My Lord Hades (9 page)

And now she knew for sure that she had once wielded magic, powerful magic by the sound

of it. It explained so much of her life and her mother’s reluctance to teach her. It didn’t change the fact that she needed magic to survive.

“Then someone older, more powerful—” Zeus said.

“No!” Demeter shouted. “I won’t allow it! He’s a monster!”

“Think about it.”

“No!”

“Don’t I get a say?” Persephone asked.

“No!” both gods said, glaring at each other.

HADES ENTERED the Great Hall of Mount Olympus and cringed at the emotions rolling

off the gods in waves. Greed. Corruption. Hatred. Cruelty. Strife. Lust. But they weren’t all bad.

He could feel the love between the couple in the corner. There was a happy, fat god at the table along the wall drinking with a group of laughing nymphs. There was the contentment of the wispy goddess and her companion seated by the window talking in low tones. Then there was the yearning of the nymph standing beside the blonde god waving his hands about as he spoke to his eager audience.

But nowhere in the room did he sense the one goddess he wished to see above all others,

even though he knew she wasn’t in the hall the moment he walked past the marble pillars. How could one woman consume his every waking…and sleeping…thought?

Closing his eyes, he focused on the reason for his coming. He would claim his reward from Zeus and be away from this place. Taking a deep breath, he scanned the room again and spotted the King of the Gods lounging on an ornate golden settee with white cushions and gold trim set upon a raised dais.

Hades suppressed his groan. The entire structure was created out of white marble flecked

with gold and crystal, and everything in the palace reflected this. The furniture was white, the cushions were white, and the pillows were white. The gauzy drapery was white with golden

threads. The plush rugs were white, probably spelled to remain that way despite the hundreds of sandaled feet tramping on them through the day. The intricately carved tables with their crystal tops held golden plates, white napkins, crystal glasses, golden utensils, and bowls of beaten gold and crystal filled with honeyed ambrosia and sweet nectar, the food of the gods.

The Olympian’s palace was tawdry at best and Zeus matched it in a white tunic and toga

embellished with golden embroidery at the hems, and a crown of gold and crystal. Many of the gods dressed to match their king, minus the crown. Hades felt underdressed and out of place in his short, sleeveless tunic and leather kilt dyed black to match his cloak.

Setting his sights on Zeus, he forced his way through the crowd of Olympian gods and very few of their more acceptable allies celebrating the defeat of Coronus. There were a few protests, cut short when they realized who he was. The space around him cleared and he inwardly growled at the insult.

Years of dealing with the haughty Gods, be they Olympians or Titans, taught him one

valuable lesson: he would always be the outcast. They didn’t want him around and he didn’t want to be around. Nothing had changed in the years of his absence.

He started to sidestep two women, so caught up in their argument they barely noticed him, when he realized he recognized the blonde woman. Demeter, Persephone’s mother.

“I will be the queen,” the harsh featured woman stated with a flip of her raven tress. She settled her hand on her hip and the nectar in her other hand slouched in its crystal glass. “Zeus has promised it.”

Demeter’s face twisted into an unpleasantly smug smile. “You must be mistaken, Hera. Zeus promised that role to me. After all, my daughter is his first born.”

Hera’s pale fingers tightening around the crystal stem. “Liar!”

Hades winced and moved away from the feuding women. He might not know a lot about

women who followed the more feminine path of their gender, but even he could see what was about to happen. Hera flung the contents of her glass into Demeter’s face. The sweet nectar splashed over her, drenching her and spraying those too close. The pale green dress with yellow and cream flowers embroidered on it, became a gross brown mess.

“My dress!”

Hera crossed her arms over her chest. “Go tend to your earth,” she snarled. “You and your daughter don’t belong here.”

So Persephone was here somewhere.

“You’re a spiteful goddess,” Demeter hissed before storming toward the doors.

Hades agreed. Hera was a spiteful goddess and the look in her icy blue eyes as she watched Demeter go was a familiar one. Eris had it every time someone slighted her and she wanted revenge. But unlike his dear mother, Hera wasn’t out for blood. She wanted to punish someone.

Pivoting, she bounced off Hades’ chest and almost fell. He grabbed her arm, steadying her.

