A Touch of Malice (Hades & Persephone #3)(85)

He rolled his eyes.

“That’s nothing new. Come on, I need a drink.”





CHAPTER XXIII – A LOVER’S QUARREL

“Vodka?” Apollo asked as he poured himself a glass. He stood on the other side of the island in his pristine kitchen. Persephone had only been to Apollo’s penthouse once, when she was helping Sybil move. It was a modern space with large windows and a monochrome color scheme. If she didn’t know how regimented Apollo was, she’d assume no one lived here, but the god was known for discipline and that extended to his surroundings. He kept everything perfectly organized and clean— even his stainless-steel appliances were unmarred, a feat that deserved an award.

“It’s ten in the morning, Apollo,” Persephone pointed out, sitting at the breakfast bar opposite him.

“Your point?”

She sighed. “No, Apollo. I don’t want vodka.”

He shrugged.

“Suit yourself,” he said, downing the glass.

“You’re an alcoholic.”

“Hades is an alcoholic,” Apollo said.

He wasn’t wrong.

“So you need my advice?” Persephone asked, changing the subject.

Apollo poured another drink and consumed it again. She watched him, waiting, noting how much he looked like Hermes in this moment. It was in the set of his jaw and the puckering of his brows—they could not deny their shared blood.

“I fucked up,” he admitted at last.

“I figured,” she said mildly, maintain his gaze even as he narrowed his violet eyes in annoyance.

“Rude,” he shot back.

Persephone sighed. “Apollo, just tell me what happened.”

She knew he was stalling, and she wanted him to spit it out before he polished off that bottle of vodka, not that it would faze him much. She just wanted him to hurry this along before she decided she needed a drink.

“I kissed Hector.”

Persephone blinked, a little shocked by his admission. “I thought you liked Ajax.”

“How did you know about Ajax?”

“At the Palestra, you kept looking at him,” she said. She didn’t mention that he had smelled different when he’d come to Aphrodite’s—some other scent had been mixed into his magic and she’d recognized it as Ajax’s when he’d helped her in the field.

Apollo frowned.

“Why did you kiss Hector?”

He scrubbed his face with his hands. “I don’t know,” he moaned. “I was angry with Ajax and Hector was there and I thought...why not... see what this is about...and then Ajax walked in.”

“Oh, Apollo.”

She could see his misery—it was so blatant within his gaze, it hurt her heart.

“I don’t even know why I care. I swore I would never do this again.”

“Do what again?”

“This! Love!”

Suddenly she understood. Apollo was referring to Hyacinth, the Spartan prince he’d fallen for ages ago. The mortal had died in a horrible accident. Later, he would go to Hades and beg the God of the Dead to throw him in Tartarus so that he would not have to live in a world without his love, but Hades refused, and Apollo sought revenge in the arms of Leuce.

“Apollo...”

“Don’t…pity me.”

“I’m not. I don’t,” she said. “But Hyacinth’s death wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it was,” he said. “I was not the only god who loved Hyacinth and when he chose me, Zephyrus, the God of the West Wind, grew jealous. It was his wind that changed the trajectory of my throw, his wind that resulted in the death of Hyacinth.”

“Then his death is Zephyrus’s fault,” Persephone said.

Apollo shook his head. “You do not understand. Even now I see it happening with Ajax. Hector grows jealous every day. The fight he picked with Ajax at the Palestra was not the first.”

“What if Ajax likes you?” Persephone asked. “What if he’s willing to fight for you? Will you decide not to pursue him out of fear?”

“It is not fear—” Apollo started and then looked away angrily.

“Then what is it?”

“I don’t want to fuck this up. I’m not…a good person now. What happens when I lose again? Do I become…evil then?”

“Apollo,” Persephone said as gently as she could. “If you are worried that you will become evil, then you have more humanity than you think.”

He gave her a look that begged to differ.

“You should talk to Ajax,” she said, and though she offered the advice, she knew how hard it was to communicate. It had been her greatest challenge when it came to her relationship with Hades. In part, she blamed her mother. Over the years, Persephone had become accustomed to staying quiet, even when she had an opinion or a desire, fearing the consequences, namely, her mother’s scorn.

Hades was the first person who welcomed her insight, and she had to admit, it was still hard to believe that he actually wanted to know what she thought.

“He doesn’t want me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do because he said so!”

Persephone just started at the god. A deep frown pulled at his mouth, and his eyes held a pain she could only compare to what she’d felt when she’d been in the Forest of Despair.