A Touch of Malice (Hades & Persephone #3)(41)

“Shh, shh, shh, shh, shh!” he cooed, his face bent close to hers, his dark hair caressing her cheek.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I will make everything better. You’ll see.”

She clawed at him and yet he did not seem to notice.

When he pulled his hand away, she could no longer make sound—he had stolen her voice. Her eyes widened and tears spilled down the sides of her face. This was another one of the demi-god’s powers.

He offered a horrible grin that seemed to tear across his face.

“There,” he said. “I like you better this way. Like this, I can still hear you moan.”

There was a sour taste in the back of her mouth, and as Pirithous slipped down her body to settle between her thighs, she began to kick and thrash. Her knee rose, hitting Pirithous in the face and as he fell back, she lurched into a sitting position.

She scurried back, kicking against the mattress until she was pressed into the headboard. Her body felt hot and cold at the same time, her clothes soaked through with sweat. For a moment, she stared blindly into the darkness, her breath ragged—then she noticed a shadow move toward her and she screamed.

“No!” She jerked back, head thudding against the headboard painfully as vines split her skin, sending a bone-shattering pain throughout her whole body. She screamed, the sound piercing even to her own ears.

“Persephone,” Hades’ voice cut through the darkness—and then the hearth blazed to life, flooding the room with light, illuminating the mess she had made of her body and the bed. There was blood everywhere, thick vines protruded from her arms and shoulders and legs, flaying her skin. When she saw them, she began to sob.

“Look at me,” Hades snapped, and the sound of his voice made her flinch. She met his gaze, her face stained with salty tears.

There was something in his eyes, a glint of panic she had never seen before. It was as if, for a moment, he did not know what to do. He grasped the thorns and they dissolved into dust and ash, then his hands were on her skin, sending warmth and healing through her body. The flesh she had mangled with her magic fused together into a pink puckered line until it smoothed. When he was finished, he stood.

“I will take you to the baths,” he said. “Can I…hold you?”

She swallowed thickly and nodded. He scooped her up gingerly and left the bloodied bed.

They did not speak as Hades wandered down the corridor. The smell of lavender and sea salt was comforting. Instead of taking her to the main pool, Hades navigated along a separate path, down a hall with walls that glistened. As he eased her to her feet, she found that they had come to a smaller room with a round pool. The air was warmer here and the light easier on her tired eyes.

“Can I undress you?” he asked.

She nodded, and yet it took him a moment to move, to slip his fingers under the straps of her bloodied gown and draw it down her arms. His robes followed. He stared at her for a moment, and then reached to brush a piece of her hair over her shoulder and she shivered.

“Do you know the difference?” he asked. “Between my touch and his?”

She swallowed and answered honestly. “When I am awake.”

He paused a long moment before asking, “Can I touch you now?”

“You don’t have to ask,” she answered, and Hades’ jaw tightened.

“I wish to,” he said. “In case you aren’t ready.”

She nodded, and he scooped her up and entered the pool, holding her again him. The blood upon her skin colored the water crimson as it danced away in ribbons. He did not ask about her nightmare and she didn’t speak until the tension in his body had lessened.

“I don’t understand why I dream about him,” she whispered. Hades stared down at her, frowning.

“Sometimes I think back to that day and remember how afraid I was and other times I think I should not be so affected. Others—”

“You cannot compare trauma, Persephone.” Hades’ tone was gentle but firm.

“I just feel like I should have known,” she said. “I should have never—”

“Persephone,” Hades said, his voice gentle, and yet there was an edge beneath it, a frustration that made her eyes burn. “How could you have known? Pirithous presented himself as a friend. He played upon your kindness and compassion. The only person who is wrong here was Pirithous.”

Her mouth began to quiver, and she covered her eyes with her hands. Her body shook hard, and Hades shifted, holding her against his bare skin, her head tucked beneath his chin. She was not sure how long she cried, but they remained in the pool until she was finished. They dressed and returned to bed where Hades poured two glasses of whiskey. He handed one to Persephone.

“Drink,” he said.

She accepted and downed the alcohol.

“Do you wish to sleep?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Come, sit with me,” he said, and took a seat beside the fire. He guided her into his lap and she rested her head against his chest, comforted by the heat at her back and the smell of Hades’ skin.

Sometime later, Persephone felt Hades’ magic stir the air. She opened her eyes, realizing she had fallen asleep and now lay in bed. She rolled and rose into a sitting position, startling when she saw Hades. There was some something completely feral about him—as if he’d been able to drown his humanity in the depths of his darkness and all that remained was a monster.