Viscount Undercover (The Bridegroom Oak #1)

Prologue

RHI

Hell: a place regarded in various religions as a spiritual realm of evil and suffering, often traditionally depicted as a place of perpetual fire beneath the Earth, where the wicked are punished after death.

Thanks, Google.

I sigh and rub my eyes, the dim glow of the computer screen the only light in my otherwise morbidly dark bedroom.

It’s been this way for nearly two weeks now.

Blackout curtains create an impenetrable barricade against any rays of sunlight during the day.

Night is a better time, though I won’t allow even a sliver of moonlight to break through my walls of darkness.

Darkness is where I reside now, ever since the day he left.

Nick. The only man I’ve ever loved.

My North star.

My soulmate.

I vividly recall the day he told me about soulmates.

The warmth of the water gently lapping at my skin.

His firm, hard shoulders beneath my fingertips as I gripped him in desperation.

Sure, I was on the verge of an earth-shattering orgasm as I rode him to oblivion, but I now know something deeper within me, something more intrinsic, held on to him for a different type of desperation.

Because I lost him that same night.

Two halves of one soul. That’s what the myths say, but it’s so much more than that.

The original story is that humans were created with two faces, four arms, and four legs—two people fused together into one being.

But Zeus, the fucking egomaniac prick he is, decided to punish humans for being prideful—a bit pot and kettle, if you ask me—and split them in half.

As a result, we are cursed to roam the Earth, looking for our other half.

Apparently, finding your soulmate is incredibly rare.

Most don’t ever have the luxury of finding theirs in a human lifetime.

Except I did, and he was savagely and ruthlessly stolen from me.

I have spent every waking moment trying to find a way into Hell ever since Circe told me it wasn’t possible for a living, breathing person to get there.

There has to be a way. The Moirai wouldn’t have relinquished my necklace, the fortified protection charm Nick gave me, if they didn’t think I’d be able to get there.

They now have access to my Thread, which means they know the path I am going to take.

It doesn’t make sense for them to have told me I had to go to Hell and then give me the one piece of collateral they could continue to hold over my head, claiming I would need it once I got to my destination.

I brush my fingers across the three gemstones that make up the pendant, inhaling as I close my eyes.

For a moment, I swear I can smell him. Cedarwood and vanilla, a scent as sweet as it is sinister, as dangerous as it is comforting.

But when I open my eyes, it’s gone, and I choke back one of the hundreds of shuddering sobs I’ve released since he left me.

Pushing away from my desk, I rise and stand in front of the full-length mirror on my closet door.

I hardly recognize the girl staring back at me.

Bloodshot eyes dim the blue and brighten the green, though there’s no warmth within them.

My olive skin is several shades paler, my face gaunt from my lack of appetite.

That’s the thing about grief, though, isn’t it?

It feasts on the memories of him, of the love and the pain, the laughter and the tears, simultaneously starving me because those same memories are a constant reminder of how we had just found our way back to each other only for him to be ripped from my arms.

The pendant catches a rare sliver of light that dares to trespass. The offending gem is none other than the moonstone. Fitting, given how, presently, the moon is swollen and as radiant as the golden eyes that once looked upon me like I was the sun itself.

The moonstone glints beneath wisps of silver moonlight, and I frown at the audacity. Yet, it refuses to dim its brightness, as though desperate to catch my attention…

A broken gasp pushes past my lips. Moonlight. Moonstone…

Moonflower.

A torrent of memories bombard me as I recall my meeting with Hades and Persephone, of how I accepted a gift from the Queen of the Underworld, a seemingly innocuous gesture, until…

What was it that Hades had said?

You are now tied to my realm inextricably.

I’d thought he meant it as a veiled threat, or to get further under Nick’s skin, but if I’m tied to his realm…

You may find you can use this to your advantage one day.

I hope you remember us as friends when you do.

Persephone’s words. I narrow my eyes, dusting my dormant chess brain off.

My gift has always been to dig deeper into the meaning of people’s words and how they use them to coerce and manipulate situations to their advantage.

I again replay the meeting with Hades and Persephone.

What does being tied to Hades’ realm have to do with me gaining entry to Hell?

When my brain remains blank, I curl my clawed fingers into my palms, letting out a huff of frustration.

Blood pools beneath the piercings of my flesh, an action that has always grounded me when I feel myself being swept under by a tide of emotions rather than remaining pragmatic.

That damning glint catches my eye again.

“What are you trying to tell me?” Once more, I cradle the pendant in my palm and close my eyes.

Nick’s scent envelopes me, engulfing my senses to the point I’m positive he stands behind me.

But I know better. The minute I open my eyes, it will all evaporate, and I’m not ready to let him go, not yet.

I wasn’t ready the first time.

My arms pebble beneath a phantom caress, a sweep of his fingers over my shoulder and down my collarbone. I inhale shakily, and I swear, I feel his lips at the base of my ear before they trail down my neck. His breath fans across my skin, and a single tear slips down my cheek.

The scene in Hades’ penthouse flashes before me, only this time, it’s Nick and I in the elevator, making our descent into Tartaros.

