Hades raised a brow. “You think you can return to college with an addiction so severe?”
Just as the man was about to open his mouth, Hades felt the familiar tendrils of Persephone’s magic call to his own, which meant two things—she was here and she was angry. A particularly fierce dread took hold of his heart.
What had she discovered?
The door swung open, and Persephone was framed in the dim light from the hallway. Her glamour peeked through to reveal the goddess beneath—gleaming eyes and glowing skin. She was also livid. A deep flush kissed the high parts of her cheeks, and her lips and jaw were set hard.
The mortal turned to look at her, so desperate for his own bargain that he did not even notice her faltering glamour.
“If it’s him you want, you’ll have to wait your turn. Took me three years to get this appointment.”
She did not even glance at him. All her anger was directed at Hades. He straightened beneath her gaze.
“Leave, mortal.”
It was unnerving to hear her say such a thing, when so often, she tended to relate more to human than god. The man must have picked up on the threat in her voice, because he clumsily got to his feet and darted out the door, which Persephone slammed shut.
“I’ll have to erase his memory. Your eyes are glowing,” Hades said, and despite himself, he found himself smiling. He liked when she seemed unafraid of her power. “Who angered you?”
“Can you not guess?” she asked. Her voice trembled, but only slightly.
Hades’s brows rose and he waited.
“I just had the pleasure of meeting your lover.”
Hades didn’t have to think long about who she was referring to—Leuce.
Fuck.
“I see.”
Her head tilted slightly. “You have seconds to explain before I turn her into a weed.”
At the rate she was going, he wouldn’t be surprised if he ended the night as a plant, so he began to explain.
“Her name is Leuce. She was my lover a long time ago.”
“What is a long time?”
“More than a millennia, Persephone.”
“Then why did she introduce herself to me as your lover today?”
Because she’s an idiot, he thought. “Because to her, I was her lover up until Sunday.”
Her power surged as she clenched her fists, and leafy vines erupted from the floor of the suite, covering the blue walls completely.
“And why is that?”
“Because she’s been a poplar tree for more than two thousand years.”
“Why was she a poplar tree?”
Hades took a breath. He’d been reminded of this too much over the last week when all he wanted to do was keep it in the past.
“She betrayed me.”
“You turned her into a tree?” she asked, clearly stunned, and Hades wondered what had shocked her more, the fact that he had exacted revenge or the way in which he’d done it. “Why?”
“I caught her fucking someone else. I was blind with anger. I turned her into a poplar tree.”
Persephone’s features were still stiff with anger. “She must not remember that, or she wouldn’t introduce herself as your lover.”
She remembered, though he had a suspicion she blamed Apollo more than herself for the treachery, but he’d rather not get into specifics about why Leuce was still claiming to be his lover. It was likely only something she had used in hopes that she would get what she wanted, and it had backfired, so all he said was, “It is possible she has repressed the memory.”
Persephone took a breath and looked toward the ceiling before she started to pace, and he thought that it had something to do with the magic building inside her.
“How many lovers have you taken?”
“Persephone.” His tone was quiet. She could not know that this question caused him so much discomfort. It was an impossible question, an unfair question, and to be honest, he didn’t want to answer it.
“I just want to be prepared in case they start coming out of the woodwork,” Persephone snapped.
Hades stared up at her from his place at the table. “I won’t apologize for living before you existed.”
“I’m not asking you to, but I’d like to know when I’m about to meet a woman who fucked you.”
He could understand her anger to a point. He would not have liked for these roles to be reversed.
“I was hoping you’d never meet Leuce,” Hades said, though he was realizing now how much of a mistake that was. “She wasn’t supposed to be around this long. I agreed to help her get on her feet in the modern world. Normally, I’d pass the responsibility on to Minthe, but seeing as how she’s indisposed—” He glanced at the ivy on the walls. “It’s taken me longer to find someone suitable to mentor her.”
Persephone halted and stared at him. She seemed even more shocked now than before. “You weren’t planning to tell me about her?”
“I saw no need until now.”
“No need?”
Persephone’s magic surged, and Hades could hear the rustle of vines and leaves growing thicker and thicker, blooming with fragrant white flowers, the smell of which choked him.
“You gave this woman a place to stay, you gave her a job, and you used to fuck her—”
“Stop saying that!” Hades bit out. He obviously did not think about that as much as she did.
“I deserved to know about her, Hades!”
“Do you doubt my loyalty?”
“You’re supposed to say you’re sorry.”
“You’re supposed to trust me.”
“And you’re supposed to communicate with me.”
Hades did not know what to say, though now he wondered if he could have prevented this if he’d just been honest about the nymph’s return. Instead, he’d gotten exactly what he feared—Persephone’s disdain.
Guilt and dread twisted uneasily in his stomach.
She took a breath, then she asked in a quiet, sad voice, “Do you still love her?”
“No, Persephone.”
He hated that the question had even been asked. Even if she were questioning whether she knew him, how could she think he still loved Leuce? After he’d told her—shown her—how much he loved her?
He rose from his chair and came around the table, taking her face between his hands and threading one of his hands into her hair. At least she let him touch her. “I hoped to keep all this from you,” he murmured. “Not to protect Leuce but to protect you from my past.”