Neon Gods (Dark Olympus #1)(38)

“‘They’ll have to go through me to do it.’”

I blink. Hermes’s impression of me was spot-on. “That was not a message.”

“Wasn’t it?” She examines her nails. “Sounded like a message to me.”

“Hermes.”

“I take no sides, not as long as everyone is following the rules. Threats don’t violate them.” She grins suddenly. “They just add a little spice to everyone’s life. Ta!”

“Hermes!”

But she’s gone, darting out my door. Chasing her down won’t change a damn thing. Once she’s set her mind on something, she’ll do it no matter what anyone around her says. For the spice. I drag my hands over my face. This is a fucking mess.

I don’t know if Demeter is capable of following through on her threat. She’s been in the role for years now, but her reputation is too carefully curated to get a good read on what she’ll do in a situation like this. Is she really willing to hurt thousands of people whose only crime is to live on the wrong side of the River Styx?

Fuck. I don’t know. I really don’t know.

If I wasn’t a goddamn myth to most of the upper city, I’d be able to fight this more effectively. She would never try this bluff with one of the other Thirteen because of the potential blow to her reputation. I’m in the shadows, so she thinks she’s safe, that I have no recourse. She’ll find out how wrong she is if she goes through with this.

At this point, I’m inclined to call Demeter’s bluff. The other Thirteen don’t overly give a fuck about the lower city, but even they have to see how dangerous it is to let Demeter run amok. Beyond that, I’ve had a lifetime of not trusting the Thirteen, so my people are prepared to weather any storm they try to throw at us.

If Demeter thinks she can fuck with me without seeing consequences, she has another think coming.

***

After a mostly sleepless night, I get ready and head down to the kitchen in search of coffee. The sound of laughter echoes through the empty halls as I reach the ground floor. I recognize Persephone’s voice, even if she’s never laughed that freely around me. It’s silly to feel jealous of that fact after only knowing her a few days, but apparently reason has gone out the window where this woman is concerned.

I take my time walking to the kitchen, enjoying how much more alive the house feels this morning. I hadn’t really noticed the lack until now, and the realization doesn’t sit well with me. It doesn’t matter what life Persephone brings to my home, because she’s leaving in a few weeks. Getting used to the idea of waking up to her laughing in my kitchen is a mistake.

I push through the door to find her standing at the stove with Georgie. Georgie is technically my housekeeper, but she’s got a small army of staff to take care of cleaning this place, so she mostly presides over the kitchen and cooking. There’s a reason most of my people find their way through these doors for at least one meal a day; she’s a happy, middle-aged white woman who could be fifty or could be eighty. All I know is that she hasn’t appeared to age in the twenty years since she took over the position. Her hair has always been a sleek silver, and there have always been laugh lines around her eyes and mouth. Today, she’s wearing one of her customary aprons with frills around the edges.

She points to my normal chair without looking. “I just put a new pot of coffee on. Breakfast sandwiches incoming.”

I eye the pair of women as I sit. Persephone is on the other side of the island, and she’s got a little flour on her dress. Obviously, she’s been an active participant in breakfast. The realization makes me feel strange. “Since when do you let us help?”

“There is no ‘us.’ Persephone offered to handle a few small tasks while I set things up. Simple.”

Simple. As if she hasn’t chased off any offer of assistance I’ve made for the last two decades. I accept my coffee and try not to glare at it. The closest Georgie has let me get to “help” is watching a pot of water for fifteen seconds while she dug through the pantry for a few ingredients. Certainly nothing involved enough to put flour on my clothing.

“Maybe that expression is why Georgie doesn’t want you playing the role of a human storm cloud in her kitchen.”

I shoot a look at Persephone and find her fighting back a smile, her hazel eyes dancing with mirth. I raise my eyebrows. “Someone’s in a good mood this morning.”

“I had good dreams.” She winks at me and turns back to the stove.

I already had no plans to hand her back to Demeter and Zeus, but even if I were entertaining the idea, this morning would have nuked it. She’s been in my house less than forty-eight hours and something has already unwound in her. If I were any more arrogant, I’d chalk it up to the orgasms last night, but I know better. She feels safe, so she’s let down a layer or two of her guard. I might be a bastard, but I can’t repay that fledgling trust by throwing her to the wolves.

I’ll keep my word.

For better or worse.





Chapter 12


Persephone

I expect Hades to call in people to dress me rather than let me leave the house. All in the name of safety, of course. So I’m surprised when he leads me to the front door. A pair of sheepskin boots sit there. He points at the bench tucked back in an alcove of the foyer. “Sit.”