A Touch of Malice (Hades x Persephone #3)(80)

All of a sudden, Demeter stood before her.

“Mother—”

She yanked Persephone up by her wrist. It was still sore from her fall earlier and the jerk sent a sharper pain through her.

Crying out, Demeter laughed.

“Kore,” she said, and Persephone winced at the name. “I knew this day would come.”

Persephone struggled to free herself, to grasp her power, but it would not rise to her call.

“You will be mine. Forever.”

“But the Fates—”

“Have unraveled your destiny,” she said and teleported. The smell of Demeter’s magic made Persephone want to vomit. She manifested inside the walls of a glass box. Outside, was Demeter. Persephone charged the glass, hitting and kicking, screaming at the top of her lungs.

“I hate you! I hate you!”

“Perhaps now,” she said. “But in a millennium, you will have only me. Enjoy watching your world die.”

Everything went dark, and suddenly, she was surrounded by images. All around her were screens upon which the lives of her friends and enemies played out, passing by as she remained the same within her prison. Even Lexa had a space—a stagnant image of her weather-worn headstone. She watched as the lives of Sybil, Hermes, Leuce, Apollo and more continued without her. Sybil thrived and died, Hermes and Apollo spiraled, and Leuce returned to Hades—Hades, her lover, her true soulmate—welcomed her to his bed. She watched as he found solace in the body of another—in Leuce, who was left, and others women she did not recognize. They came, a revolving door, and Hades emptied himself in each, breathing hard in the crook of their necks until he was left spent and still alone.

Persephone’s fingers dug into the palms of her hands; her throat bled as she screamed at him and cursed him.

You said you would burn this world for me—and yet it lives, and it thrives, and you exist within it—without me.

She took her anger out upon the walls, but even her rage wasn’t strong enough to summon her power. As she stood there, watching Hades’ world continue without her she swore she would end it. She would end him.

“Persephone.”

Her name—the way it was spoken—a soft, breathless whisper, drew her attention down and she met Hades’ gaze. Suddenly, the world was different, as if she had escaped her cage and now stood at the center of a burning battlefield. On the ground at her feet lay Hades, eyes glassy, the crease of his lips full of blood and spilling down his face.

Persephone fell to her knees.

“Hades,” her voice was different, strained. She brushed his hair from his face and despite the blood, he smiled at her.

“I thought…I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I’m here,” she whispered.

He lifted a hand and brushed a finger along her cheek. She inhaled, closing her eyes until his touch fell away and when she opened them, she found that he had closed his.

“Hades!” she placed her hands upon his face and his eyes opened into slits.

“Hmm?”

“Stay with me,” she begged.

“I cannot,” he said.

“What do you mean you can’t?” she said. “You can heal yourself. Heal!”

His eyes were open wider now and his expression sad.

“Persephone,” he said. “It’s over.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. She threaded her fingers through his matted hair and smoothed her hands over his chest.

Hades’ hands clamped down upon hers. “Persephone, look at me,” he commanded. It was the strongest his voice had sounded since she’d found him lying here. “You were my only love—my heart and my soul. My world began and ended with you, my sun, stars, and sky. I will never forget you but I will forgive you.”

Tears burned her eyes and thickened in her throat.

“Forgive me?”

It was like those words made her more aware of her surroundings and the horror around her. She suddenly realized where she was and remembered the events that had proceeded this—she was in the Underworld and it burned. There was nothing left of the lush and elegant beauty Hades had created—not the gardens or the village of Asphodel, not even the palace loomed upon the horizon. In their place were fire and thorns—they were thick and spiraling, gathering debris like a needle through thread—and it was one of those branches that had pieced Hades through the stomach.

“No!”

She tried to command the branch to vanish and when that didn’t work, he tried to break it but her hands slipped on Hades’ blood.

“No, please. Hades, I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” he said, quiet. “I love you.”

“Don’t,” she begged, tears streamed down her face. Her throat hurt, her chest hurt. “You said you wouldn’t leave. You promised.”

But Hades did not move again, and Persephone’s screams filled the silence as her pain manifested into darkness.

Later she woke surrounded by the familiar scent of spice and ash, her body cradled gently against a hard chest. She opened her eyes and found herself within Hades’ arms. The shock of seeing him well and unharmed made her skin feel too tight and tingly.

“You did well,” he said.

His words only served to summon a fresh wave of emotion. Her lips quiver and she covered her face as she began to cry.