A Touch of Malice (Hades x Persephone Saga Book 3)

Persephone had often come to the pier to greet new souls who crossed the River Styx on Charon’s ferry, but this time, Hades teleported to the opposite side of the shore—to the Gates of the Underworld. It was cold here, as if the air from the Upperworld were seeping through the ground, but she hardly noticed because seeing the gates in person left her breathless.

They were as tall as the mountains they were built into and made of black iron. The bottom of the gates had been crafted into a line of narcissus, and from them sprouted spiraling vines decorated with flora and pomegranates, their raised edges glinted gold beneath the muted sky, which extended over their heads, but disappeared into a strange and terrifying darkness around them. Beyond the gates was a great elm. Persephone could feel its age, even from this distance. It was as old as Hades and its roots when deep, its limbs heavy with orbs of bright, bluish light.

“What clings to that tree?” she asked Hades.

“Dreams,” he replied, looking at her. “Those who enter the Underworld must leave them behind.”

There was a certain sadness that overtook her at the thought, but she also understood—there was no room for dreams in the Underworld because life here meant existing without burden, without challenge. Life here meant rest.

“Must all souls walk through these gates?” Her voice was quiet because, for some reason, this space felt sacred.

“Yes,” Hades answered. “It is the journey they must take to accept their death. Believe it or not, it was once more frightening than this.”

Persephone’s gaze met his. “I did not mean that it was frightening.”

He offered a small smile and touched her lips with his finger. “And yet you tremble.”

“I tremble because it is cold,” she said. “Not out of fear. It is very beautiful here, but it is also…overwhelming. I can feel your power here, stronger than anywhere else in the Underworld.”

“Perhaps that is because this is the oldest part of the Underworld,” he said.

A cloak appeared in Hades’ hands, and he shrugged it around Persephone’s shoulders.

“Better?” He asked.

“Yes,” she whispered.

In the next second, both Hermes and Thanatos appeared. Their wings were wrapped around them like a cloak, then they unfolded, expanding and stretching, nearly filling the space in which they stood to reveal a handful of souls. There were about twenty in total, all various ages, ranging from what Persephone guessed was a five-year-old to sixty-year-old. The five-year-old arrived with her father, the sixty-year-old with his wife.

Thanatos swept into a bow.

“Lord Hades, Lady Persephone,” he said. “We…will return.”

“There are more?” Persephone asked, her eyes wide, staring at the God of Death.

He nodded grimly.

“It’s alright, Sephy,” Hermes said. “Just focus on making them feel welcome.”

The two gods vanished, and as they did, the father of the five-year-old fell to his knees.

“Please,” he begged. “Take me but do not take my daughter! She is too young!”

“You have arrived at the Gates of the Underworld,” Hades replied. “I am afraid I cannot change your Fate.”

Before, Persephone might have found Hades’ words to be callous, but they were the truth.

She did not think it was possible for the man to look any paler, but he managed it and screamed, “You are a liar! You are the God of the Dead! You can change her Fate!”

Persephone took a step forward. She felt as if she were shielding Hades from this man’s rage.

“Lord Hades may be God of the Dead, but he is not the weaver of your thread,” she said. “Do not fear, mortal father, and be brave for your daughter. Your existence here will be peaceful.”

She turned her attention to the daughter then and knelt before her. She was adorable, small with blonde, curly pigtails and dimples.

“Hi,” she said, quietly. “My name is Persephone. What’s your name?”

“Lola,” the girl replied.

“Lola,” she said with a smile. “I am glad you are here and with your father, too. That is lucky.”

So many children came to the Underworld without their parents only to be adopted by other souls and reunited with their loved one’s years later. If these were the circumstances these two would suffer, she was glad they were together.

“Would you like to see some magic?” she asked.

The girl nodded.

Persephone hoped this worked as she scooped up a handful of the black dirt at her feet. She envisioned a white anemone—and watched as it effortlessly materialized in her palm. She blew out a breath, thankful, and Lola’s face lit up as Persephone threaded the flower into her hair.

“You are very brave,” she said. “Will you be brave for your father, too?”

The girl nodded, and Persephone straightened, taking a step back. Shortly after, more souls joined them, guided to the Underworld by Hermes and reaped by Thanatos. Before their work was finished, the small space was crowded with one-hundred and thirty people and one dog, whose owner had also made it into the afterlife. Persephone greeted many of them, and Hades followed suit. There were children and teens, young adults and older ones. Some were fearful and others were angry, only a few were unafraid.

