My Lord Hades (18 page)

For Hades’ Queen. For the Queen of the Underworld. Not for Persephone. Not for the

daughter of Demeter and Zeus.

She placed the crown upon her head. She could be Hades’ queen and rule at his side. He

promised her freedom and protection. Although he might not love her, he would cherish her, and maybe someday he would grow to love her. She could have everything she ever dreamed of and more, all she had to do was give up the sunlight and world above.

You can’t trust him,
a small voice whispered.
Men use force to get their way. They are
dangerous.

The fire crackling in the hearth did nothing to warm the chill in her soul. She jerked the circlet from her head and threw it on the bed. How many times did she need to be warned against Hades before she listened? How many times did she need to be burned before she realized the fire was dangerous? Was she so dim-witted as to tempt fate and call him to her?

The answer was yes. For magic, she would tempt it. For a chance to regain her memories, she would tempt it. For a chance at life, she would tempt trusting Hades.

Persephone left her rooms. Hades had granted her full access to the Underworld and she

planned to take full advantage. It was time to prove his words true or false.

PERSEPHONE WAS lost in seconds of leaving her rooms. Hades palace was a maze of

corridors with hundreds of rooms. What did one god and his two servants need so many rooms for? It wasn’t as if anyone wanted to visit the dreary Underworld. Other than her, most of the other gods feared and despised him.

After a while curiosity got the better of her and she started exploring the rooms. She didn’t find anything of true interest.

Voices in the corridor sent her flying through one of the doors. She closed the door with a soft click and turned. The room was basically empty except for a statue carelessly thrown into the corner of the room. It tilted on its base, leaning precariously against the wall, a piece of cloth thrown over the main body of it, leaving a part of the face uncovered.

Why didn’t Hades have this statue displayed like she’d seen the Olympians do at Mount

Olympus? Why was it hidden away in this remote room?

Walking to the statue, she jerked the cloth off and gasped. Her face heated. She wasn’t sure what she should do. She didn’t want to be caught in here with a naked statue of a man, but she didn’t want to go out there to face Hades either.

She stared at the softer, younger Hades. There were none of the scars she’d seen on his arms or hands or the one she’d felt on his face. She reached out, her fingers caressing the cold marble, exploring the musculature of the statues neck, shoulders, and arms noting the difference between the statue and the Hades she knew. The statue was thin, his muscles not as well-defined as the real Hades.

Her hands dropped lower, gliding over the abdomen, the flanks, and to that part of a man she was most curious about. Biting her lip, her eyes dropped lower, studying the man part the nymphs had told her about. It was strange looking, not at all like the stick Julas and Rayes said it was. It didn’t poke straight out, but lay in a bed of curls.

Was this what it really looked like? And if so, what was so important about it?

“GO FIND her!” Penelope demanded, pointing toward the door.

Hades sighed and closed his books. Handing a smirking Thanatos another list to take to the judges before leaving to search for his errant bride.

It wasn’t hard to find Persephone, all he had to do was think of her and he knew exactly

where she was. She’d surprised him by being in the palace instead of attempting to escape the Underworld.

He flashed into the room and stopped cold. Persephone was standing before a statue of him Eris had commissioned when he was a youth of sixteen, a harmless joke turned cruel. The statue reminded him of what he had lost to the art of battle.

It wasn’t a very accurate depiction of him either. First, he’d never have sat still long enough for an artist to sketch him, believing it was a waste of one’s precious time and resources. Second, even in his youth, his body had been a hardened battle machine, not in any way as soft as the statue looked. And third, he wasn’t vain enough to ever want a statue of himself; he hadn’t even known it still existed.

He watched her; envious of the stone bastard she was touching. Head tilted, Persephone’s

fingers stoked the sleeping manhood. Her boldness shocked and pleased him, just as the pink rising in her cheeks amused him. So innocent, and so very seductive.