“What deal did you make with Hades?”

He only side-eyes me.

“Nick.” I say his name once, my tone vehement.

He drops his chin to his chest then finally meets my eyes. “I granted Hades access to Hell whenever he should need it.”

My eyes shoot open, the answer clearer than the water in my Titan father’s hidden grotto.

Of course.

Hades has access to Hell because of the deal he made with Nick in exchange for us entering Tartaros. Now that I am tied to his realm, it stands to reason I could also have access to Hell. I guess the only way to find out is to visit the King and Queen of the Underworld.

“Took you long enough.”

My blood immediately boils at that voice.

Atropos stands behind me, and I glare at the Fate through the mirror’s reflective surface.

I’m not surprised to see her, though I am shocked to find her alone, the two clones typically plastered to her side nowhere to be seen.

Without turning, I address the Cutter. “Where are your sidekicks?”

She scoffs. “My sisters are busy.”

I arch a brow. “Ah. Now I understand. You’re their errand bitch.”

Atropos releases in an inhuman snarl, her startling silver eyes glowing menacingly. “You and your soulmate are fucking everything up.”

At that, I face her, not bothering to hide my own vicious expression.

“My soulmate is currently trapped in an entirely different realm while I’m left here to suffer his absence.

I’ve been tearing myself to pieces trying to figure out how to get him back.

” I step towards Atropos, morbidly delighted when she shifts back in response.

“I haven’t left my room in two fucking weeks, so enlighten me, Atropos.

Tell me how, exactly, my soulmate and I are fucking everything up for you. ”

The Cutter walks toward me, her earlier apprehension absent. “Those ‘two fucking weeks’ was time you could not afford to lose, Scylla.”

Panic spears through me. “What do you mean?”

Atropos looses an exasperated breath. “The longer Nicholas reigns in Hell, the more he becomes cemented into its essence.”

I wave my hand, relief washing away the panic. “I know. He loses his mortal memories. He won’t remember who I am or who he is. He’ll remember nothing.”

Atropos grabs my hand. “That’s not all, Rhiannon.”

I glance at Atropos’ hand on my arm then meet the Cutter’s bright, moonlight eyes.

“The longer Nicholas remains in Hell, ruling Hell, the harder it becomes to get him out,” she continues.

“Atropos…” I swallow roughly, icy shards of panic piercing my chest. “Get to the fucking point.”

Her grip on my arm tightens as she wrenches my body towards hers. We stand nose to nose, both of us breathing harshly and unblinking.

“The point is, Scylla,” she spits, “get to Hell and get there quickly, or Nicholas will remain there for all eternity.”

She shoves me back, though I don’t stumble. I stare after the Fate, dumbfounded, my anger brewing like a thrashing storm on the horizon.

“And when the fuck were you going to tell me this?” I charge toward her, but the sight of her deadly shears stops me. Their sharp apex presses against my abdomen, and I startle the Cutter by gripping the shears with one hand.

“Do it,” I hiss. “I know you want to. I know you can’t wait to cut my Thread. So do it, Atropos. What do I have to live for, anyway?”

She yanks the shears back, slicing my palm in the process. I hiss at the burning pain.

“Mortals,” she says in disgust. “So fucking dramatic.” Atropos sheathes her weapon. “You alone are the only one who can return Nicholas to this realm, Rhiannon. If you die, he remains in Hell. Is that what you want?”

I lick my lips and shake my head.

“Do I also need to remind you of the four women who laid their lives on the line to make sure your Scylla did not overcome you when you transformed? What of them? Were their efforts in vain? Is their love for you not enough to exist without him?”

Tears roll freely down my cheeks as Atropos reminds me of my girls, my strength.

I’d fallen so deep into a well of misery over losing Nick, I’d forgotten how much those four mean to me.

My death would crush them as much as Nick’s death crushed me.

And Scarlett would have lost not only a brother, but a sister as well.

“I’ll get to Hell,” I tell her, my voice unwavering and resolute. “I’ll get to Hell, and I’ll return with him.”

Atropos nods once. “Good.” The Cutter turns from me, no doubt ready to disappear in the same manner she suddenly made her presence known.

“Wait.”

A single, silver-dusted brow raises in response.

“How much time do I have?”

“Look at your right wrist.”

I pull up the sleeve of my shirt on my right arm and glance down.

A dark hourglass mars my once naked flesh, the top half of the hourglass filled to the brim.

I nearly breathe a sigh of relief when I note the bottom appears empty.

However, my keen eyesight detects movement, and I watch in horror as small grains of sand pass slowly through the narrow passage into the bottom well.

“The sands of time do not pass quickly, but do not be fooled. Time is of the essence.”

I nod and cover my wrist, the tattooed hourglass practically burning a hole through my sleeve.

“Atropos, one last question,” I prompt, and the Cutter waits expectantly. “If time runs out and I’m still in Hell, what happens to me?”

“Well, then you and Nicholas will get your happy ending after all,” she answers with a devious grin. I merely arch a brow.

“You will be trapped there as well, Scylla.” She sighs, and her next word steals all the breath from my lungs. “Forever.”