A Touch of Malice (Hades & Persephone #3)(123)

“We both know you want power, Theseus. You are only play at offering mortals what other gods will not grant.”

Theseus grinned. “Ever the skeptic, Lady Persephone.”

She was not sure how long they drove, but at some point, the car came to a stop. Theseus leaned toward her and captured her chin between her fingers, squeezing hard and forcing her to meet his gaze.

“We have a bit of a stroll to make,” he said. “Just know I will be counting the number of times you misbehave and for each offense, I will cut another finger from your friend. If I run out of fingers, I will move on to toes.”

He released her and she glared, breathing hard.

“I trust you will obey.”

Just as he spoke, someone opened her door, and she almost fell from the vehicle, but she caught herself and shifted, stepping from the cabin gracefully, the threat from Theseus still in her mind.

The Diadem Hotel was grand, a palace-like structure that spanned miles. Persephone had never been inside before, but she knew that the place boasted several upscale restaurants and was an escape for both local residents and vacationers.

Theseus came around the SUV and looped his arm with hers.

“Does Hera know you are using her facility for treasonous activities?”

Theseus laughed—a deep belly laugh that Persephone found appalling despite its warmth. Then he said, “Of all the gods, Hera has been on our side the longest.”

They entered the extravagant lobby of the hotel. Large crystal chandeliers hung midway from a seven-story ceiling which was crowned with stained glass. There were several sitting areas, and many of them were full, crowded with people, chatting and drinking.

It was a magnificent place.

And somewhere inside was Sybil, bleeding.

As Persephone’s eyes wondered, she noticed people noticing her. She wouldn’t be surprised if someone had already snapped pictures of her arriving here with Theseus sans ring and on the demi-god’s arm. Paparazzi looked for that sort of thing. She turned her head toward Theseus.

“I assumed you would be more discreet,” she said between her teeth. “Since you are breaking the law.”

He smiled and leaned close, his hot breath on her ear. Onlookers would think he was whispering sweet nothings, but his words enraged her.

“You broke the law. You engaged in battle with the gods.”

“You kidnapped my friend.”

“Is it a crime if no one knows?” he asked.

She hated him.

“Do not waste your thoughts on how you will torture me when I die. Hades has already claimed that honor.”

Finally, Persephone found something to laugh about. “Oh, I will not torture you when you die. I will torture you while you live.”

Theseus did not respond, not that her words seem to affect him. He was unafraid—and why should he fear? Right now, he was winning.

They continued along the lobby’s edge, toward a grand staircase that branched off in opposite directions. They took the one on the right. The climb was four stories and Persephone’s legs burned but nothing could overpower the deep sense of dread that was stirring in her stomach. They topped the staircase and Theseus led her down a hallway of doors, stopping at one on the left—number 505.

He entered the room and held the door open for her.

Persephone kept her eyes trained on Theseus until she was passed the threshold. There was a small entryway that spilled into a larger room where a man stood against a wall. He was unfamiliar, large, but he stood as still as a soldier on guard. As she came into the room, her eyes connected with Sybil, whose name exploded from her mouth in a broken wail. She ran to her and dropped to her knees.

The oracle sat with her legs and arms restrained. Her head was bent to the side, resting against her shoulder. Her blonde hair was matted with dried blood and covered part of her face. Persephone brushed the locks away, revealing bruised eyes, a busted lip, and a bloodied nose. Tears built and burned in the back of her throat.

“Sybil,” Persephone’s voice was more of a whine, but the oracle’s eyes opened into slits and she tried to smile but winced and then moaned.

Persephone rose and whirled to face Theseus, her anger acute, but found another person in the room with them.

“Harmonia!”

The Goddess of Harmony was in the opposite corner, also restrained. She was bruised and beaten, far worse than she had been the night Persephone had met her in Aphrodite’s home. She bled from a wound in her side.

“Oh yes,” Theseus sneered. “That one was with her when we showed up. Made a mess of things so I was forced to make a mess of her.”

Persephone ground her teeth, her fingers curling into her palm.

“You didn’t have to hurt them,” she said, her voice quaking.

“But I did. You will understand what it takes one day to win a war,” he said and then indicated to the large, silent man who stood against the wall. “Theo here is your bodyguard. Theo.”

He said his name as a command, and he brandished a knife, approached Sybil, and held her wrist.

She whimpered as he placed his blade against her ring finger—her middle finger was already missing.

“No!” Persephone started to move toward them, but Theseus’s voice stopped her.

“Ah-ah-ah,” he chided. “Theo is a butcher’s son. He is an expert carver. He has been ordered to dismember your friend if you misbehave. Of course, not all at once. I will return shortly,” the demi-god promised and left.