A Touch of Ruin (Hades x Persephone #2)(17)

It wasn’t long before the three were locked in battle, chasing one another around the living room, delivering and taking hits until they collapsed in a heap on the couch, breathless and giggling.

Even Sybil seemed to be enjoying herself, the last few hours of her life momentarily forgotten. She sighed and said, “I wish all days were this happy.”

“They will be,” said Lexa. “You live with us now.”

By the time the pillows were returned to their place, the pizza had arrived. The delivery guy apologized profusely and explained that traffic had been backed up due to protests.

“Protests?” Persephone asked.

“It’s the Impious,” he said. “Protesting the upcoming Panhellenic Games.”

“Oh.”

The Impious were a group of mortals who rejected the gods, choosing fairness, freewill, and freedom over worship and sacrifice. Persephone wasn’t all that surprised that they’d showed up to protest the Games, but it was kind of unexpected, given that the Impious had kept a low profile for the last few years. She really hoped they stuck to peaceful protesting and didn’t escalate—a lot of people would be out and about for the festivities—Persephone, Lexa, and Sybil included.

The girl’s settled down to finish their movie, ate pizza, and kept their distance from topics that involved Apollo, though that didn’t keep Persephone from trying to figure out how to help Sybil.

Apollo’s actions were unacceptable, and didn’t she have an obligation to her readers to expose injustice? Especially when it came to the gods? And maybe, if the story was good enough, she wouldn’t need to write that exclusive.

Hours later, Persephone was still awake and unable to move. Sybil’s head rested in her lap, and Lexa snored, fast asleep on the couch opposite them.

After a moment, Sybil shifted and spoke in a sleepy whisper.

“Persephone, I want you to promise me you won’t write about Apollo.”

Persephone froze for a moment, holding her breath. “Why not?”

“Because Apollo isn’t Hades,” she answered. “He didn’t care what people thought and was willing to listen to you. That’s not Apollo. Apollo covets his reputation. It’s as important to him as music.”

“Then he shouldn’t have punished you,” Persephone answered.

She felt Sybil’s hands curl into the blanket around them. “I’m asking you to not fight in my name. Promise.”

Persephone didn’t respond. The problem was, she was asking for a promise, and when a god promised, it was binding, unbreakable.

It didn’t matter that Sybil didn’t know of Persephone’s Divinity.

She couldn’t do it.

After a moment, Sybil looked up, meeting her gaze. “Persephone?”

“I don’t make promises, Sybil.”

The oracle frowned. “I was afraid you’d say that.”





CHAPTER IV - A TOUCH OF WARNING


Persephone lay awake, listening to Lexa’s shallow snoring and Sybil’s wheezing breath. It was three in the morning, and she had to be up in four hours, but she couldn’t stop thinking about everything that had happened today. She considered the pros and cons of writing the exclusive Demetri and Kal wanted. She supposed it was one way to control the information she released, except that she was being forced to offer up details of her personal life. Worse, they’d taken the choice away from her, and she hated that.

But could she give up her dream job? She’d come to New Athens with dreams of freedom, success, and adventure. She’d had a taste of each, and just when she’d shook the chains of her mother’s custody, she found herself shackled with another restraint.

Would the cycle never end?

Then there was Sybil.

Persephone couldn’t let Apollo get away with his treatment of the oracle. She couldn’t understand why Sybil didn’t want her to write about the God of Music. He needed to answer for his behavior. There was also a part of her that hoped an article about Apollo meant Demetri and Kal would be less interested in the story of her relationship with Hades.

Persephone sighed. Her head was so full of thoughts—words piled up so high, it felt like they were pushing against her skull. She stood quietly and teleported to the Underworld, slipping into Hades bedchamber. If anyone was going to ease the tension in her head, it was the God of the Dead.

She hadn’t expected to find him asleep. She’d begun to suspect he rarely did, except when she was around. He lay partially covered by silk sheets; his muscled chest contoured from the firelight of the hearth. His arms were over his head, as if he’d fallen asleep stretching. She reached to touch his face and was surprised when his hand bit down on her wrist.

She yelped, more from fear than pain. Hades opened his eyes.

“Fuck,” he cursed, sitting up lightning-fast, he lessened his hold on her wrist, and drew her to him. “Did I hurt you?”

She would have answered, but he was pressing kisses to her skin, and each one sent a shock through her body.

“Persephone?” he stared up at her, a myriad of emotions clouding his eyes. It was almost like he was despondent; his breath shallow and his brows drawn together.

She smiled, brushing a piece of hair from his face. “I’m fine, Hades. You only scared me.”

He kissed her palm and held her tight against him as he laid down.