For the Love of Hades (Loves of Olympus 2)

“Ah,” Ares’ voice rumbled in his ear. “Damn fool…”

Hades agreed. He was a fool.

Blackness swirled when he tried to stand, but Ares’ arm supported him once more. He had no time for weakness, no time for distractions.

Ares moved quickly, all but dragging him along the narrow path to the cave below. He was thankful Ares had come back, even if the God of War rejected the threat to Olympus.

Each step took effort. His blood flowed freely, running down his chest and legs and sapping his energy. He was weakening quickly… almost too weak to breathe.

He was helpless when she needed him.

And then they were standing before the cave. He released Ares, leaning against the rocks to stand. Could he make it to Olympus?

“Good,” Ares said, sounded winded.

Hades turned, his vision blurring. He blinked as Apollo’s handsome features came slowly into focus.

“Hades?” Apollo stared at Hades’ wounds.

“A trap,” Ares explained. “Punctured, twice. Both poisoned.”

“How did a noble king become such a cowardly villain?” Hades heard the disgust in Apollo’s words, but all he heard became distant and muffled. Erysichthon had used a most effective serum indeed. No, he would not make the journey to Olympus. He must rely on them, then.

“Hermes?” Hades managed, the faintest whisper.

“What?” Apollo asked, his voice moving closer.

Ares sighed loudly, complaining, “His blood stains my chest and yet he calls out for Hermes…”

“Hermes?” Apollo’s voice was soft, reassuring. “He’s gone on to Olympus.”

Ares spat out the words, his disdain evident. “Erysichthon threatened Olympus. He would see Hermes deliver a warning.”

Apollo laughed. “Would that he reaches Olympus soon, Hades. Athena was most affronted to be kept from the fight. Let her vent her frustration on the arrogant soul and see how quickly he comes running to your realm.”

Hades heard Apollo, heard the ring of their laughter, but the sound grew distant. His eyelids drooped, shutting away the hazy images. He could not open his eyes, he could not speak. But Apollo’s words were a comfort. Athena would offer some resistance. She was most fearsome when angered.

“Hades?” He heard Apollo but could not answer him. Apollo’s next words were a whisper. “The fever?”

Ares grunted, but said no more.

“I shall fetch Aeacus,” Apollo offered, the sound of his footsteps fading.

He would rest for a moment, no longer. He was no use to her now, burning from the poison. An image of her, smiling at him atop the black furs of his bed, found him. He sighed, clinging to that image until the fever forced his mind into blackness.

###

Time had stopped, or so it seemed. Every day was like the one before it, with little of note or consequence.

Each night Persephone slept on her white

furs and finely sewn blankets, dreaming of him. Each morning she’d rise with the sun, grief-stricken when sleep refused to linger just a moment longer… And once again she was without him. And his absence weighed upon her most heavily.

But for her mother’s sake she dressed and smiled. They would visit the Council Chamber together and she would attempt to listen to matters discussed there, she must. She was a Goddess. She must act as one.

And this time, when she sat at her mother’s side, she would not stare at his throne.

She’d known it was his even though she’d never seen him in it. And she knew better than to ask. But she didn’t have to ask. It sat, imposing and black, out of place amongst the muted tones of the Council Chamber. Just as he did.