A Touch of Malice (Hades & Persephone #3)(90)

But Persephone knew her magic was working—the wound throbbed as it healed.

Finally, Hades let out a low breath and Persephone opened her eyes, staring down at her exposed shoulder to see that the skin was slightly pink and puckered, but the wound was healed.

“I did it,” she said and smiled as she looked at Hades.

“You did,” he said, his eyes moving from her wound to her gaze, and she got the sense that he didn’t quite believe her.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, her voice quiet.

“Nothing you wish to know,” he said.

She believed it.

Finally, he approached.

“Let’s clean you up.”

Once again, Hades gathered her to his chest and took her into the bathroom. When her feet touched the floor, she reached to brush loose tendrils of hair from Hades’ face, her blood was still smeared on his skin.

“Are you well?”

Instead of answering, he turned on the shower, letting the water grow hot.

He took her hand and kissed her palm before reaching behind her and unzipping her ruined dress, guiding it down over her breasts and hips until it puddled on the floor. Her bra followed—his touch lingering on her breasts, then her waist, then her thighs as he slid her panties down her legs, pausing as he knelt on the floor to gaze up at her.

“Hades,” she whispered his name, and then his lips touched her skin as he kissed a fiery path back up her body. Her hands tangled into his hair as he paused to tease each of her nipples, before his mouth devoured hers.

When her fingers tangled into his jacket, she pulled away.

“Shall I undress you?” She asked, eager to have his skin against hers.

“If you wish,” he said.

She reached for the buttons on his shirt, but a sharp pain in her shoulder made her wince and she dropped her arm. Hades frowned.

“Let me,” he said, making quick work of the buttons. Shedding his jacket, shirt, and slacks. When he was naked, he gripped her sides, and drew her to him, his arms wrapping tightly around her. His mouth slanted against hers and she opened for him. The feel of him inside her in anyway was like injecting magic into her veins—it made her feel wild and passionate. Except that soon, she felt real magic—healing magic—as Hades’ palm came to rest upon her.

She broke the kiss and looked down at her shoulder. Where she had left a scar, there was now smooth skin.

“Was I not good enough?” she asked.

It wasn’t exactly the question she intended to ask, and she knew once the words were out of her mouth, that they hurt Hades, but it was all she could think to say because this kind of magic was important to her and she wanted to master it.

“Of course, you are good enough, Persephone,” Hades said, and he brought his hands to her jaw, sliding his fingers into her hair. “I am over-protective and fearful for you and perhaps selfishly, I wish to remove anything that reminds me of my failure to protect you.”

“Hades, you did not fail,” she said.

“We will agree to disagree,” he said.

“If I am enough then you are enough.”

He did not speak, and she moved her hands up his chest, twining her arms around his neck.

“I am sorry. I never wanted to see you suffer again, not like you did in the days following Tyche’s death.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said and kissed her.

This time, he guided her into the shower. They stood outside of the spray as he reached for the soap and wet a cloth. He started with her shoulder, gently washing the blood away. He moved to her breasts, groping and squeezing, his slick hands teasing each one before moving onto her stomach and sides, her thighs and her calves. On his knees before her, he gave an order.

“Turn.”

She obeyed the command, placing her hands flat on the wall as he made his way back up her body.

He spent time washing between her thighs, fingers teasing her flesh. By the time he rose to his feet, she was flustered, and though his erection swelled between them, he did not move to take her. Instead, he stared at her intently and said, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she said, and there was something in this moment—in the exchange of words that brought tears to her eyes. “More than anything.”

They weren’t powerful enough words, but she couldn’t find the ones she needed, the ones she wanted. The ones that conveyed just how much her blood and bone, heart and soul ached for him.

“Persephone,” Hades whispered her name, brushing a stray tear from her face. He gathered her into his arms and carried her out of the shower. They were not even dry as he settled beside the fire.

Cradled against his chest, they sat in silence as the events of the evening rushed back into their reality.

Talaria Stadium had been the perfect space for an attack. The distraction of the chariot races, the added drama between Apollo, Ajax, and Hector. No one suspected a thing.

“All those people,” she whispered. “Gone.”

She wondered how many had died, then the guilt settled upon her as she realized she should have been at the gates to greet them, to calm them.

Hades’ arms tightened around her. “You will not be able to console everyone who makes their way to the gates unexpectedly, Persephone. Those deaths are far too numerous. Take comfort, the souls of Asphodel are there, and they will represent you well.”