A Touch of Malice (Hades x Persephone #3)(79)

But the truth of it wasn’t written on his face. He looked severe, the hollow of his cheeks deep and shadowed. Then the air around them changed, growing heavy and charged. She had felt this before, in the Forest of Despair when Hades’ magic had risen to challenge her own. It raised the hair upon her arms and made her heartbeat feel sluggish in her chest.

Then, everything went silent.

Persephone hadn’t even noticed the noise before; she just knew there was an absence of it now. She glanced at the silvery trees that surrounded them, at the dark canopy overhead—and then she noticed movement to her left and right. Before she had time to react, something shadowy passed through her, shaking her very bones, jarring her soul. It wasn’t exactly painful, but it did steal her breath. She fell to her knees, her stomach churning. She wanted to vomit.

What the fuck.

“Shadow-wraiths are death and shadow magic,” Hades said, matter of fact. “They are attempting to reap your soul.”

Persephone struggled to catch her breath, lifting her eyes to meet Hades’. His expression sent a strange current of fear through her, and the most unnerving part about the feeling was that she had never feared him before.

“Are you…trying to kill me?”

Hades cold laugh chilled her to the bone.

“Shadow-wraiths cannot claim your soul unless your thread has been cut but they can make you violently ill.”

Persephone swallowed, still tasting the sour film at the back of her throat as she rose to her feet on shaking legs.

“If you were fighting any other Olympian—any enemy—they would have never let you up.”

“How do I fight when I do not know what power you will use against me?”

“You will never know,” he said.

She stared at him for a beat and then something emerged from the earth beneath her feet—a clawed, black hand. It closed around her ankle and jerked. She fell forward as it pulled, dragging her into the pit from which it had emerged. She shoved her hands out to break her fall and felt a sharp pain in her wrist as she landed.

“Hades!” Persephone cried, clawing at the dirt in an effort to anchor herself, her heart racing with fear and adrenaline. She rolled and sat up as quickly as possible, her hands going for the strange claw that held her ankle like a vice, but when she tried to pry it away, sharp thorns jutted from it, piercing her skin.

Persephone jerked back, growling before summoning a huge thorn from her skin and stabbing the creature that held her. Black blood oozed from it, but it let go and disappeared into the Earth. Before she could turn, another shadow passed through her. This time she arched, screaming as she fell to the ground. On the floor of the grove, she struggled to breath and her vision blurred.

“Better,” she heard Hades say. “But you gave me your back.”

He loomed over her, a true God of the Dead, a shadow darkening her vision.

She hated feeling like he was the enemy. She turned her head so he couldn’t see the tears threatening, her fingers curled into fists. Thorns sprouted from the Earth, but Hades vanished before they had a chance to entangle him. She rolled onto her hands and knees and found him across the clearing.

“Your hand gave away your intentions. Summon your magic with your mind—without movement.”

“I thought you said you would teach me,” she said, her voice quivering.

“I am teaching you,” he said. “This is what will become of you if you face a god in battle. You must be prepared for anything, for everything.”

Persephone stared down at her hands. They were bloodied and dirty and she had only been training five minutes, but in that time, Hades had succeeded in illustrating just how ill equipped she was to handle any kind of battle. She remembered Hecate’s speech—mark my words, Persephone, you will become one of the most powerful goddesses of our time. She laughed humorlessly. How was she supposed to become that powerful, that controlled when faced with gods who had spent lifetimes honing their power?

Except that she had possessed such power. In the Forest of Despair. She had used Hades’ power against him, and it had felt cruel and agonizing and it tasted like sorrow—bitter and acrid.

“Up, Persephone. No other god would have waited.”

I will coax the darkness from you he’d whispered before he had explored her body for the first time and right now, those words dug into her, unraveling threads of darkness. She stood, shaking. Not from the battering her body had taken, but from frustration, from anger.

The earth began to shake, and pieces of rock rose from the ground. In response, Hades’ magic surrounded her—an army of smoke and shadow. It should feel wrong—contrary to her own magic, but Hades had never been the enemy.

Except right now, she reminded herself. Right now, he was.

As the rock and pieces of earth rose, Hades shadows did, too, barreling toward her. She watched them—focused on them, forced them to slow and held out her hand—not to stop it, but to harness it. The magic seeped into her skin. It was a strange feeling, tangible, as it twined with her blood, and when she opened her hand, black claws protruded from the tips of her fingers.

Hades smiled.

“Good,” he said.

And then Persephone hit her knees.

Her chest felt as though it had imploded—all her breath stolen by whatever invisible force had hit her. As she struck the ground, every fear she’d possessed over her short life was suddenly clawing its way from her throat.