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

When Persephone woke, Hades’ body was pressed tight against hers.

She smiled, blissful, and stretched, her ass pressing into Hades’ cock. The god’s arm tightened around her waist.

“Are you asking?” he murmured, his voice sleepy.

She twisted in his arms, and threw her leg over his hip, hand going to his cock. She didn’t wait for foreplay—she dove in, feeling reckless, warm, ready. Hades groaned; the position kept him from thrusting. Instead, they ground into one another, kissing languidly and breathing heavily. The longer they were joined, the more desperate their movements became and Persephone’s eyes fluttered closed.

“I want to watch you come,” Hades said, and she opened her eyes. Their gazes held until she found release and he followed.

After, they rose and went about getting ready for their day, as if nothing had changed, as if she weren’t Hades’ wife, the Queen of the Underworld. It was strange to feel much the same, and yet different.

“You’re quiet,” Hades said. He stood, fully dressed, near the fireplace, a glass of whiskey in his hand, watching her roll her thick stockings up her thigh. She lifted her gaze to his.

“I am just thinking of how surreal this is,” she said. “I am your wife.”

Hades took a sip from his drink and then sat it aside, approaching her to cup her face.

“It is surreal,” he said.

“What are you thinking?” she countered.

For a beat, Hades was quiet, and then he spoke.

“That I will do anything to keep you,” he answered.

With his words, a cold reality settled on her.

“You are thinking Zeus will try to separate us?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation, and then he tipped her head back so she would look into his eyes. “But you are mine and I intend to keep you forever.”

She had no doubt that is what Hades intended, but his words left something dark upon her heart. She thought of the oracle’s words—short, simple—a powerful union—a marriage that will produce a god more powerful than that of Zeus himself. Persephone knew how Zeus handled prophecies that predicted his downfall—he eliminated the threat.

“Why do you think he let us leave?” Persephone asked.

“Because of who I am,” Hades said. “Challenging me is not like challenging another god. I am one of the three—our power is equal. He will have to take time deciding how to punish me.”

Again, Persephone felt dread.

Hades pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Do not worry, my darling. All will be well.”

“Eventually,” she said, smiling wryly.

Her mother’s storm still raged, and now she wondered how much worse it would get once word got out that she and Hades had wed.

“Shall I take you to work?” Hades asked.

“No,” she said. “I am going to breakfast with Sybil.”

Hades raised his brows. “Will you tell her that we are married?”

“Can I?”

Persephone wasn’t sure how or if they would tell anyone outside of those who had been in attendance. Still, it seemed wrong not to tell Sybil who had known of their connection from the beginning.

“Sybil is trustworthy,” Hades said. “It is her greatest attribute.”

“She will be ecstatic,” Persephone said, grinning.

They teleported outside Nevernight where Antoni was already waiting, the car warm, the heat from the exhaust turning to thick smoke as it met the icy morning. Antoni stood outside the back passenger door, hands crossed in front of him.

“Good morning, my lord, my lady,” Antoni said, smiling, his kind eye crinkling.

“Good morning!” Persephone said, smiling wide.

“I shall see you tonight, my wife,” Hades said and drew her in for a kiss. Then he reached for the door and helped her into the cabin.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you,” he said, and shut the door.

Antoni squeezed into the driver’s seat.

“Where to, my lady?” he asked, looking into the rearview mirror.

“The Ambrosia Cafe.”

“Of course. One of my favorites,” he said as he put the car into drive and started down the street. “I believe congratulations are in order. The wedding was beautiful.”

She couldn’t help blushing. “Thank you, Antoni. I am still floating.”

“We are very pleased,” he said. “We have waited a long while for this day.”

From the beginning, those who admired Hades had been deeply invested in his happiness—and the fact that she was part of that happiness made her chest blossom with pride.

He’d chosen her and he would continue to choose her.

Even if the Fates unraveled our destiny, I would find a way back to you.

Those words filled her heart, made it beat—a truth no one could deny.

It did not take long to arrive at The Ambrosia Café. It was a small modern restaurant, built with salvaged blocks of marble. Antoni helped her out of the car and walked the few steps to hold the door open for her.

“Thank you, Antoni.”

“Of course…my queen.”

They grinned at one another before she entered the café.

Inside, the space was cozy with warm lighting, wood tones, and soft seating. When she was settled, she ordered a coffee and pulled out her phone to text Sybil that she had arrived.

While she waited, she took out her tablet and began to read through the morning news, starting with New Athens News. She was already anxious at the thought of what might feature on the front page, given the last two articles Helen had written, but she did not expect what she saw today.

GODDESS PLAYING MORTAL: THE TRUTH OF PERSEPHONE ROSI

Persephone drew in a shaky breath, her heart hammered painfully as she read.

