Chapter 2
Ophelia
When I become aware of my surroundings, I'm on my knees, gasping, my hands pressed flat against my chest like I can physically force air into my lungs. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to inflate them.
"Breathe, Persephone."
A deep male voice, close to my ear. My eyes are still adjusting and my mind is further behind — I can't quite locate myself yet, can't make the pieces connect.
"In and out. You need to take in air before you suffocate yourself."
I focus on the sound of his voice. In and out. In and out.
Slowly, the darkness at the edges of my vision recedes. I take in my surroundings.
I'm in a room. Dark but tasteful — black curtains, black bedding.
Light streams in through floor-to-ceiling windows, and beyond the glass, the city glitters.
I'm splayed out on marble flooring, my knees aching from a combination of the car crash and the impact of landing.
The air smells like sandalwood and mahogany and leather. Expensive. Masculine.
It should not smell this good in a place I'm this afraid.
And then the memories slam back into place, and I scramble away — or try to. My legs won't cooperate. I manage about two feet before my arms give out and I end up half-crumpled against the floor, breathing hard.
The shop. The woman. The car. The bloody gurgle.
"How did I get here?" The words come out as more of a gurgle themselves — I don't have full use of my vocal cords yet.
The man watches me with steady eyes. He reaches toward me, a brief instinctive movement, and when I flinch back, he stops. Pulls his hand in. Stays exactly where he is.
I don't know what to do with that.
"Shifting between planes is difficult for mortals," he says. "It'll take a few moments for your organs to recalibrate."
What the fuck?
I'm starting to think I inhaled something at the shop, because nothing about tonight makes any sense.
"Can I get you some water?" he asks. "I've heard it helps."
My vision is fully back now — recalibrated, or whatever — and I can see him clearly for the first time.
He's handsome in a way that doesn't normally exist in real life.
Tall with broad shoulders and a jaw so square it could cut glass.
His hair is jet black and slicked back from his pale skin, one piece fallen loose across his forehead.
The kind of face that should be annoying, except that it's his eyes that stop everything.
They're dark, but not static the way simple dark eyes usually are. There are flecks of gold in them, and I swear they're moving — liquid, shifting, like something alive is looking out from behind them.
It's unnerving.
There is, of course, also the kidnapping.
"Who are you?" This time the words come out right.
"The person who saved your life."
"You kidnapped me!" I try again to get to my feet. I can't — my muscles are still not cooperating — but I spot a letter opener on the desk beside me and grab it on my way up, using the desk's edge to haul myself vertical. I'm shaking, but I'm standing.
He looks at the letter opener. His brow lifts, just slightly, with what I can only describe as reluctant amusement.
"I didn't kidnap you."
"Bullshit."
"I saved you." He crosses his arms over his chest. "You could stand to be a little more grateful."
I bare my teeth at him. "How did you get me here? What did you give me?"
He doesn't answer immediately. He just looks at me, with those unsettling liquid eyes, like he's reading something written on the inside of my face. When he finally speaks, his voice is completely matter-of-fact.
"I brought you here through the shadows."
"The shadows."
"Yes. I can command them."
Right. This man is insane. Completely, legitimately insane.
"Sure you can," I say. "And why is that?"
"Because I'm Hades," he says. "Lord of the Underworld."
I laugh.
What. The. Fuck.