Desire flared. His cock strained against his belly. His body aching for her hands to fondle and explore him as she did the sculpted manhood. He yearned to see the same fascination in her eyes as she looked at him. He wanted to see that fascination turn to desire as he took her into his arms and kissed her, entered her, and made love to her.

He breathed in the sweet fragrance of honey and lavender. She was his weakness. And in his world, weakness of any kind was an invitation to those with more power. If his enemies, for he didn’t doubt they were about, learned of her, they would use her against him as the Titans had used Leuce. He couldn’t allow it. And yet, he couldn’t stop moving toward her. She was his salvation, his link to happiness and love. She was only person standing between him and the darkness.

You’re a fool,
his conscience snarled.
You think she can love you? You’re the son of Eris!

You’re a warrior! A killer in human form! All you’ve ever known is the art of death and war.

What do you have to offer her?

He had nothing to offer this gorgeous woman, not even a kingdom. Everything here belonged to the Iron Queen and he was an unwanted usurper. Maybe he should just ask Thanatos to end it all.

The magic around him shifted with his mood. “Are you wondering if it’s like the real thing?”

Persephone stiffened. She jerked her hand back with a horrified gasped and hid her face from him.

SHE DIDN’T know when the warm scent of sandalwood and vanilla first reached her, but

she knew he was in the room as she’d wanted him to be when the vibrant cascade of energy

washed over.

The sweet taste of hope. The depth of despair. The emptiness of loss, of loneliness, and of sadness. The raging need to connect with another living being.

Mortified, she stiffened.

“Are you wondering if it’s like the real thing?” he whispered from behind her.

She jerked her hands away with a gasp and hid her face from him. Heat rose in her cheeks.

She closed her eyes tight and hoped he wasn’t really here, but knowing he was.

“Somewhat,” she murmured, brushing her hand on the silky material of her azure dress.

“Flesh and blood grows,” he said, his breath warm and light on her neck.

Her eyes flutter, her belly flipped, and her knees weakened. She nearly melted into a puddle at his feet. After what he’d done, how could he still affect her so?

Exhaling an unsteady breath, she said the second thing that came to mind, since the first one to question him about his vague remark about ‘Flesh and blood grows,’ and it seemed

inappropriate to discuss with him. “I didn’t hear the door open.”

Her voice sounded strange, low and husky. His soft chuckle did something odd to her insides.

She shivered, her body warm and tingling.

Why did she have to be so attracted to him? None of the other gods gave her the same thrill Hades did. Her breath didn’t quicken for them. Her heart didn’t pound for them. Her body didn’t tingle for them.

“Gods such as us do not need doors.”

“Truly!” she gasped. “Show me how?”

Before she could rethink her words, Hades swept her into his arms and nearly crushed her

against his hard body. She squealed, throwing her arms around his neck as the absence of light and weight, and then they were in the andronitis. Next he took her to the River Styx, then to the Elysian Fields, and back to palace.

She pulled away, laughing and swirling. “Why do you ride a horse when you have such

freedom of movement?”

He smiled. “A horse has its own merits, Persephone.” He motioned to the door behind her.

“Penelope was worried about you when you disappeared from your rooms. You’d better tell her you’re all right.”

He turned away, stiffly walking down the corridor. “Hades?” He paused, but didn’t turn

around. “Will you be here for dinner?”

“Is that your wish?”

She bit her lip, wanting to say yes. The door opened saving her from having to say anything.

“Persephone! There you are child!” Penelope swept her into a hug. “Did Hades find you?”

“Yes.”

She looked back at the place Hades had been standing, but he wasn’t there.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

AFTER MIDDAY meal Persephone decided to finish her explorations of the palace. She

steered clear of the room with the statue of Hades and headed for the southern tower.

She opened the door after door, finding room after room filled with racks of wooden rods

with sharp points and very long and thick knifes that had to be made for giants. There were other rooms filled with axes of various lengths and sizes, and others with bows and arrows, something she recognized from Athena’s visit. Three of the rooms had something she recognized from her abduction by Hades, armor. Some were black as his while others were shiny silver or darkened bronze or copper.

