A Touch of Darkness (Hades & Persephone 1)

“Punishment?” Persephone questioned, feeling increasingly exposed in the daylight outside the club. It took Hades a moment to peel his gaze from Persephone and look upon the ogre.

“I laid my hands upon a goddess,” the monster said.

“And a woman at that,” Hades added, unhappily. “I will deal with you later.”

“Lady Persephone,” he said, stepping aside and let her enter Nevernight.

She stood in the dark as the door closed behind her. The air was heavy, charged with an intensity she felt deep in her belly, and thick with his scent. She wanted to inhale and fill her lungs with it. Instead, she held her breath.

Then he spoke against her ear, his lips brushed feather-light over her skin. “You are full of surprises, darling.”

She inhaled sharply, and twisted to face him, but when she did, Hades was no longer near her. He had opened the door and was waiting for her to enter the club.

“After you, Goddess,” he said. The word wasn’t used mockingly, but it was full of curiosity.

She passed the god and stepped into the club. She found herself on the balcony overlooking the empty floor. The place was surprisingly immaculate. She turned and saw Hades waiting. When she met his gaze, he descended the stairs and she followed.

He crossed the floor, heading for the winding stairs and the second floor. She hesitated.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

He paused and turned toward her. “My office,” he said. “I imagine that whatever you have to say to me demands privacy?”

She opened and closed her mouth, looking around the empty club.

“This seems pretty private.”

“It isn’t,” he said, and headed up the stairs without another word. She followed. As they came to the top of the steps, he took a right—away from the room she’d been in the night before—toward a black wall, elaborately embellished with gold. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed it the night before. Two large doors bore images of vines and flowers curling around Hades’ bident, raised in gold relief. The rest of the wall was patterned with floral designs in gold.

She probably shouldn’t be so surprised that the God of the Dead chose to decorate with flowers—the narcissus was his symbol, after all.

Her eyes were drawn to Hades as he opened one of the gilded doors. She was not eager to be in an enclosed space with him. She didn’t trust her thoughts or her body. This time, he called her out.

“Will you hesitate at every turn, Lady Persephone?” he asked.

She glared. “I was just admiring your decor, Lord Hades. I did not notice this last night.”

“The doors to my quarters are often veiled during business hours,” he replied, and then indicated the open door. “Shall we?”

Once again, she gathered her courage, and approached. He didn’t leave much room for her to pass, and she brushed against him as she stepped into the room.

She found herself in Hades’ office. The first thing she noticed were the windows that overlooked the club floor. He could see everything from here. There were no windows to the outside, and despite this, the space was warmly lit and oddly cozy, even with its black marble floor. Maybe it had something to do with the fireplace against the wall. A couch and two chairs made a lovely sitting area, and a fur rug only added to the comforting aesthetic. At the far end of the room, elevated like a throne, was a large obsidian slab that acted as Hades’ desk. From what she could tell, there was nothing on it—no paperwork or pictures. She wondered if he used it at all or if was just for show.

Immediately in front of her was a table upon which a vase of blood red flowers rested.

She rolled her eyes at the floral arrangement.

Hades closed the door, and she stiffened. This was dangerous. She should have confronted him downstairs where there was more space, where she was better able to think and breathe without inhaling him. His boots tapped against the floor as he neared, and her body grew taut.

Hades stopped in front of her. His eyes scoured her face, lingering on her lips for a split second before lowering to her neck. When he reached out to touch her, Persephone’s hand clamped down on his arm. It wasn’t that she feared him as much as she feared her reaction to his touch.

Their eyes met.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“No,” she said, and he nodded, carefully pulling his arm free of her grasp. He crossed the room, Persephone assumed to put distance between them.

Then she remembered she was in her true form and started to raise her glamour.