Hades and Persephone: Crown of Souls (Gods of Myth #3)

Chapter 20

Chapter

Twenty

P ersephone

When Hades calls his meeting complete, I rise from the table. I can't let myself look at him, even though I can feel the dark burn of his eyes singing my skin. I'm angry, but more I'm hurt .

I know there is something he isn't telling me. I know this, and yet he wants me to bare everything to him. It's not fair and it’s not right. Relationships go both ways, and I won't accept anything less.

It if he can't share with me, petty as it is, I feel my hands are tied. I can do nothing but give him a taste of his own medicine. Judging by the bitter twist to his face, he doesn't much like the taste.

I stutter in my haste to leave the meeting as my eyes land once again on the pretty dessert. My stomach twists even as that pinching twist of pain wrenches in my heart. The sweet treat, all glossy and red, has a memory replaying in my mind.

Hades, promising he would never again manipulate me. Hades, claiming the space that dared stand between us to tower over me. Hades, dipping his finger into the dessert and begging me with that dark daze alight with flames to taste the treat from his very finger. The hitch of his breath as I drew him inside my mouth, sucking him clean in an act of trust and seduction that even now has my body responding.

Even though my heart is twisting in pain, my core twists with need. In response, shame and frustration heat my skin, because what the hell?

I’m mad at the man—God. Whatever .

On top of the very real fact I’m pissed off—it's only been a few hours since I last had him. And yet, here I am wanting more.

I'm starting to get annoyed with myself. This is ridiculous .

Setting my teeth, I tear my gaze from the dessert. It's as I push from the table that I catch his eyes, the flare of his nostrils as he inhales deep into his chest. He's not the only one inhaling the scent of my body’s betrayal. Next to him, Hypnos raises an amused brow at me.

Oh, for frick sakes .

Can all Gods smell arousal?

The thought is disturbing.

And it's on that thought that I turn and head for the exit.

“Persephone,” Hades calls. My steps stutter, and then I keep going.

I need a minute.

I need some space.

Is that really so bad?

It's not like I'm going to find a portal into the living realm and escape. Essentially, I'm safe here in the Underworld, so long as I don't travel to Tartarus, of course.

The thought of Tartarus has a niggle of curiosity, an ember of interest, flaring. But, no , I promised Hades I wouldn't.

Well, did I promise him, though? Alluded to agreeing, perhaps. But promise? No. I didn't actually promise I would never travel to Tartarus.

But I won't right now. Right now, I just—I need out of the Palace.

I need to be alone. I need to think. My thoughts are a webbed mess.

I'm attempting to declutter thread after thread when I find myself in what can only be a stable. Everything is done in shades of black and tones of rich, warm wood. To my surprise, none of the stalls have doors, even though there are horses inside. I recognize Alastor immediately. His dark eyes track me as I move cautiously into the stable.

I don't know why this is where I’ve led myself, but I'm here. Surprisingly, I don't feel unsafe, even though the beasts should frighten me.

I feel home in every part of this realm. As though this is where my soul was always meant to be. As though it was where it was made to exist, the pieces of me crafted to fit into the crevices of this very realm. I am one with this place, and I should be one with the man who is my mate. The fact he denies it—I just don't understand.

As soon as my eyes land on the beast, I can't look away. He's looking at me, too. I know he is a he. I sense it even as I don’t know how I know.

Perhaps it's a latent memory from a life lived centuries ago. I only know that my heart beats a little quicker, and there is recognition in my soul.

He looks, for the most part, like the others.

He is a shining, beautiful, regal black. He is slightly shorter than Alastor. There is a softening around his eyes that works to melt the frustration I’ve let ice over my heart. Maybe it’s the long sweep of his lashes that are a touch feminine. Maybe it’s the sweeping mane of ebony or the sleek tuft of hair that flows over his hooves like black booties. Or maybe it’s just him. He puts me at ease in a way I desperately need.

I think not once about closing the distance between us. As I previously mentioned, I've never been a horse girl. But for this one—well, I could be a horse girl for him.