At some point, Hades fingers slipped between hers and he gestured toward the gates, which were opening soundlessly to reveal the elm beyond in its fullness—beautiful and ancient and glowing.

“Welcome to the Underworld,” he said.

Together, they led the souls through the gates, and beneath the far-reaching limbs of the elm. As they walked, thousands of tiny orbs of light appeared and glowed, rising above their heads to settle on the leaves of the tree. The souls watched in wonder, not horror, not realizing that those small balls of light were the hopes and dreams they’d formed over a lifetime. Persephone felt immense sadness, watching it happen, but Hades squeezed her hand.

“Think of it as a release,” he said. “They will no longer be burdened with regret.”

She took some comfort in that and as they left the shelter of the tree, they came to a lush strip of greenery and a pier that stretched over the black water of the Styx. The bank of the River of Woe was covered in white narcissus blooms. Returning from the other side, was Charon dressed in white robes which ignited like a torch against the muted gloom of the Underworld. His powerful arms rowed the boat to port, and he grinned.

“Welcome, welcome!” he said. “Come, let’s get you all home.”

Persephone had never seen this process before, but she watched as Charon chose who was allowed into his boat. It was not even full when he decided that was enough.

“No more,” he said. “I will return.”

As he rowed away, Persephone looked to Hades. “Why did he not take more?”

“Remember when I said the souls made this journey to accept death?”

She nodded.

“Charon will not take them until they have.”

Persephone’s eyes widened. “What if they don’t?”

“Most do,” he said.

“And?” Persephone prodded. “What about the rest?”

“It is a case-by-case basis,” he answered. “Some are allowed to see how the souls live in Asphodel. If that does not encourage them to adjust, they are sent to Elysium. Some must drink from the Lethe.”

“And how often does that happen?”

“It is rare,” he said. “But inevitably, in times like these, there is always someone who struggles.”

She could imagine. None of these people woke up and expected to die today.

Charon returned a few more times and by the end of it, the only two left were the man with the five-year-old daughter. Charon tried to take her, but the father had protested vehemently, and Persephone did not blame him.

“We go together or not at all!”

Persephone looked from Charon to Hades and then to the man who held his daughter in his arms. She clung to him, too—as much as she had accepted her end, she did not want to leave her father, either.

Persephone left Hades’ side and approached the man.

“What are you afraid of?” she asked.

“I left my wife and son behind,” he said.

She considered this news—but she knew that several of the souls who had already passed over the Styx had left loved one’s behind. She also knew that there would be more like him. She could not make a promise to him she could not keep for everyone.

So instead, she asked, “And do you not trust, after all that you have seen here, that you will see them again?”

“But—”

“Your wife will have comfort,” she said. “Because you are here with Lola and she will wait to be reunited with you both here in the Underworld. In Asphodel. Do you not wish to make a space for them? To welcome them when they come?”

The man looked at Lola and hugged her to him, crying for a long time. They let him, and all the while, Persephone felt the heaviness of this task. She could not imagine how Thanatos, Charon, and The Judges managed this every day.

After a while, the man composed himself and took a breath.

“Okay. I am ready.”

Persephone turned to Charon who smiled. “Then welcome to the Underworld,” he said and helped the two onto the boat.

Hades and Persephone joined them.

The ride was quiet, the souls looked out over the water, their expressions somber. Hades’ hold on Persephone’s hand tightened, and she knew it was because he recognized the burden she carried—it was sadness and grief and despair—but her spirits were soon lifted when she spotted a group of souls from Asphodel on the opposite shore waiting to greet them.

“Look!” Lola exclaimed, pointing a tiny finger.

As Charon came to dock, Yuri and Ian helped them onto the crowded deck.

“Welcome,” they said.

There was a flutter of activity as they were accepted into the throng. The souls had been perfecting their welcome party and had managed to turn it into more of a celebration bringing music and baskets of food. Initially, she worried that Hades would disapprove, seeing as these souls had yet to be judged, but the god had felt this was an even better entry into his realm, for it would always be on the minds of those who ended up in Tartarus.

“They will reflect on this moment and mourn that they were not better in life.”

Hades and Persephone stayed with Charon, watching as the souls took off down the stone pathway, through the Fields of Mourning. As they went, they danced and sang and cheered. It felt like a happier end to a dreadful day.

Beside them, Charon chuckled. “They certainly shall never forget their entrance into the Underworld.”