The last door opened into a large, walled courtyard. She stood in the doorway and watched the two combatants glide from one step into another with instinctive grace. It was like a dance, beautiful and deadly.

Hades moved to the right. Then left. He spun away from the deadly arc of the blade,

deflecting the blow. Sparks skittered along the long blade.

The other man dropped to his knee, slashing at Hades legs with the short blade. Hades leapt back and stopped in a crouch. He met the slashing blow aimed for his unprotected head.

From there it disintegrated into a series of thrusts, twists, deflects, foot work, and crossed blades. She watched and worried as the two men seemed dead set on hacking each other to

pieces. Hades swung down toward legs and his opponent pirouette, thrusting the short blade at his face.

Hades is a warrior and killer,
Persephone recalled Athena’s words at the party.
Everything he
touches dies.

The difference between them was never so apparent. His world was one she could never

touch, never understand. The scars on his body screamed of the violence he’d witnessed and the violence he’d brought down upon the heads of his enemies. This was another part of the man she knew and it was a part she didn’t know if she could accept.

Hades arm nearly buckled under the weight of his larger opponent. She clamped at hand over her mouth, muffling the gasp as the blade come within a hairsbreadth of his face. Exhausted and bloody, Hades movements turned aggressive and reckless, as if he no longer cared if the giant hurt him. It was as if he were punishing himself.

“He is,” Thanatos murmured from beside her. “Every afternoon since he came here, he

allows Campe to beat him into an exhausted, bloody mess.”

“Why, Thanatos?”

He shrugged and finally looked at her. “Maybe he has something to atone for?”

She looked back at the scene that changed from beautiful to brutal. The muscles of Hades’

bare back bunched and stretched as he shoved his opponent away, only to fall under the next blow.

HIS ABUSED muscles screamed in agony at the beating he was taking, but he fought

onward. Kicking Campe’s feet out from under him, he struggled to his feet, swinging his sword.

Campe met his blow. The muscles of Hades arm spasmed, jerking with exhaustion. Sweat

blurred his vision, stinging his eyes, dripping down his face in a steady flow. Minor cuts and scratches burned, but he refused to use magic to aid him.

Until he could find a better outlet for his Phelegthon passions that didn’t involve sex, he needed this. He needed the anger and hatred and violence. He needed to forget. His promise to Persephone pushed him onward.

He broke away, stumbling. They circled. Testing the other. Dodging, parrying. Campe almost took his head with a grin.

The point of Campe’s sword rested against his neck. He frowned. The swing didn’t have

enough strength to sever his head and Campe had never hesitated to hurt him before. In fact the creature had a penchant for causing him great pain, and Hades accepted it as the price he’d pay to keep his sanity long enough to see Persephone truly free.

Persephone. His heart and his soul. His Phlegethon blood craved a blending of body, soul, and magic. It whispered that Persephone was his. That if he went to her now, she would accept him. He knew without a doubt that she was his mate. The only thing keeping him from acting on his thoughts was his promise to Persephone. She would have to make the first move.

“I think that is enough for the day.” Thanatos stomped out onto the sands and waved his hand at the immobile Campe. He disappeared. “As for you, I suggest cleaning yourself up for dinner tonight. You gave your beautiful bride quite a scare with this demonstration.”

Hades groaned, dropping his head into his hands. Damn it!

DINNER WAS an informal affair, where the inhabitants of the Underworld were all invited,

although that first night Penelope and Zana were the only ones. They settled a bowl of thick stew in front of Persephone and started chatting about their day. Persephone listened, swirling her spoon liquid and poking a strange lumps that she’d never tasted before.

“Aren’t you hunger, my lady?” Zana asked.

“No.” The grumble of her stomach betrayed her.

Penelope smiled, the spoon filled with creamy broth and veggies hesitating at her mouth.

“You have to try some lamb stew. It’s Thanatos’ favorite dish.” Persephone shook her head and Penelope’s face fell. “I know it’s not what your use to on Mount Olympus—”