A Touch of Malice (Hades x Persephone #3)(24)

This was not at all what Persephone had expected. This goddess had fought for her life, and if she had not been able to sense life, she would have thought the goddess was dead because her breathing was so shallow.

“Oh my gods,” Persephone’s hands went to her mouth and something thick and sour gathered in the back of her throat. She rushed to them, and knelt, taking Aphrodite’s hand in hers.

The goddess of love looked at Persephone, her eyes red and face splotchy. It was hard to see her so emotional. Aphrodite usually tried her best to repress her feelings, the most she conveyed was anger, and if that began to melt her frigid exterior, she shut down, but this—this had destroyed her defenses. Whoever this goddess was, she was important to her.

“What happened?” Hades asked the question, filling the room with a dark tension that seemed to curl into her lungs and steal her breath. There was an edge to his voice, a shudder of violence, and it trickled down her spine.

“We don’t know for certain,” a voice answered, startling Persephone. She realized Hades hadn’t been taking to Aphrodite or Hermes but another—a man who loomed in the corner near the doors. It was as if he were prepared to make a quick exit, except that he also looked at ease, leaning against the wall, thick arms crossed over his chest. He was near-equal in size to Hades, but he did not dress like any god she had ever seen. He wore a beige, thread-bare tunic and a pair of trousers that came to his calves. Despite his simplicity in clothing, his blond beard and hair were well-manicured and almost silky in appearance.

She thought she could guess who this was as her gaze dropped to his feet where a gold prosthetic leg peeked out from his pant leg. This was Hephaestus, God of Fire, and Aphrodite’s absent husband—or so the rumors said.

But if he was absent, what was he doing here now?

Hephaestus continued speaking, his voice like a match struck in silence.

“We believe she was walking her dog, Opal, when she was attacked and had just enough strength to teleport here. When she arrived, she was not conscious, and we have not been able to rouse her.”

“Whoever did this will suffer,” said Hermes.

It was strange to see the usually gleeful god so serious.

She looked from Hermes to Hades, then to Hephaestus, noting their fierce gazes. Persephone turned to the woman lying on the chaise and asked, “Who is she?”

This time, Aphrodite spoke, her voice thick with emotion.

“My sister, Harmonia.”

Harmonia, Goddess of Harmony—she was the least combative of the gods, not even an Olympian. Persephone had never met her, nor had she realized her connection to Aphrodite.

She turned to Hades. “Can you heal her?”

He had healed her multiple times, but her wounds had never been anything like this. Still, he was the God of the Dead and had the ability to bring them back to life. Surly this wasn’t beyond his abilities?

Still, he shook his head, a grim expression on his face.

“No, for this we will need Apollo.”

“I never thought those words would come out of your mouth,” Apollo said, appearing suddenly. He was dressed archaically, in a gold breastplate, a leather linothorax, and sandals with straps that wrapped around his strong calves. A gold cape hung off one shoulder, and some of his dark curls stuck to his sweaty forehead. Persephone thought that he must have been practicing, perhaps for the Panhellenic Games.

He was smirking, his dimples on full display, until his gaze fell upon Harmonia, and then his expression morphed into something fierce. It was almost frightening, how serious he could become in seconds, much like his brother, Hermes.

“What happened?” He demanded, moving to kneel beside the chaise and Persephone couldn’t help detecting that the god smelled…different. His usual scent of laurel—sweet and earthy—was overpowered by something spicier, like cloves. She might not have noticed as much, but he had wedge himself between her and Aphrodite to reach for Harmonia.

“We do not know,” Hermes said.

“That’s why we summoned you,” Hades replied, his voice dripped with disdain.

“I…don’t understand,” Persephone said. “How would Apollo know what happened to Harmonia?”

The god grinned again, his horror momentarily forgotten as he bragged, “As I heal, I can view memories. I should be able to tap into her injuries and discover how she received them…and by who.”

Persephone stood and retreated a step, watching as Apollo worked, and she was surprised by how gentle he treated the goddess.

“Sweet Harmonia,” he said quietly, placing his palm upon her forehead, he brushed at her tangled hair. “Who did this to you?”

As he spoke, his body began to glow, and soon that glow was transferred to Harmonia. Apollo’s eyes fluttered closed, and Persephone watched as his face contorted—brows furrowing, body spasming—and she realized that he was experiencing her pain. Apollo’s breath grew ragged the longer he worked. It wasn’t until his nose began to bleed that she started to worry.

“Apollo, stop!”

Persephone pushed him away. He fell back, his hand going to his nose where crimson now dripped to his lips. As he pulled his fingers away, he seemed confused by the effects of his healing.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Apollo looked up at her, his violet eyes were tired. Still, he smiled.