Persephone looked at him. “Do you think it will overshadow the suddenness of their death?”

The daimon offered her a gentle smile. “I think your Underworld will more than make up for it, my lady.”

With that, he pushed off the pier and started across the river again.

She turned to Hades.

“Is it still a fate woven by the Fates if it is caused by another god?”

She truly did not know.

“All fates are chosen by the Fates,” Hades replied. “Lachesis had probably allotted an amount of time to each of them that ended today, and Atropos chose the wreck as their manner of death. Your mother’s storm provided the catalyst.”

Persephone frowned, and Hades squeezed her hand again. “Let us leave this place. I have something to show you.”

She let Hades teleport them but was surprised by where he brought her—to the Temple of Sangri. It was a large building made of marble and white stone. A set of steps made a steep climb toward the closed and gilded doors which lay just behind a row of ancient iconic columns with scrolls capped in gold. As decorative as they were, they were also practical, supporting a pediment detailed with Demeter’s symbols—the cornucopia and wheat grains which were also gold.

“Hades…why are we at my mother’s temple?” Persephone asked.

“Visiting.”

The God of the Dead kept her gaze, kissing her hand then guided it to his arm as he started up the steps.

“I do not wish to visit,” she said.

“Your mother wants to fuck with us,” he said. “Then we shall fuck with her.”

“Do you intend to burn her temple to the ground?” she asked.

“Oh, darling,” Hades replied. “I am far too depraved for that.”

They crested the steps, and she felt a surge of Hades’ magic as the doors flew open. Several priests and priestesses dressed in white halted their meandering when they saw the God of the Dead entering, their eyes widening with fear.

“L-lord Hades—” One of the priests shook as he spoke his name.

“Leave,” he commanded.

“You cannot enter the Temple of Demeter,” a priestess dared to say. “This is a sacred space.”

Hades ignored the woman.

“Leave,” he said again. “Or be witness—and complacent—in the desecration of this temple.”

Demeter’s priests and priestesses fled, leaving them alone in the fire-lit room. The doors slammed, causing the shadows on the wall to shudder.

In the silence, Hades turned to her.

“Let me make love to you.”

“In my mother’s temple? Hades—”

He cut her off with a kiss that made her moan. It was delicious and deep, and desire curled into her stomach like claws.

“My mother will be furious,” she said when he pulled away.

“I’m furious,” he hissed as his hand dug into the base of her skull and his lips returned to hers. His other hand traveled down, over her ass and under her thigh, hooking her leg around his hip. His erection nestled against her aching core and she moaned. His lips moved to her jaw and then her ear as he breathed, “And you haven’t said no.”

She didn’t want to say no. Today’s events had left her wound up, restless, stressed. She needed release—she needed him.

He pulled away and they stared at one another for a moment before Persephone smoothed her hands over Hades’ chest to his shoulders and helped him out of his jacket. As it fell away to the floor, her clothes followed. They undressed one another—a slow and languid process that involved a lot of kissing and licking and sucking—until they stood bare and then Hades gathered her into his arms and carried her down the column-flanked aisle toward her mother’s alter which overflowed with cornucopias of fruit and sheafs of wheat. Two large, gold basins full of fire roared on either side and the air here was hot, causing sweat to drip from their skin.

Hades knelt and laid her upon the tiled floor before shifting to settle between her legs. He stared down at her, his eyes like fire, roving every part of her body and then he bent and licked her, his tongue warm against her center. When he pulled away his lips glistened with her desire and he smiled wickedly.

“You are wet for me.”

“Always,” she whispered.

“Always,” he repeated. “Even at the sight of me?”

She nodded and Hades licked his lips.

“Do you want to know how I feel when I see you?” He asked, bending to press a kiss to the inside of her knee.

She nodded.

“When I see you, I cannot help think of you like this,” he said, his voice a sultry whisper against her skin as his lips continued up her thigh. “Bare. Beautiful. Drenched.”

Each of his words was punctuated with the swirl of his tongue against her skin and her breath quickened the closer he got to her burning core.

“My cock is heavy for you,” he said. “And I am desperate to fill you.”

He stared up at her, his head hovered above the apex of her thighs, and she could feel his breath against her molten flesh. Her fingers curled into her palms, nails biting into her skin.

“Then why am I so empty?”

