A Touch of Darkness (Hades & Persephone 1)

She answered, “Yes.”

CHAPTER XXIII – A TOUCH OF NORMAL

Persephone was looking forward to a date with Hades. It had been a few weeks since the Ascension Ball, and she had spent a lot of time with him. He’d started seeking her out while she was in the Underworld and asking her to go for walks or play a game of her choosing. She’d begun making requests of him, too. As a result, he’d played with the children in the Underworld, added a new play area for them, and hosted a few dinners for the souls and his staff.

It was during these moments that her connection to him grew, and she found she felt far more passion for him than she ever had before. It manifested when they came together late at night, making love as if they’d never see one another again. Everything felt so desperate, and Persephone realized it was because neither of them were using words to communicate how they felt.

And she felt like she was falling.

One evening, after an incredibly intense game of strip poker, they lay in bed. Persephone’s head rested on Hades’ chest, and he brushed his fingers through her hair absently.

“Allow me to take you to dinner.”

“Dinner? Like...out in public?”

She was, of course, concerned about the media. Since Hades had announced The Halcyon Project, more articles about her were appearing in magazines across New Greece—the Corinth Chronicle, The Ithaca Inquirer. The ones that made her the most anxious were those that tried to do research on her background. Right now, they’d found enough to satisfy them, writing things like she’d been homeschooled until eighteen, at which point, she came to New Athens University from Olympia. Majoring in journalism, she found an internship with New Athens News and began her relationship with Hades after an interview.

It was just a matter of time before they wanted more. She should know, she was a journalist.

“Not in public exactly,” he said. “But I do want to take you to a public restaurant.”

She hesitated, and Hades gave her a meaningful look.

“I would keep you safe.”

She knew that was true, and this god had managed to avoid the media for a very long time, though she knew that was due in part to his power of invisibility and the fear he struck in mortals.

“Okay,” she agreed, smiling. She thought it was terribly romantic that Hades wanted to do something so...simple like take her to dinner.

Since that night, everything had been hectic. School was busy, work was stressful. Plus, she had been accosted by strangers in person and via email. People stopped and questioned her about her relationship with Hades on the bus, during walks, and while writing at The Coffee House. Journalists emailed to ask if they could interview her for their newspapers—others offered jobs. She had gotten into a habit of checking her inbox once a day and mass deleting the majority of the emails she received without reading them, but this time, when she logged in, she noticed a disturbing subject line: I know you’re fucking him.

Journalists were a little more professional than that.

Dread pooled in her stomach as she clicked on the email and found a string of photos. They were images of her with Hades, all taken in the Underworld while they were on the balcony during the Ascension Ball. At the end of the email words were written: I want my job back or I’ll release these to the media.

The email was from Adonis. She pulled out her phone. She hadn’t deleted his number yet, and she figured this was the best way to reach him.

She could tell he picked up the phone, but he didn’t offer a greeting, just waited for her to speak.

“What the hell, Adonis?” she demanded. “Where did you get the photos?”

“I’m sure you’d like to know.”

“Hades will crush you,” she said.

“He can try, but then he probably doesn’t want to face Aphrodite’s wrath.”

“You are a bastard.”

“You have three weeks,” he said.

“How am I supposed to get your job back for you?” she snapped.

“You’ll think of something. You did get me fired.”

“You got yourself fired, Adonis,” she hissed. “You shouldn’t have stolen my article.”

“I made you famous,” he argued.