spices, though not unpleasant. There was a round, wooden table at the center of the room, and on it sat a small, clear vase with a handful of wildflowers.

Briareus returned to the stove and pulled on a white apron. As he tied it off, he offered, “Anything to drink, my lord?”

“Whatever you have, Briareus. It would be an honor to drink with you.”