She straightened, looked into his face, and slapped his forearm with surprising force. “Get your filthy hands off me, you freak!”

He released her. Her reaction was nothing new to him. She marched past him and headed for Zeus who was absorbed in his conversation with Poseidon and Ares.

He wasn’t about to follow her. He knew better than to get between a vindictive woman and

her target, which left him to contemplate Demeter and Persephone. He wouldn’t put it past Demeter to scheme and lie to get what she desired, and it looked as if she wanted to be Queen and had used Persephone to accomplish it. If Persephone was Zeus’ daughter, would Demeter have Zeus bind Persephone’s power to save her from the Titans? He didn’t think Zeus wasn’t that strong.

The enigma bothered him and reminded him why he hated being among the gods: Nothing

was ever clear.

A torrent of melodic laughter and a nudge in his side interrupted his thoughts. He suppressed his first, second, and third reactions to the intrusion, deciding to step away and assess the situation before attacking, maiming, or killing.

Three goddesses stood beside him. The first was a gorgeous blonde with a curvaceous body

to heat any man’s blood. The second was a thin woman with reddish-blond hair and a harsh look on her soft face, Athena if he remembered right. The third reminded him of his mother, lean and muscular, though her curly auburn hair and child-like face was nothing like Eris, Apollo’s sister Artemis.

Artemis turned to him with a smile. “Forgive me,” she said, just before her face blanked.

“It was an accident.” He turned and headed for Zeus’ throne.

“Oh, wait!”

The perky, luscious blond with the melodic voice grabbed hold of his arm and pressed her

soft body up against him, her ample cleavage pressing tightly against the confines of the skimpy pink dress, and though her action was unwelcome, his body responded to her all the same. She pouted prettily and peered seductively up at him through her thick golden eyelashes. She would make a willing enough bedmate, abound in passion and lust, but it would be cold and

impersonal.

He preferred Persephone’s uncalculated actions, innocent charm, and unintentional affect

upon him, to this one’s premeditated maneuvering.

With nothing to sustain his growing arousal, his cock returned to sleep. And it was better if it stayed there.

He plastered a smile on his face. “I have business with Zeus.”

“Who in this room doesn’t?” she asked. “But Hera gets her turn first. So you have time to settle a small issue for us.”

He looked toward the dais and sighed. Hera was still snapping at Zeus and gesturing wildly about. It would be awhile before he would get to speak to the head god, but that didn’t mean he wanted to socialize while he waited.

“Which of us is more desirable?”

“What?” he asked, turning back to the women.

He had a hard time believing he’d heard correctly. And if he had, he definitely didn’t have time for this foolishness. He wouldn’t play their game and get singed in the process. Goddesses were vain and fickle creatures.

“Which of us is more desirable?” Artemis demanded. “Obviously, Aphrodite likes to show

off her…”

“Sole redeeming quality,” the auburn haired goddess inserted with a twinkle in her eyes.

Aphrodite puffed her chest out, proudly displaying an ample view of her cleavage for Hades to enjoy as she cuddled closer and laid her hand on his chest, her fingers grazing bare flesh.

Despite his better judgment, he took in the view, but that didn’t mean he wanted to touch her, ever.

“I think strength makes a woman attractive. Who wants a weakling?” Artemis said.

Athena shook her head and Hades saw a possible ally. Maybe she found this conversation as absurd as he did, but when she opened her mouth, he knew that wasn’t the case. “I argue that wisdom is more desirable than physical beauty or strength.”

“Since you’re both virgin goddesses, how can either of you know what men like?” Aphrodite cuddled closer to him and flexed the hand on his chest. He felt the sexual pull of her power as she caressed her fingers over bare flesh. Hades suddenly understood why men called her the goddess of love, although he wouldn’t agree. Manipulation through sexual means seemed to be a more apt title to describe her. “Men prefer sex.”

They turned to him, eyes expectant. Hades didn’t know if he should walk away now, laugh,

or shake his head at their childishness. They were probably all the wrong choices.

