Daughters of Olympus (Reverse Harem Romances)

Hearing that the gods had tried to kill their daughters doesn't make any sense. Yes, they were arrogant and egotistical but they also knew how to love. At least, they loved me for the space of a few days. Maybe asking for any more is unrealistic.

But they wanted children. All of them.

So, why turn on the thing you most desire when it is right before you?

I knock on the wrought iron door. Through the other side of the door, a voice calls. "Who is it?"

The voice’s high-pitch shrill causes Gaia and I to share a look, both raising our eyebrows. A pang shoots through my chest -- how wrong I've been about my oldest friend and how good it is to see her again.

"It's Persephone," I say hesitantly, having no idea how they will react to me practically returning from the dead.

"Persephone?" The door swings open and Clotho is standing there with her mouth gaping open and shell-shocked eyes. "The one and only Persephone, in the flesh!"

She looks me up and down I can't believe it's been twenty-one years since I've seen her face.

It feels like yesterday... it feels like a lifetime. When I was in the Underworld, there was no beginning or end or day or night.

I paced a cell, dreaming of a day when I might be set free, feeling my daughters’ hearts beating even though I couldn't see their beautiful faces.

And now I am more glad than ever that I held onto that hope.

"Atropos, Lachesis," Clotho screams over her shoulder. "Persephone is here! She's been raised from the dead!"

The other two Fates rush to the porch, and I see that all three of them look as if they haven't aged a single day. Now, I look older than they do. They are still beautiful, with bright red lips, heaving bosoms, tightly cinched waists, their hair piled high upon their head. Gauzy silk drapes over their bodies, skimming the floor.

"Who is with you?" Clotho asks. She peers over my shoulder and sees my entourage.

"These are... my daughters."

The Fates look at one another, eyes gleaming. "Daughters? I thought there was a tragedy the night they were born?"

"There was. But now we are together once more. What was wrong has been righted."

Suddenly the porch feels cold, the Fates are looking at one another with fear in their eyes.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Oh, nothing. Nothing at all," Atropos murmurs.

But Lachesis glares at me. "Why exactly are you here?"

"We have some things to discuss," Gaia says, not interested in small talk. "Time is of the essence."

"Well, we're busy now," Atropos says, closing the door on us. I haven't come this far to only get sent away.

If I don't do something to change the hearts of the gods, their daughters will kill them. But the girls don't know the way it felt when I fell in love with their fathers. It was so real.

Maybe I am as naive as ever, but when Gaia and the girls described the vengeance in their father's eyes, a thread of doubt began to unravel in my mind.

There has to be more.

"I don't care if you're busy," I say, pushing my hand against the door, and stepping inside their home. "We need to talk."

They purse their lips together but don't deny me entry. I realize that maybe they can't. Between my daughters, Gaia, and I, we are a force to be reckoned with.

The interior of their home is just like the outside. Grand and gorgeous. Tapestries hang from the walls and rich dark wood tables and chairs are placed pleasingly throughout the home.

"I had no idea you had such a nice place," Gaia says briskly.

"Yes. Well, we have excellent taste." Clotho’s tone is neutral, but her face is set in a glower.

I look at my daughters, trying to gauge their comfort levels. It is Rem who seems most uncomfortable as we walk through the house and into the living room. From the things I've learned about her, she has had a difficult childhood. Maybe she is more jaded, guarded -- wise.

"So, what brings you here?" Lachesis ask as we stand awkwardly around the pristine living room.

I look around the room all I see is leather couches and marble counters, gilded chandeliers dripping with crystals and tile floors. "We need help with a potion," I explain. "A heart potion."

"A heart potion," Clotho says. "That's sweet."

"No," I tell her. "It's not sweet. It is a matter of life or death."

"Sounds important," Atropos says, tapping her fingers on her chin. "Who is this potion for?"

"For my husbands."

The Fates stop moving, turning to look at me. "Oh?"

"Yes. They have become wicked men, toward their daughters, and I want to help them. I want them to be the way I remember."

"Impossible," Clotho says, crossing her arms.

"You have to help us," Harlow says. "It's for our family."