A Touch of Ruin (Hades & Persephone 2)

“Hades, I am serious. I want to know your greatest weakness, your deepest fear, your most treasured possession.”

His expression grew serious then, and he stared at her with an intensity that made her insides shudder.

“You,” he answered, the pad of his thumb passed over her kiss-swollen lips.

“Me?” For a moment she was confused, and then she realized what he was saying. “I cannot be all of those things.”

“You are my weakness, losing you is my greatest fear, your love is my most treasured possession.”

“Hades,” she said gently. “I am a second in your vast life. How can I be all of those things?”

“You doubt me?”

She pressed her palm to his cheek. “No, but I believe you have other weaknesses, fears, and treasures. Your people, for one. Your realm for another.”

“See,” he said very quietly. “You know me already—inside and out.”

His response made her sad because she knew it wasn’t true.

I don’t know you at all.

He went in for another kiss, but she stopped him.

“I just have one more question,” she said. “When you left Sunday night, where did you go?”

“Persephone—”

She took a step away. She knew. He didn’t even need to answer.

“That’s when she returned, wasn’t it?”

Her anger was once again renewed. He had wound her so tight she hadn’t been able to breathe and instead of releasing the tension he’d building inside her, he’d chosen to leave—to help a former lover.

“You chose her over me.”

“It isn’t like that at all, Persephone—” he reached for her.

“Don’t touch me!” Persephone stepped away, lifting her hands. Hades jaw tightened, but he didn’t approach. “You had your chance. You fucked it up.”

His reasons for keeping Leuce a secret didn’t matter right now. The fact was, he hadn’t told her. He’d done the opposite of what he’d asked of her—communicate—so the words she used against him next seemed more than fitting.

“Actions speak louder than words, Hades.”

She vanished from the lounge.

CHAPTER VII - TRUCE

Hades’ Lover Arrives at Nevernight in Rental Truck, Dressed in Sweats.

Persephone sat behind her desk at work on Monday, glaring at the article on her computer screen. She could be an oracle with the way she was able to predict headlines. If only she’d been able to predict meeting Hades’ lover, too.

Her mood hadn’t improved over the weekend. Maybe that was due to the fact that she had yet to hear from Hades. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to talk to him, but she had expected him to try to contact her—either manifest in her bedroom in the middle of the night to apologize or send Hecate, the peacekeeper.

As the hours turned into days, Persephone grew even more frustrated with Hades, and the more she wanted to write about Apollo just to piss him off.

The thought had occurred to her because the God of Music was in the news today, having been selected as the chancellor for the upcoming Panhellenic Games. His christening was no surprise, as he had been given the title for the last ten years. It was basically a designation Apollo paid for, since his money funded the entertainment, uniforms, and construction on a new stadium.

It was just another example of Apollo’s status. No one would want to believe that the god who gave them sports was also an abusive asshole.