A Touch of Malice (Hades & Persephone #3)(126)

“Harmonia! Open your eyes!” she begged. “Harmonia!”

But the goddess would not respond. Persephone looked frantically from her face to her chest, sensing the faint pulse of life—but it was quickly fading.

“Sybil, move!” Persephone commanded, pushing the oracle out of the way. She placed her hands upon the goddess’s chest and closed her eyes, seeking the life that remained inside her and when she pinned it down, her body began to feel warm—the same way it felt when she healed. She pushed that heat into Harmonia, and after a moment, her stomach turned, and she was forced to pull away and vomit into the sand—it was nothing but water, but it burned the back of her throat and dripped from her nose. As she did, Harmonia took a deep breath.

They barely had time to recover before Theseus appeared, dragging Sybil up by her hair, drawing a knife against her throat.

“No, please! Please!” Persephone begged. She was on her hands and knees before the demi-god, frantic.

“I told you safe passage,” Theseus said through gritted teeth.

“I did not know!” She screamed, her voice breaking.

“It doesn’t matter what you know,” he snapped. “She will suffer for your ignorance!”

He released her hair and grabbed her hand, cutting off a second finger and throwing it at Persephone’s feet. Sybil screamed, Harmonia sobbed, and Persephone raged, her eyes burning with tears.

Once it was done, Theseus seemed to calm.

“Get up,” he commanded. Then turned to where Demeter still hung, suspended in the air. “Release her.”

Persephone did as he asked, and the goddess plummeted into the lake. It took a few minutes for her to join them onshore, her eyes bright and gleaming with just as much anger as Persephone felt.

“Lead us into the Underworld,” Theseus commanded.





CHAPTER XXXVII


– HADES

Motherfucking Theseus.

Forget an eternity of misery in Tartarus, Hades would not rest until his nephew ceased to exist. He would shatter his soul, cut his thread into a million pieces, and consume them. It would be the most savory meal he’d ever eaten.

Fucking favor.

Fucking Fates.

He strained against Persephone’s bindings, his limbs shook, his muscles tightened but they would not give.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

She was powerful and he would have felt more pride if she hadn’t left with that bastard demi-god.

He knew why she’d done it. She’d wanted to protect him, and the thought filled him with a conflict that made his chest ache. He loved her so much, and he raged that she would put herself in danger, even if he understood it.

What would Theseus do to her?

The thought sent another wave of fury through him, and he fought against her bindings once more.

This time, he heard the distinct snap of one, and his foot was free. He wrenched his arm, veins rising to the surface of his skin, the vine cut into his wrist, until it finally broke. He tore at the remaining bindings after that, and once he was free, he teleported.

Persephone had a knack for hiding her own, personal energy signature. He had not yet discovered if it was merely one of her powers, or a result of having her powers dormant for so long. Either way, it made it impossible to find her—except when she wore her ring. He focused on the unique energy of the stones—the pureness of the tourmaline and the sweet caress of the dioptase. He had not set out to track her when he’d given it to her, he would have been able to trace any precious metal or gem so long as he became familiar with it.

He manifested among ruins.

It did not take him long to recognized where he’d arrived: the crumbling Palace of Knossos. In the night, it was impossible to make out the detailed and colorful paintings that covered what was left of the ancient walls, or exactly how many miles the grounds stretched, but Hades knew because he’d known this place in its prime and throughout its inevitable destruction.

It was here he sensed Persephone’s ring, but faintly. He knew these ruins went deep into the belly of the earth; a twisted maze meant to confuse. He imagined Persephone somewhere within and his anger drew him into the shell of the palace.

Though it was dark, his eyes adjusted, and as he crossed a broken, blue mosaic floor, he came to a dark pit. It seemed to be a part of the floor that had given away. He spoke to the shadows, commanding them to descend. He watched through them as the chasm turned into another level of the palace, then dipped further into an even deeper level.

Hades jumped, landing quietly upon another mosaic floor. Here, the palace was more intact—its columned walls and rooms were more pronounced. As Hades crept through each, following the energies from Persephone’s ring, unease crept through him. He sensed life here—ancient life—and profound death. That was not unusual, given this site dated back to antiquity. Hundreds had died here, but this death, some of it was fresh—harsh, acute, acidic.

Hades continued to descend until he came to the edge of another dark pit. The smell of death was stronger here, but so was Persephone’s ring. Hades’ rage and fear twined through his body—a dread thick and fowl gathered in the back of his throat. Memories from the night he’d found her in the basement of Club Aphrodisia accosted him and for a moment, it was like he was there again, Persephone on her knees before him, broken. He could smell her blood and his mind spiraled into a dark and violent place. It was the kind of anger he needed, the rush he would use to tear the world to pieces if he found her harmed.