For four years, Persephone Rosi posed as a college student, journalist, and entrepreneur. She claimed to be dedicated to the truth, outing the Divine for their injustices, a mortal suffering just as the rest of us, but the reality is, she is none of these things—not even mortal.

Persephone is a goddess, born of Demeter, the Goddess of Harvest.

The article continued, claiming to have begun the investigation by asking the question, would Hades really marry a mortal? Beyond that, they attacked her work.

She accused Hades of deception, but over the course of her articles, she fell in love with the God of the Dead. She wrote of Apollo’s harassment of women but when public outrage became too much, she fell silent. Now she is often seen out and about with the God of Music. Persephone’s attempts at outing the gods seem to have been nothing more than a way for a minor god to reach the rank of an Olympian.

The last line ignited a fine rage inside her, mostly because she knew this was Helen’s truth—she was the one searching for a way to rise and she’d chosen the wrong side.

Persephone looked up and noticed people staring. She started to feel uncomfortable and checked the time. Sybil was almost fifteen minutes late and she hadn’t responded to Persephone’s text, both were unlike her.

She texted again: You okay?

Then she called and her phone went straight to voicemail.

Strange.

Persephone hung up and dialed Ivy at Alexandria Tower.

“Good morning, Lady Persephone,” she chimed.

“Ivy, has Sybil arrived?”

“Not yet,” she said. “But I will double check.”

The nymph placed her on hold, and as Persephone waited, her stomach roiled with dread. She already knew Sybil hadn’t arrived at work. No one got past Ivy, a truth that was confirmed when she returned to the phone.

“She has not arrived yet, my lady. Would you like me to call when she does?”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll be there soon.”

Persephone hung up the phone and frowned. She did not like the feeling curling in the bottom of her stomach. It took hold of her lungs, making it hard to breath and swallow.

Perhaps she stayed the night with Harmonia. Maybe they lost track of time.

“Zofie,” Persephone called the Amazon’s name, and she appeared instantly. Onlookers gasped in surprised, but Persephone ignored them.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Can you locate Harmonia?”

“I will do my best,” she said. “Shall I escort you to the tower?”

“No, I’d rather you find Harmonia as quickly as possible.”

“As you wish,” she said, and vanished.

Zofie will find them, she thought.

She attempted to comfort herself with those thoughts as she paid for her coffee and made the short walk to Alexandria Tower in the bitter cold. As soon as she arrived, she welcomed the heat tingling across her face, melting her frozen skin.

“Lady Persephone,” Ivy said. “I have put in a call to Miss Kyros but her phone seems to be off.”

It was the one fact that kept her from completely believing she was with Harmonia. Sybil’s phone was never off.

Maybe she forgot her charger, she reasoned. Still, her fear grew.

“I’ll try again in a few minutes,” Ivy said. “I left coffee on your desk.”

“Thank you, Ivy.”

Persephone headed upstairs and entered her office. She started to take off her jacket, but paused as she came around her desk, noticing a small black box. It was tied with a red ribbon and sat beside her coffee. Had Ivy left a gift and said nothing of it? She picked it up and was even more confused when she found a sticky substance on the bottom—then, horrified, as she realized what it was.

Blood.

“Good morning—” Leuce’s voice halted abruptly as she entered Persephone’s office and saw the crimson stain on her desk. “Is that…blood?”

It was suddenly very hard for Persephone to breath and there was a ringing in her ears that hurt.

“Leuce. Get Ivy.”

“Of course.”

Persephone held the box gingerly, her hands already shaking. She pulled the ribbon free and removed the lid. Inside, was white, bloodstained paper. She parted the leaves and found a severed finger. An ache started in the back of her throat and she dropped the box, stepping away from her desk.

Just then, Ivy and Leuce returned.

“What is it, my lady?”

Persephone could feel thick tears gathering.

“Was this box here when you brought my coffee this morning?”

“Well…yes,” she said. “I assumed it was from Hades.”

“Has anyone else been in my office?” she looked from one nymph to the other as they answered in unison.

“No,” they said.

“Your door was closed when I got here,” said Leuce.

Persephone felt dizzy and her mind raced. Her gaze fell again to the box, and the ashy limb peeking through the  paper.

“I have to check on Sybil.”

“Persephone wait—”

She didn’t.

She teleported to Sybil’s apartment and found herself in the middle of the oracle’s living room. It was completely destroyed—the coffee table was in pieces, the television shattered. The doors of the console table upon which it had rested appeared to have been ripped from their hinges. The curtains had been torn from their rods. Shattered glass littered the floor. It was in this chaos she noticed something shivering, curled up on the couch—Opal, Harmonia’s dog. Persephone gathered her into her arms. “It’s okay,” she soothed, but even she did not believe the words. She started to explore the rest of the apartment.

