A Touch of Malice (Hades x Persephone #3)(35)

Persephone shivered, hugging herself as the wind whipped around them, smelling of salt and stinging cold. Demeter’s winter had not neglected the islands around New Greece either, it seemed.

“Can’t we just teleport inside like last time?” Persephone asked, her teeth chattering.

“We could,” he answered. “If we had been invited.”

“What do you mean? Didn’t Aphrodite let you know Harmonia was awake?”

Hades did not reply immediately.

“Hades,” Persephone warmed.

“She sent Hermes for you,” Hades replied. “He found me instead.”

They stared at one another. Persephone wasn’t sure what to say. Aphrodite was trying to go behind Hades’ back, and while Persephone wondered what the Goddess of Love hoped to accomplish sans Hades, she also wondered if Hades realized she wouldn’t have come without him.

“You won’t do this without me,” he said.

She had her answer. It was a blow—a pain she hadn’t anticipated. He didn’t trust her, not with this anyway, and while she recognized she didn’t have the best track record for obeying, this was a different—she was different. Her eyes stung and she swallowed a lump in her throat as she turned her head almost mechanically to face the entrance.

“Persephone—”

But whatever Hades was about to say was lost as the door opened. A woman answered—except Persephone did not think she was a woman at all. She looked alive enough—rosy cheeks and glassy eyes—but she could not sense any kind of actual life—no fluttering heartbeat or warmth.

She must be an animatronic, Persephone thought, one of Hephaestus’s creations.

“Welcome.” Her tone was soft, breathy—it reminded Persephone of Aphrodite’s voice, only slightly strained. “My lord and lady are not expecting guests. State your names please.”

Persephone started to open her mouth, but Hades breezed past the women—robot—whatever she was—and entered the home.

“Excuse me!” She called after Hades. “You are entering the private residence of Lord and Lady Hephaestus!”

“I am Lady Persephone,” she said. “That is Lord Hades.”

The God of the Dead turned to her. “Come, Persephone.”

She folded her arms over her chest and glared. “You could show some courtesy. You weren’t invited, remember?”

Hades’ mouth tightened.

The animatronic was silent, and Persephone wondered for a moment if she had broken it, but her face changed—lighting up as if she were excited or pleased and said, “Lady Persephone, you are most welcome. Please, follow me.”

The woman turned and started toward an open living area. As she passed Hades, she spoke, “Lord Hades, you are most unwelcome.”

He rolled his eyes but fell into step beside Persephone. Heat unfurled in her chest as he grasped her hand. She tried to pull free, but he held tight, and she relented. Despite how angry she was with him, it helped that he wanted to touch her.

Aphrodite’s home was what she expected—luxurious, open, romantic—and then there were elements that weren’t at all what she imagined—modern lines, metal art, and polished wood. It was a fusion of the Goddess of Love and the God of Fire, and yet, from what she had heard and seen of the two, it surprised her that their distinct differences meshed so well—and so obviously—in their home. She’d expected them to live separately and for that to be obvious.

They were led down a hallway—on one side were windows, on the other canvases sprayed with blush pink and gold. Persephone kept her gaze on the art, unwilling to look out upon the garden opposite and see all of Aphrodite’s tropical plants weighed down with snow.

The maid paused to open the door and announced them as she entered. “My Lady Aphrodite, Lady Harmonia—Lady Persephone and Lord Hades are here to see you.”

They stepped into a library and while it had the same floor to ceiling windows on the wall opposite her, it somehow seemed warmer. Perhaps it was all the mahogany bookcases, lined with leather bound and gold embossed books, or the lamps which cast an amber glow upon the walls. Aphrodite and Harmonia sat side-by-side on a settee upholstered in rich velvet the color of the cold ocean outside. In front of them was a tray with a steaming pot of tea, mugs, and small sandwiches.

Persephone couldn’t look away from Harmonia. The blonde goddess was a beauty just like her sister. She appeared more youthful, her face less angled, and her expressions softer. Apollo’s magic had done a lot to heal the cuts and bruises that had marred her skin last night, but it was evident she had been through trauma. It haunted her eyes and the energy around her. She sat as if she feared she might break—or perhaps as if she trusted no one, even though she was safe. Curled up on her lap was Opal, who was freshly bathed, her fur white as snow once more.

Persephone tried not to stare at Harmonia’s horns—or what was left of them, anyway. The white bone looked wrong jutting out of her silk-like hair.

Would they grow back, she wondered? Could they be restored with magic? She did not know because she’d never known anyone to get close enough to a god or goddess to dehorn them. She would have to ask Hades later.

“Thank you, Lucy,” Aphrodite said, and the animatronic bowed before departing. The goddess’s eyes shifted to Persephone and then to Hades.