As soon as I am close, he lets out a deep breath of air from his nostrils. I jump, but I don't jump away. I don't know how I know I am safe, but I do. When the beast moves closer, I stand my ground. When he bows his head, I respond in kind, touching my forehead to his. The sigh he looses comes from the very deep of his soul.

Driven by instinct, I lift my hand and stroke his thick neck. He is warm and soft and silky smooth. My heart weeps with love.

A cool, strong, feminine voice breaks the mood and has me jolting away from the horse. “I see you found Aethon.”

My eyes whip from the woman in black back to the horse. To Aethon.

The name is familiar, in the very deep, very back of my mind. But it's there. I wish I could remember who I was. I wish I had all the memories, and they were there for me, easily plucked from the library of a past life.

I wish I wasn't sorting through this forgotten mess, trying to place pieces of a puzzle that is mine, and yet not.

I look back to the woman, her black hair is always moving around her body, as though dancing in a breeze that does not blow. The others seem entirely unaffected by the oddities of her, but I am not yet so incensed.

I realize Thanatos is the God of Death, and essentially a Reaper, but Hecate is the one who makes me uneasy.

Hecate, with her pale skin, and shifting hair, and gauzy black gowns—well, she is the one who unnerves me most. Not to mention the fact that she moves as though she is hovering above the ground. It’s not normal the way her body does not jostle with her steps, but instead gives the appearance that she floats.

I'm pretty sure that would give anybody the freak.

“Did Hades send you?” I ask her.

“No.”

No? That's it. No.

I wait, but she says nothing else.

I lift my hand again to stroke the side of Aethon’s neck. Simply touching him makes me feel less uneasy, a little more like I can breathe.

I was close to this horse once, I think. Perhaps he was even mine. Like, really mine. Not simply borrowed from Hades.

“Then why are you here?”

Hecate floats closer.

I fight the urge to shiver.

“I have stood at Hades’ side for a very long time, Persephone. So long, in fact, that I was also a good friend to you.” Her words ring a bell of truth deep inside me, and yet I feel that same ember of unease. She seems to sense that, because her lips stretch in a thin smile. “I will not harm you. I would never harm you.” She adds softly after a second pause, “You don't need to fear me.”

“I don't fear you.”

“But you do.” She tips her head to the side, curious eyes narrowing. “You never did before, but you do now.”

“It's not fear.”

She considers. “It's not?”

I shake my head. “I don't think so. Unease?” I don’t know why I make it sound like a question. “You move a little funny. I mean weird. I mean?—”

I clamp my mouth shut. Frankly, the words had been rude, even as they’re honest. But there's really no other way to say it. Maybe it’s due to my human ineptness, but the way she moves is funny in a weirdly disconcerting kind of way.

She seems to find my fumbling endearing rather than offensive, because that thin smile hitches at the corner. “Ah.” She moves another pace closer, and again, I hold my ground simply stroking Aethon even though I kind of want to flee.

She adds, “I have this effect on new souls.”

“I'm not a new soul. I'm alive.”

“You are still a soul.” She dips her chin. “And you are the first human to be welcomed into the Underworld, alive, in a very, very long time.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, yes.” She nods. “The first, in fact, since Adonis.”

The name is like a wrecking ball in my mind. The memory of the vision I'd had of myself and Addison—pictured as Adonis, rushes to the forefront of my mind.

With that vision comes questions, and with those questions come a collage of memories.

They steal my breath. I feel as though my stomach has fallen into my feet.

I can see Hades standing in the shadows, watching. His eyes always so dark, absent of the fire I've grown to love so much.

As warm lips drift across my skin, a touch that I do not crave wanders my body. It dips into my curves, exploring, invading . I can hear the echo of my ancient thoughts in a voice that is mine and yet not. Taunt him , it whispers. Show him that he wants you and only you , it urges. Make him act . Make him jealous. Make him claim.

I slam my eyes closed in reality as I slam my eyes closed in the vision—in the memory. He is inside my body now. I can feel him, and he is not Hades .