“Sybil!” Persephone called, her shoes crunching on the debris as she moved down the hallway, gathering her magic into her palms, a hectic energy that matched how she felt. She checked the bathroom and found the mirror shattered; the vanity spattered with blood. Her eyes shifted to the bathtub, concealed behind a shower curtain. Time seemed to slow as she approached, her magic hot in her hand.

She jerked the curtain back but found the tub empty—spotless.

Still, she felt on edge as she moved out of the bathroom further down the hallway where Sybil’s bedroom was. The door was ajar, and as she kicked it open a little more, she found it demolished, but there was no Sybil.

No Sybil.

Then she recalled the words of the false oracle.

The loss of one friend will lead you to lose many—and you, you will cease to shine, an ember taken by the night.

Ben.

***

Persephone summoned Zofie, handing off Opal before teleporting to Four Olives, the restaurant where Ben worked, and where he’d met Sybil. There were gasps as she manifested and scanned the crowd, mortals withdrew their phones to snap pictures or film her.

“No,” she commanded, and sent a rush of power throughout the entire room. Suddenly, tiny saplings grew from inside their devices. Some mortals dropped their phones in shock, while others called out.

“She’s a goddess!”

“The stories are true!”

She ignored them, searching for Ben, who had just exited the kitchen, carrying a serving platter full of food. When he saw her, he halted, his blue eyes widened. He dropped the tray and swiveled on his feet in an attempt to reenter the kitchen, but instead he collapsed to the ground, his ankles held in place by thin roots that had grown from the floor beneath him.

Persephone stalked toward him. With each step, she felt her anger—and her power—growing.

“Where is she?” Persephone asked as she approached. By the time she was in front of him, he was struggling to free himself, his fingers bleeding from the splintered wood. “Where is Sybil?”

“I-I don’t know!”

“She is missing. Her house is in disarray and you might as well have been stalking her. What did you do?”

“Nothing, I swear!”

Her magic swelled, and the vines that trapped his ankles, now trapped his wrists, growing rapidly until they circled his neck.

“Tell me the truth! Did you capture her to prove your prophecy?”

“Never! I gave you the words I heard. I swear it upon my life.”

“Then it is good I hold it in my hands,” she said, and the vines squeezed his neck harder. Ben’s eyes grew wide and bulging, the veins in his forehead popped.

“Who gave you the words? Who is your god?”

“D-Demeter,” he rasped, barely able to utter words as he turned purple in front of her.

“Demeter?” Persephone repeated, and she released the mortal’s throat. Ben gasped and fell to his side. Tears streamed down his face as he groveled, hands and feet still bound.

“You knew who I was,” Persephone said.

Ben had a reason to attach himself to Sybil. It was because Sybil was close to her.

It is only a matter of time before someone with a vendetta against me tries to harm you.

They were words Hades had spoken—a fear he’d had as their relationship became more public. Persephone had never considered that those words would ring true for her.

“Tell me everything!” Persephone demanded.

Ben attempted to scurry away, but he was held in place by her vines.

“There is nothing to tell! I gave you the prophecy!”

“You did not give me a prophecy, you gave me a threat from my mother,” she raged.

“I was only given words to speak,” he cried. “Your mother threatened Sybil, not me!”

As she stared down at the man, she noted a wetness pooling beneath him. The mortal had pissed himself, but it wasn’t his fear that convinced her he was telling the truth, it was that she knew he believed he was a true oracle—he did not recognize that he, himself, was a tool of her mother’s.

“Trust, mortal, if anything happens to Sybil, I will personally greet you at the Gates of the Underworld and escort you to Tartarus.”

His punishment would be brutal, and it would involve severed limbs.

She rose then, her anger subsiding into something that felt a lot like grief—what if she couldn’t find Sybil? Ben had been her only lead. Then her gaze shifted to the other mortals in the café, and she found that while some glared at her, others were riveted on the television where breaking news streamed.

Deadly Avalanche Strikes, Thousands Presumed Dead

No.

No, no, no.

Heavy snowfall is believed to be the cause of the deadly Avalanche which has buried the cities of Sparta and Thebes under several hundred feet of snow. Rescue workers have been dispatched.

Persephone’s whole body felt warm, primed with anger and magic.

And then something struck her in the head. She looked in time to see an orange hit the ground and roll away.

Her head snapped in the direction it had come and a man yelled, “God-fucker!”

“This is your fault!” A woman yelled, picking up her plate and throwing it at Persephone. It hit her arm, and fell to the floor, shattering.

More food, objects, and words followed.

“Lemming!” Another yelled, throwing their coffee at her.

The ground began to shake, and Persephone knew if she didn’t leave, she would bring the whole building down and, despite their assault, they did not deserve death. With a final look at the television, she teleported.