She frowned. “What?”
“This,” he said. “The clothes, Apollo, the drinking?”
She looked down at the dress and back up at him. “You don’t like my clothes?”
That is not what I said, he thought as he stared at her. Then he noted the defiant set to her mouth as she pushed off the counter and reached for the hem of her dress.
Hades stiffened…everywhere. “What are you doing?”
“Taking off the dress,” she said.
“I can see that,” he said, eyes narrowing, though he tried not to smile. “Why?”
“Because you don’t like it.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.” His voice lowered.
But he wasn’t going to stop her, and once she stood naked in front of him, his eyes made the climb from the apex of her thighs where curls darkened her center, up her stomach to her breasts, which hung heavy and round. His mouth watered and he swallowed hard.
“Why weren’t you wearing anything under that dress?” he asked, because as fucking hot as he found it, he couldn’t help remembering where she’d been before she was here.
“I couldn’t… Didn’t you see it?”
Oh, he’d seen it.
“I’m going to murder Apollo,” he muttered.
She looked confused. “Why?”
“For fun.”
She laughed, her eyes glittering. “You’re jealous.”
“Don’t push me, Persephone.”
He really would murder Apollo, and he hadn’t wanted to because his existence was far more cruel than a life in the Underworld. He turned and plucked a bottle of whiskey from the bar, pulled off the cap, and took a long drink.
“It wasn’t like Apollo knew,” she said. “Hermes was the one who suggested it.”
Hades’s fingers curled around the bottle so tight, it shattered and suddenly the floor was covered in glass and whiskey.
“Motherfucker.”
Hades was well aware of Hermes’s sexual preferences, which while not limited, likely did not include Persephone. Still, he did not like the liberties the god took.
Best friend, my ass.
“Are you okay?” Persephone asked.
His gaze shifted to hers as he answered. “Forgive me if I am a little on edge. I have been forced into celibacy.”
She rolled her eyes, and he ground his teeth. “No one ever said you couldn’t fuck me.”
“Careful, goddess. You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I think I know what I’m asking for, Hades. It’s not like we’ve never had sex.”
He could fuck her. He would too. Hard. Fast. Unapologetic. He’d turn her to face the counter and enter her from behind so he could control her. He’d shove his fingers into her hair and use it to move her body. He’d bend her to his will until he came.
It would not be about her. It would be about him and his aggression, and that was not what he wanted, as much as he did want her.
“Are you wet for me?” he asked. His voice was low, and despite the shiver that visibly shook her body, she tilted her head in challenge.
“Why don’t you come find out?”
He took deep breaths until even those were only filled with the scent of her magic and arousal. He moved to holding his breath and clutching the counter behind him. This night was a fucking challenge. Why did she have to be aroused now? Why didn’t she reject him now?
“Why didn’t you let Apollo see Hyacinth after his death?”
Fucking Fates.
“You really know how to kill a boner, darling, I’ll give you that.”
He chose a second bottle from the display behind him, and by the time he turned around, she had put on his jacket. As much as he liked seeing her completely naked—and in heels—there was something about also seeing her draped in his clothing, too big for her small frame. It almost possessed her, much like he wished to do now.
“He said he blamed you for his death.”
Even gods misplaced their anger over deaths. He couldn’t count the number of times one of the Olympians had blamed him for the death of a hero, a lover, an enemy they had not finished torturing.
“He did. Much like you blamed me for Lexa’s accident.”
Saying that probably made him an asshole, but it was the truth, and she knew it, despite what she said next.
“I never said I blamed you.”
“You blamed me because I couldn’t help. Apollo did the same.”
He expected her to argue, but instead, she took a breath. “I’m not…trying to fight with you. I just want to know your side.”
He took a drink from the bottle before explaining the truth behind his feud with Apollo. It went far beyond Leuce, who, in the end, was really just a victim. She’d been caught in the middle of a Divine feud, much as she was now. Hades grimaced at how life never really changed.
“Apollo didn’t ask to see his lover,” he said, realizing in this moment how hard it was to actually speak these words, to dig them up from a past that had been buried so deep, one that he’d wanted to forget but had been forced to face. “He asked to die.”
Hades remembered the day well. Apollo had stood at the Lerna Lake entrance to the Underworld screaming his name, and when Hades obliged to meet him, he’d demanded that Hades take his life.
“Of course it was a request I could not—would not—grant.”
At the time, Hades had believed that Apollo wasn’t fit to make any decisions, that he would regret the sacrifice he’d made to die, but now he wasn’t so sure.
“I don’t understand. Apollo knows he cannot die. He is immortal. Even if you were to wound him…”
“He wished to be thrown into Tartarus. To be torn to pieces by the Titans. It is the only way to kill a god.” Or, at least, it should be, his thoughts turning to the Graeae. Someone had managed to kill them without the might of gods. A strange feeling twisted in his gut, and he pushed that aside, focusing on Persephone. “He was outraged, of course, and took his revenge in the only way he knows how—he slept with Leuce.”
Persephone’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open in shock. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tend to want to forget that part of my life, Persephone.”
Though it seemed to not want to forget him.
“But I—I wouldn’t have—”