The corner of his mouth lifted, and then he descended, mouth covering her clit. She arched against him and her hands went to her breasts, drawing her nipples between her fingers, she moaned and met his fiery gaze. As soon as she did, he jerked on her hips, hands digging into her ass and then he was inside her, fingers curling deep, stimulating a part of her that made her breath catch hard in her throat. The more she cried, the faster his tongue moved, the more his fingers coaxed, and when he broke free from her, his lips and fingers gleamed.

He let her relax upon the title and crawled up her body, mouth descending upon hers. He tasted like her—tangy and salty—and as his tongue slide against hers, she reached between them, wrapping her hand around his hard cock, smoothing her thumb over the head, thick with need. Hades groaned.

“Do you wish to take me in your mouth?” he asked.

“Always,” she said, sitting up.

He shuttered and closed his eyes. “That word.”

“What’s wrong with that word?”

“Nothing,” he said, and took her place upon the floor, one hand behind his head. “It’s…perfect.”

Persephone wrapped her hand around Hades’ cock, licked him once, and then took him into her mouth. His hand tightened into her hair, and he hissed, thighs tightening around her bent knees. She kept her mouth concentrated on the soft tip for a long while, savoring each bead of moisture that rose to the surface and then took him to the hilt. He let out a long breath and jackknifed into a sitting position, pulling her from his length and pressing his hot mouth to hers. He guided her to her back, moving to grasp his cock as he pressed it into her slick folds, teasing her entrance and her clit.

Persephone groaned and grounding her heels into his ass.

“Now, Hades,” she commanded. “You promised.”

He offered a breathy laugh. “What did I promise, my darling?”

He bent to kiss her neck and his teeth grazed her ear. She turned toward him, angrily, hoping to capture his lips, but he moved.

“To fill me,” she breathed. “To fuck me.”

“That was no promise,” he said. “It was a vow.”

And then he sheathed himself fully, settling deep, and for a moment he rested against her, their slick bodies melding together. His lips touched her jaw, then her mouth, as he waited for her to relax beneath him.

“Let me make love to you,” he said again and held her gaze as he shifted, rising onto his hands above her, he began to move, setting a pace that ensured she felt every part of his cock. She bent beneath him, her back coming off the floor. Hades sat back then, hands digging into her thighs as he angled her hips and plunged into her again and again, steady and agonizing.

She wanted it to last forever, she wanted to come. She wanted everything all at once.

Then he withdrew and bent his head between her thighs, mouth descending upon her once more before he shoved into her again, body hovering over hers, strong arms caging her in. She watched his face as he moved, eyes heavy-lidded, his jaw tense, lips parted. He bent now and then to kiss her—once, twice, a third time—before neither of them could keep their eyes open, until their heads rocked back, and they came.

After, they lay on the tiled floor, limbs tangled together.

“What is this I hear about a horse rescue?” she asked, her voice was low. She was tired, her body still shook from her release.

Hades did not react, his fingers continued to thread through her hair. “I was going to tell you by showing you,” he said. “Who told you?”

“No one told me,” she replied. “I overheard.”

“Hmm,” he made the sound sleepily.

After a moment, she shifted so that her arms could rest on his chest, with her chin propped upon them.

“Harmonia visited today,” she said.

“Oh?” he raised a dark brow, his eyes half-open.

“She thinks the weapon used to capture her was a net,” she said. “And that it was made with my mother’s magic.”

Hades did not speak, did not move a single muscle in his face.

“Why would my mother help attack her own people?”

“It has happened every time new gods rise to power,” Hades replied. He did not seem surprised at all.

“New gods or new power?” she asked.

“Perhaps both,” he replied. “I suppose we will find out sooner or later.”

Persephone was silent, considering Hades’ words.

“What was Theseus doing in your office today?” she asked, suddenly curious. When she’d arrived, whatever conversation they’d been having hadn’t seemed to be going well based on the tension in the room.

“Trying to convince me he had nothing to do with your assault and the attack on Adonis or Harmonia.”

“And did he?”

“I could not detect a lie,” Hades admitted.

“But you still think he was responsible?”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips, like he was proud she could read him so well.

“I think his inaction makes him responsible,” Hades said. “By now he must know the names of her attackers and yet he refused to divulge them.”

“Don’t you have methods for extracting information?” She asked, arching a brow.

Hades chuckled. “Eager for blood, darling?”

She frowned. “I just don’t understand what power he has to keep that information.”

“The same kind of power any man has with a following,” Hades replied. “Hubris.”

“Is that not a punishable offense in the eyes of a god?”

“Trust darling, by the time Theseus comes to the Underworld, it will be I who escorts him straight to Tartarus.”