His heart is a storm of thunderous beats against my own, but mine rages for an entirely different reason. It rages in agony, because I feel it plainly in this moment. The way I felt then. The absence of worth. The hope that left me starving, never full.

The reality—the belief that my husband, King of the Underworld, God of the Dead and Afterlife, did not love me.

The memory shatters like glass into a thousand pieces. The shards rain down in splinters to imbed the cushion of my tender soul. I am bracing myself now against Aethon, and he holds my weight like the wall of strength he is. My breaths are deep, a sharp pain in my chest.

Hecate is close now, so close she could touch me. And yet I am not afraid.

Now, I am just hurt.

Her head tips to the side in that eerie way she does. “What did you see?”

“Me,” I rasp. “With Adonis.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, you liked him very much.”

I want to vomit. “No.”

Her brows rise. “No?”

“No, I didn't.” My free palm lays flat against my roiling belly. “I don't understand why I was with him.”

“You were with many, Persephone.”

A sheen of sticky sweat coats my skin as the reality of her statement sears me.

I know it's true, I have pieced that much together.

Hades saying he shared me. The visions of me with others, Hades always in the background. Me always desperate for a reaction that never came.

It's the worst kind of miscommunication.

And I just don't understand it.

I ask Hecate, “Did he sleep with others? Did he have affairs like I did?”

My hand trembles as I stroke Aethon. Touching him calms me, if just a little.

Hecate takes a moment, and then she tells me, “He entertained others, but never without you. Your pleasure, your release, your desires were his only concern.”

I don't know why I expected this answer, but even as I did, the blade of it cuts me.

“I remember…” The words drift off into the ether of shame and hurt.

Hecate moves even closer. I can smell her now. She is smoke on the wind and deep, deep red berries whipped into a warm spread. It's an eccentric scent all her own, and it fits.

“What do you remember, Persephone?”

I shake my head. “It won't make sense.”

“Tell me, and I'll tell you if you if it makes sense.”

“Demeter,” I begin and pause. “She—my mother—the thing I didn't tell Hades.” I pause again, trying to collect myself and my thoughts. Trying to assemble the fractures of memories I can’t seem to place.

Hecate is patient for a long moment before she urges, “You didn't tell Hades, what?”

“I—um—before she killed me, Demeter alluded to the fact that I had failed.”

“Failed what?”

“I had failed to make him love.”

“That is absurd.”

“No, listen.” I need to make her understand what I sense has happened in the past, even as it makes little sense to me now. “She tutored me in the ways of love. It was under her instruction; I took men to my bed. Women, too, I think.” I frown, drawing a shaky breath. “I was to draw enough emotion from him—to pull him from his control—to make him claim me for his own, and if I failed it meant that he did not love me. I was to seduce others in the effort to make him see that the girl he took was worth his love and affection and obsession.” I shake my head. “I was to make him crazy with love. I think that's all I was ever trying to do under her tutelage. I was trying to make my husband fall in love with me, and in my mind, until the very end, I believed he didn't.”

There's a darkness that passes through Hecate’s eyes of swirling grey. They spark with an anger that rages with a violence that would terrify anyone.

As it is, I take a quick step back, bumping into Aethon.

“She is a wretched Goddess, and you were the picture of innocence.” Her eyes meet mine again. Softly, she pleads, “Be patient with him. He has been hurt in ways that you cannot understand. He may not have been sentenced to Tartarus, but he has sentenced himself to his own eternity of torment.” She peers into my eyes. “You understand, my goddess?”

I nod, even though I'm not sure I do. Hecate’s smile is sad. Her eyes drift to the open stable doors that look out into a starry eternity of night. She inhales deeply through her nose and out through her mouth, before her gaze drifts back to me.

“You always loved the sea, my goddess. Why don't you go there now? Take a moment of peace for yourself. Explore your thoughts.” Her eyes slide to Aethon. “Aethon will take you. He was yours once, and he will be yours again.”

With those words, there's nothing more for it. She floats away like a wraith on the wind.

I turn to Aethon, who bows his head inviting me atop him. And suddenly, there is nothing that I crave more than the splash of the sea.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was compelled.