Chapter Thirty-Three Hera #2
All she’d meant to do was confront Claire, intimidate her into leaving Zeus. It wasn’t her fault that the woman was foolish enough to defy her. Claire had been so brazen, so unapologetic—insisting, just as Olivia had done earlier this year, that Zeus would leave Hera. That he loved her.
Hera had shot a few sparks at the woman.
She’d meant only to frighten her, to show this foolish mortal just what she was up against. How could Hera have known that the house was highly flammable—that it would light up like a pile of kindling, eager to burn? Certainly she’d never intended to kill Claire or her nine-year-old daughter.
Later, when she learned of the carnage she’d wrought, Hera had known that the mortals were dead. No one could have survived a conflagration like that.
But Julia had been wearing that ring.
Hera remembered how Zeus had mourned Claire after her death.
He’d never said why, of course, but he’d moped around for months, until his attention inevitably drifted to someone else—a real estate agent, a personal trainer—and he’d launched another affair.
Certainly, he’d never suspected Hera of killing the woman.
Hera had never murdered one of his lovers before. She had threatened and intimidated them, had even attacked them on occasion. But usually by the time she found out, Zeus was growing bored of them anyway. As with Olivia, he was often secretly relieved for the chance to cut them loose.
Hera was the goddess of family, of motherhood, of bringing new life into the world. She was not supposed to end life. Zeus had never even thought to suspect her.
If he ever learned what Hera had done, he would be incandescent with rage. Not because he’d loved Claire—she was just another in his endless string of dalliances—but because, unlike the others, she’d been taken from him before he got to decide he was done with her.
If Claire hadn’t died, Zeus would have cast her aside once her body softened and her face grew too lined. Just as he did with all the others.
“You were out,” Zeus repeated. “That’s decidedly vague.”
“Yes, Zeus. I was vague on purpose,” Hera said dryly.
He chuckled. “I know. You’re never anything by accident.”
He was flirting with her. Under other circumstances, Hera would have been intrigued by this, but she was still unnerved by the memories that had resurfaced today. By the sickening, dizzying revelation that she had killed her son’s fiancée’s mother.
Even if it was by accident.
“Am I accurate in assuming that you’re up to something?” Zeus spoke that phrase, “up to something,” in a tone of camaraderie, almost of approval.
“As it so happens, I am.”
“Can I help?”
That offer, more than anything, gave Hera pause. “If I need you, I’ll let you know.” A part of her longed to tell Zeus everything, bring him into her confidence so that they could look at the situation together. It was clear to Hera that Julia was not in their lives by accident.
Hera had killed the woman’s mother—and now, eighteen years later, Julia was engaged to Hera’s son?
No, Hera was not so stupid as to think this was coincidence.
But there was no way she could share any of this with her husband. Above all, she could not let Zeus discover that Julia was Claire’s daughter. It might lead him to realize that Hera was responsible for Claire’s death.
“Whatever’s bothering you, I could be a thought partner.” Zeus’s eyes were smoky as he added, “We could go upstairs, discuss it in bed.”
Hera was surprised by his words. Though they slept in the same bed, it had been quite some time since they did anything there aside from sleep. Since before his affair with Olivia, at least.
“Not yet,” Hera said, but she wasn’t convinced of her answer, and therefore, neither was Zeus.
“Then have a seat. Talk to me,” he pressed.
Hera started to sink into the chair opposite him, but Zeus was suddenly at her side, his hands around her waist. “Have a seat,” he said again, meaningfully, and started to tug her into his lap.
Surprising them both, she let her weight sink back onto him, her legs settling over his. He was very still for a moment, then his arms snaked around her and pulled her close.
His breath was warm against her ear as he whispered, “Who are you plotting against?”
“I’m allowed to have secrets, Zeus.”
Hera’s heart was pounding: from fear that Zeus would learn her incriminating secret, but also, maddeningly, out of desire. And she knew that Zeus could feel it.
He pressed his lips against the side of her neck. It wasn’t quite a kiss, more like Zeus had decided to test the sensitive skin there, see where he could light her nerves aflame. Hera felt electrified with each of his exhales.
She shouldn’t indulge in this. But it was so hard to resist the pull of Zeus’s gravity. She was drowning in it already, the sheer magnitude of him overwhelming her. Hera should probably consider herself grateful that he hadn’t already undressed her with a flick of his wrist.
She shifted slowly, turning her face toward his, and lifted a hand to his cheek. It was the slightest bit scratchy with stubble.
“You need to shave,” she murmured, her hands tracing the full swell of his lips. Zeus nipped at her fingers, and a surge of lust filled her.
“You like it when I don’t,” he replied hoarsely. And then he kissed her.
The kiss began slow, languid, like they had all the time in the world, like it didn’t matter that they were tangled in an armchair, her body atop his.
Zeus slid his hands around Hera’s hips, anchoring her in place.
Before she’d realized it, he’d tucked a hand beneath her skirt, to settle between her legs.
When he slid a finger inside her, she moaned.
It wasn’t fair that he could make her feel like this. It wasn’t fair that their marriage was so fraught, that she loved him and resented him and was addicted to him all at the same time. All those feelings swirled dangerously in her core, making her feel like she would combust.
Hera knew precisely how this would end. She would have Zeus for one overwhelming, intoxicating night, and then she would spend another length of time waiting for him.
Wondering when lightning would strike once more.
Hoping, and second-guessing, and hating herself for being so damned wifely, sitting around pining for her husband.
Craving another jolt that would bring her to this delirious high.
She had more in common with Dionysus than she realized, Hera thought dimly. She was no better than any mortal with an addiction.
Right now, though, Hera couldn’t bring herself to care.
She wanted so desperately to fall into bed with Zeus.
Or not bed, she realized as he slid her underwear down her legs.
Perhaps they wouldn’t leave the sitting room, wouldn’t budge from this very chair.
It was so unlike her, Hera thought, and felt oddly fond of this new version of herself.
She liked this Hera: the one who talked back to her husband, who kept secrets from him, who had sex in a chair.
Zeus seemed to like the new Hera, too. So she let him have her, to hell with the consequences.