A Touch of Ruin (Hades x Persephone #2)(33)

“It’s different because that secret won’t hurt him,” she said.

But the secret he’d kept about Leuce? It hurt.

She didn’t like the words that followed. They grew like menacing clouds, a storm of tormenting words in her mind: This will hurt Hades.

She turned out the lights.





CHAPTER VIII - ABDUCTION


When Persephone arrived at work the next day, the crowd outside the Acropolis had grown to include members of Apollo’s cult—worshippers and die-hard fans. They were obvious because they wore wreaths of laurel in their hair and gold dust like warpaint. Even from inside Hades’ Lexus, Persephone heard angry shouts.

“Liar!”

“Apologize to Apollo!”

“You’re just jealous!”

“Bitch!”

Clearly her article had been published.

Antoni looked in the rearview mirror at her.

“Would you like me to walk you to the door, my lady?”

Persephone stared out the window. Security had already approached the car and were prepared to escort her.

Gods. What had she done?

“No, Antoni. That’s alright.”

He nodded once. “I’ll return for you this afternoon.”

When she left the car, she was thrust into a hostile and unfamiliar world. Everything was so loud, and she felt everyone’s emotions—anger and hate, anxiety and fear—they weighed upon her chest, smothering her.

“Come, my lady,” one of the security guards said. He stuck his arm out as if to corral her but didn’t touch her. She looked at him, blinking.

“Did you call me ‘my lady’?” she asked.

The guard blushed.

“It’s not safe out here, hurry!”

She knew it wasn’t safe. She could feel the violence of the crowd growing and by the time she reached the entrance, part of the crowd had broken out into a fight. She was ushered inside, and turned to watch as the officers took charge, dividing the throng and diffusing the situation.

I don’t understand. All of this over a few words I wrote.

No one had gotten this angry when she had written about Hades, but she knew why—the God of the Underworld was hardly beloved, just intriguing. Apollo was the literal God of Light. He was a God of Music and Poetry. He represented all the things in life mortals wanted.

Including the darkness they never wanted to acknowledge.

When she turned to head up the elevator, she found she was being watched by everyone on the first floor—the front desk receptionist, security, random employees.

They stared at her, wide-eyed and kept their distance. Maybe they were afraid Apollo would appear and strike her down. Whatever the case, she was glad to have an elevator to herself. The reprieve was short-lived, however, because the stares continued as she made her way to her desk.

Helen was her usual, chipper self, greeting Persephone and following her to her desk. The only indication she gave that she was aware of the backlash was when she informed Persephone that she hadn’t forwarded any calls to her voicemail.

“I could take over your email, if you’d like. Just for the day.”

“No, that’s okay, Helen.”

“Do you need anything? Coffee or a snack?”

Persephone thought for a moment. “Tylenol,” she answered. “And some water.”

“I’ll be right back!”

Helen returned a short time later. Persephone took the medicine tried to concentrate on her work which consisted of reading hate mail and staring at a black document that was supposed to contain her exclusive.

If she was being honest, she was on edge, waiting for Hades to slam his way through the doors of her workplace, gather her up and carry her off to the Underworld to be punished for her decision to betray him.

At first, she was anxious about his potential arrival, but as time passed, she became more and more frustrated with the God of the Dead.

What would it take to get his attention?

She got up and walked to the break room to make coffee. While there, she looked out the window. A crowd was still gathered outside the Acropolis.

“Your article is causing quite a stir.” Demetri joined her. He turned on the television in the corner. The news was streaming, and the headline read: Hades’ Lover Attacks Beloved God.

She squeezed her coffee cup so hard, the lid came off sloshing hot liquid all over her hands. Demetri took it from her and handed her some napkins.

“You think they could at least use my name?”

“You might not want them to,” he said. “It’s probably best they remember who you belong to.”

Persephone glared at her boss. “I don’t belong to anyone.”

“Fair,” he said. “Poor word choice. I just meant that…you’ll want people to remember that you’re with Hades because they aren’t happy that you went after Apollo.”

That was obvious—and no wonder. The news was particularly critical of her article.

“She mentions eight mortal women who apparently experienced abuse from Lord Apollo, but where are they?”

“She’s only doing this because of her association with Hades. No other mortal would dare write this...trash about a god.”

“Guess she didn’t gain enough fame by sleeping with Hades. She had to go after Apollo, too. Is this the kind of fame you wanted, Persephone Rosi?”