A Touch of Malice (Hades & Persephone #3)(42)

This is a battle god, she thought.

“You went to Tartarus,” she said, her voice low.

Hades did not speak.

She did not need to ask what he’d done there. He’d gone to torture Pirithous and the evidence was all over his face—streaked with blood.

Again, Hades was silent.

After a moment, Persephone rose and approached him, placing a hand on his face. Despite wild look in his eyes, he leaned into her touch.

“Are you well?” she whispered.

“No,” he replied.

Her hand dropped, slipping around his waist. It took Hades a moment, but he finally moved, arms wrapping around her, holding her tight against him. After a moment, he spoke, and his voice sounded a little more normal, a little warmer.

“Ilias and Zofie found the woman who assaulted you,” he said.

“Zofie?” Persephone asked, drawing back.

“She has been helping Ilias,” he answered.

Persephone was curious about exactly what Hades meant by that, but it was a conversation for another time.

“Where is the woman?”

“She is being held at Iniquity,” he answered.

“Will you take me to her?”

“I’d rather you sleep.”

“I do not want to sleep.”

Hades frowned. “Even if I stay?”

“There are people out there attacking goddesses,” Persephone said. “I’d rather hear what she has to say.”

Hades cupped her jaw, and then threaded his fingers through her hair, grimacing. She knew he was worried, wondering if she could handle this confrontation so soon after the horror of her nightmare.

“I’m okay, Hades,” she whispered. “You will be with me.”

That only seemed to make him frown more. Still, he finally answered.

“Then we will do as you wish.”





CHAPTER XII – A TOUCH OF enlightenment

Persephone had not returned to Iniquity since the first time she’d visited. She’d come with the hope of saving Lexa and had left with nothing but the knowledge that she did not know Hades or his empire very well.

The club was a speakeasy-style and accessed by members with a password. This space was neutral territory and behind these walls, deals were made with balance in mind. After learning about the evil Hades was willing to let exist in the world, Persephone often found herself wondering the same—what malevolence would she allow if the results brought peace—if they prevented war, for instance?

They manifested in a room that looked similar to the one she’d met Kal Stavros, the owner of Epik Communications, a Magi, and a mortal who had offered to save Lexa in exchange for Hades and Persephone’s story. She hadn’t had a chance to refuse before Hades arrived and ended the bargain, permanently scaring Kal’s face.

The accused sat beneath a circular pool of light. Her long, dark hair was silky and straight. She kept her head pressed against the back of the chair, a black snake slithered slowly around her neck while two others made their way around her arms, another six slinked in a circle around her feet. Her hatred was palpable as she glared at them, her mouth set in a hard line.

Persephone inched forward until she stood at the edge of the light.

“I do not need to tell you why you are here,” she said.

The woman glared and when she spoke, her voice was clear, not a hint of fear or even rage. Her calm put Persephone on edge. “Will you kill me?”

“I am not the Goddess of Retribution,” Persephone said.

“You did not answer my question.”

“I am not the one being questioned.”

The woman stared.

“What’s your name?” Persephone asked.

She lifted her chin and replied, “Lara.”

“Lara, why did you attack me in The Coffee House?”

“Because you were there,” she answered, nonchalant. “And I wanted you to hurt.”

The words, while not surprising, still stung.

“Why?”

Lara did not reply immediately, and Persephone watched as the snake paused its slithering to lift its head from her neck to hiss, exposing venomous fangs. She jerked, squeezing her eyes shut, preparing for the bite.

“Not yet,” Persephone said, and the snake stilled. Lara looked at the goddess. “I asked you a question.”

This time, as the woman answered, tears rolled down her face.

“Because you represent everything that is wrong with this world,” she seethed. “You think you stand for justice because you wrote some angry words in a newspaper, but they mean nothing! Your actions are by far more telling—you, like so many, have merely fallen into the same trap. You are a sheep, corralled by Olympian glamour.”

Persephone stared at the woman, knowing her anger had grown from something—a seed that had been planted and nurtured by hate, so she asked, “What happened to you?”

Something haunting bled into Lara’s eyes—it was an expression that was hard to explain, but when Persephone saw it, she knew it for what it was—trauma.

“I was raped,” she hissed in a barely-there whisper. “By Zeus.”

Her admission came as a shock despite Zeus being known for this behavior—a fact that should not be fact at all. Power had given Zeus, and so many others like him, a ticket to abuse for no other reason except that they were male and in a position of authority.