Neon Gods (Dark Olympus #1)(18)

I knock on the door and wait, but no sound emerges. I knock again. “Persephone?”

Silence.

After a quick internal debate, I open the door. There’s the slightest bit of resistance, and I push harder, making something crash on the other side. With a long sigh, I step into the room. It takes one look around the room—to see the tipped-over side table and the missing comforter—for me to come to the conclusion that she hid in the bathroom all night.

Of course she did.

She’s in big, bad Hades’s house so she just assumes that she’ll be harmed in some way while she’s defenseless in sleep. She barricaded herself in. It makes me want to throw something, but I haven’t allowed myself that kind of loss of control since I was barely out of my teens.

I set down the coffee mug and pick up the side table, taking a moment to put it back exactly where it belongs. Satisfied with the placement, I stride to the bathroom door and knock.

A shuffling on the other side. Then her voice, so close she has to be pressed against the door. “Do you often break into people’s rooms without permission?”

“Do I need permission to enter a room in my own house?” I don’t know why I’m engaging in this. I should just open the door, drag her out, and send her on her way.

“Perhaps you should have people sign a waiver before crossing the threshold if that’s how you think home ownership works.”

She’s just so strange. So…unexpected. I frown at the whitewashed wood. “I’ll consider it.”

“See that you do. You woke me rather abruptly.”

She sounds so damn prim that I want to rip this door off the hinges just to get a good look at the expression she’s wearing right now. “You were sleeping in a tub. Hardly the recipe for a good night’s rest.”

“That’s a very narrow worldview you have.”

I glare, though there’s no way she can see it. “Open the door, Persephone. I’m tired of this conversation.”

“You seem to do that a lot. If you find me so tiresome, you shouldn’t be breaking down my door at ungodly hours of the morning.”

“Persephone. The door. Now.”

“Oh, if you insist.”

I step back at the click of the lock and then she’s there, standing in the doorway and looking deliciously rumpled. Her blond hair is a mess, there’s a crease pressed into her cheek from her pillow, and she’s got the comforter wrapped around her like a suit of armor. A very fluffy, very ineffective suit of armor that requires her to shuffle into the room with tiny steps to avoid falling on her face.

The ridiculous urge to laugh rises, but I smother it. Any reaction will only encourage her, and this woman already has me set back on my heels. Get her sorted out. Either use her or get her out. That’s all that matters. I wave at the mug. “Coffee.”

Persephone’s hazel eyes widen the tiniest bit. “You brought me coffee.”

“Most people drink coffee in the morning. It’s really not a big deal.” I make a face. “Though Hermes is the only one I know who doses it with ice cream.”

If anything, her eyes get wider. “I can’t believe Hermes and Dionysus have known about you this entire time. How many other people know that you’re not a myth?”

“A few.” A nice, safe, noncommittal answer.

She’s still staring at my face as if searching for evidence of someone she knows, as if I’m somehow familiar to her. It’s disconcerting in the extreme. I have the irrational suspicion that she’s fisting that comforter so tightly to avoid reaching out and touching me.

Persephone tilts her head to the side. “Did you know there’s a statue of Hades in Dodona Tower?”

“How would I know?” I’ve only been to the tower once, and Zeus hardly gave me the full tour. I never want to repeat the experience, unless it’s to end that bastard once and for all. That particular vengeful fantasy has gotten me through more rough days than I want to number.

She continues on as if I didn’t respond, still studying my features too closely. “There’s these statues of each of the Thirteen, but yours has a black shroud over it. I guess to signify that your line has ended. You’re not supposed to exist.”

“Yes, you keep saying that.” I consider her. “It certainly seems like you’ve spent a lot of time studying this Hades statue. Hardly the kind of man Demeter would want you chasing down.”

Just like that, something shutters in her eyes and her smile brightens to blinding levels. “What can I say? I’m an eternal disappointment as a daughter.” She takes a step and winces.

She’s injured. Fuck, I forgot. I move before I have a chance to consider the wisdom of it. I scoop her up, ignoring her squawk, and set her on the bed. “Your feet are hurting you.”

“If they’re hurting me, I will happily sit down under my own power.”

I look down at her, meeting her eyes, and realize exactly how close we are. An unwelcome frisson of awareness pulses through me. I sound too harsh when I manage to speak. “Then do it.”

“I will! Now get back. I can’t think with you so close.”

I take a slow step back and then another. Setting her on the bed was a mistake, because now she’s looking deliciously rumpled on the bed, and I’m far too aware of other bed-related activities that would accomplish the same look. Fuck, but she’s beautiful. It’s the warm kind of beauty that feels like summer sunlight on my face, like if I get too close, I’ll smudge it. I stare at this beautiful, baffling woman, and I’m not sure I can go through with using her, even to punish Zeus for all the harm he’s caused me and mine.