Athena tapped her temple, Aphrodite stroked the side of her breast, and Artemis flexed her muscles. Hades cringed. If Eris were here, she’d laugh at the predicament her son was in, but then she probably would’ve started the conversation just to watch the harpies fight over

something so meaningless.

“I…”

What could he say? He might not give a damn about these gods, but he didn’t want to insult them either, and what he had to say would be an insult upon them. Immorality was hard enough without an eternal grudge to muddy the waters.

He firmly gripped Aphrodite’s wrist, taking great care not to hurt her, and placed her arm at her side. “I’m sorry. I have business with Zeus, and it looks like he’s free now. I bid you all farewell.”

He turned on his heels and walked away with their protests ringing in his ears. Olympus was basically the same cesspool of lies and deceit with a more attractive façade to hide behind, while Tartarus reveled in its filth. At the moment he wasn’t sure what was worse.

Hades mounted the dais as the current supplicant vying for grapes and wine to left.
Everyone
has their self-interest to cater to, and I’m no different.

Zeus studied the scroll in his hand and placed a mark beside a name before setting it down.

He looked up and jerked back against the pillows, a hand pressed against his chest.

“It’s good I’m a god, or I might’ve had a heart attack! How can such a big man move so

silently?!”

Hades’ face remained impassive though he had the urge to laugh. “Practice.”

He sat, knowing the faux pas of not waiting to be asked would grate on Zeus’ nerves. Back straight, hands resting on his knees, and his feet planted firmly on the floor, Hades waited patiently for Zeus to regain control of his erratically beating heart.

Zeus glared at him, then away. He shifted on the settee, took a gulp of nectar and glanced at Hades again. “As promised, I have granted you a kingdom; one I believe you are best suited for.

You are the new ruler of the Underworld—”

Hades’ spine stiffened and his hands fisted. His senses became hypersensitive, seeing the stillness of the gods, hearing the lack of sound in the room, and smelling their fear. Everyone was watching him. They knew of Zeus’ decision. They knew the Underworld was not ideal. And they all wanted to see his reaction.

“The Underworld?” Hades said calmly.

Zeus shifted again, gulping down his nectar. “Yes. The Underworld.” He gestured to the other gods. “We all know your place isn’t with us. You’re not a child of Coronus and Rhea. You’re the son of a goddess and a daemon. You’re a…”

When Zeus didn’t finish, Hades said, “An outsider.”

“A daemon,” Zeus corrected. “Your kind can’t be trusted. They’re too volatile.”

Hades refused to avert his eyes from the god who had just proven himself a devious bigot. He had kept his promise and given him a kingdom to rule, even if it was a kingdom no one else wanted, including Hades.

Zeus cleared his throat. “I have the Heavens as befitting the King of the Gods; Poseidon has the sea; which left only one possible kingdom, the Underworld for you. A place that you are intimately familiar with.”

Hades let no outward signs of the emotions raging inside show. He waited.

“Besides,” Zeus continued, “the law states, if anyone eats the food of the dead, they must remain in the land of the dead. There can be no exceptions and the law can’t be challenged. You ate the food, you have to return. Don’t you see? It’s the law.”

“Ancient law?”

“Yes, well…”

“Then by your oath and by ancient law, which of your daughters have you chosen to be my

bride to seal our alliance and bind our kingdoms?”

“What?!”

Hades didn’t raise his voice above the soothing timbre, but the rage and violence in his tone spoke volumes. The desire to beat Zeus into a bloody pulp of quivering flesh and tear his viperous tongue from his deceitful mouth, while satisfying, would accomplish nothing. He held himself back from violence by sheer willpower.

“Since you honor the old ways, the oath you swore on the River Styx is binding. By that oath and by Ancient Law, one of your daughters is mine.”

“But—”

“Without me, you wouldn’t have defeated the Titans, you wouldn’t be King, and you’d still be fighting a war. It was my skills you needed to defeat your enemy.”

Zeus shook his head, curls tumbling over his forehead. “Hades, there’s no reason to make a scene.” He waved his effeminate hand dismissively and turned his attention to the gods with a reassuring smile. “There’s nothing to worry about. Continue your celebration. Now who is

next?”

Hades didn’t move. The gods flinched. Zeus might have no sense of self-preservation, but the rest of the room did.