A Touch of Malice (Hades x Persephone #3)(31)

CHAPTER IX – THE PALAESTRA OF DELPHI


She would never get used to being stolen away by another god’s magic, save Hades. She didn’t like the feel of it, the way it cradled her, caressed her skin, invaded her senses, but at least she knew who was doing it based on the scent of the magic.

“Apollo,” she growled.

The cold hit her instantly as she manifested at the center of a long, rectangular courtyard surrounded by a roofed porch. The snow falling from the sky was minimal—a few flurries swirling in the air, but the earth at her feet was wet and muddy. She scanned her environment, attempting to figure out exactly where she was, but froze as a well-muscled, naked man stumbled backward, like he’d been pushed.

Her eyes widened, heart hammering—move, she told herself, but for some reason, her feet wouldn’t go. Then she was yanked by her arm, crashing into a hard, leather-clad chest. Persephone planted her hands and pushed, but whoever held her, released her quickly. She staggered back, and her eyes slowly made their way up the colossal frame of a man. From his strong calves wrapped with the leather straps of his sandals to his leather linothorax, to his round, white-irised eyes. They were probably the most stunning part about him—and the most unnerving. His jaw was strong, his face handsome and framed by inky curls. The man was a warrior, a hoplite, if she had to guess judging by his outfit.

Persephone started to thank the man for helping her when she heard a loud thud behind her. She whirled to find the naked man had rolled onto his stomach while another naked man had his hands cupped beneath his chin his head pulled back.

“Do you yield?” yelled the man.

The other man growled, an angry sound that came from deep in his chest.

Beside her, the man who had saved her, chuckled.

She looked at him.

“Where am I?” she asked.

The man did not seem to hear her, so she asked again.

“Do you know where I am?”

Again, he did not seem to hear. This time, she stepped in front of him. His gaze fell, meeting hers.

“Can you tell me where I am?”

His brows knitted together, and he looked around. Maybe he was confused by her question. After a moment, he stuck out his hand, as if asking for hers. Hesitantly, she obliged and he flipped it, tracing letters into her palm.

D-E-L-P-H-I, he spelled and then P-A-L-A-E-S-T-R-A.

A palaestra was a training center, primary used for wrestling.

The Palaestra of Delphi.

She was in Delphi.

“Apollo,” she gritted out, frustrated that the God of the Sun had brought her here with absolutely no notice. Despite his warning last night at Aphrodite’s, she thought he’d at least visit before whisking her away to some unknown engagement.

Then she looked up, into the man’s haunting, white eyes.

“You are deaf?” she asked.

He nodded.

“But you read lips,” she said.

He nodded again.

“Thank you for saving me earlier.”

He brought his flat palm to his lips and moved it in a forward motion, speaking, “You’re welcome.”

His speech was slightly distorted, almost guttural.

She smiled just as a voice rang out that made her cringe.

“There you are, Sugar Dumplin’!”

Persephone whirled to find the God of the Sun striding toward them. He looked luminous, especially in the gloom of the day. He wore a similar outfit to the enormous man behind her, but his breastplate was gold and laurel leaves twined through his dark hair. Despite the exuberant tone of his voice, he seemed almost frustrated, his jaw tight, his eyes an unnatural shade of purple.

“Apollo,” she gritted out as he took hold of her arm.

“Don’t like that one, either, huh?” he asked.

“We talked about nicknames.”

“I know but I thought you might...warm to it.”

She glared and Apollo sighed. “Fine. Let’s go, Seph!”

“Apollo,” she warned, planting her feet. “Let go of my arm.”

He whirled to face her, eyes aglow. Something was definitely off.

“Bargain,” he snapped, as if that word would convince her to let him push her around.

“The word you are looking for is please.”

They glared at one another, and then all of a sudden, she felt a presence behind her. She tilted her head back and found the massive man who had helped her earlier. He hovered, glaring at Apollo, thick arms crossed over his chest.

“Are you challenging me, mortal?” Apollo’s eyes narrowed. Persephone could feel his magic gather.

“You will not fight him,” Persephone said, glaring at him pointedly.

Apollo chuckled. “Fight? There would be no fight. This one couldn’t take me in battle.”

“I’ll fight for you, my lord,” another voice joined the fray and they all turned to see the naked men who had been wrestling earlier. They’d stopped, and now stood bare and muddy, completely oblivious to the cold—or too numb. The one speaking had been the one with the advantage earlier. He was handsome, with large brown eyes, a mass of short, curly hair, and a beard.

“There’s no need,” Persephone said.

“I do not answer to you, woman.”

For the briefest second, Persephone saw fury flash in Apollo’s eyes.