A Touch of Darkness (Hades x Persephone Saga Book 1)

“This game sounds horrible,” Hades complained, standing in the middle of his study—a beautiful room with floor to ceiling windows and a large obsidian fireplace. He’d found a shirt since they returned to the palace, and Persephone was only glad because his nakedness would have proved a distraction during their game.

“You’re just mad because you haven’t played.”

“It sounds simple enough—rock beats scissors, scissors beats paper, and paper beats rock—how exactly does paper beat rock?”

“Paper covers rock,” Persephone said. Hades frowned at her reasoning, and the goddess shrugged. “Why is an ace a wildcard?”

“Because it’s the rules.”

“Well, it’s a rule that paper covers rock,” she said. “Ready?”

They lifted their hands, and Persephone couldn’t help giggling. Witnessing the God of the Dead playing rock-paper-scissors should be on every mortal’s bucket list.

“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!” they said in unison.

“Yes!” Persephone squealed. “Rock beats scissors!”

She mimicked smashing Hades’ scissors with her fist—the god blinked. “Damn. I thought you’d choose paper.”

“Why?”

“Because you just sang paper’s praises.”

“Only because you asked why paper covers rock. This isn’t poker, Hades—it’s not about deception.”

He met her gaze, eyes burning. “Isn’t it?”

She looked away, drawing in a breath before she asked, “You said you had successes before with your contracts. Tell me about them.”

Hades moved to a bar cabinet across the room, poured his drink of choice—whiskey—and took a seat on his black leather sofa. “What is there to tell? I have offered many mortals the same contract over the years. In exchange for money, fame, love—they must give up their vice. Some mortals are stronger than others and conquer their habit.”

“Conquering a disease is not about strength, Hades.”

“No one said anything about disease.”

“Addiction is a disease. It cannot be cured. It must be managed.”

“It is managed,” he argued.

“How? With more contracts?”

“That is another question.”

She lifted her hands, and they played another round. When she drew rock and he scissors, she didn’t celebrate but demanded, “How, Hades?”

“I do not ask them to give everything up at once. It is a slow process.”

They played again, and this time, Hades won. “What would you do?”

She blinked. “What?”

“What would you change? To help them?”

Her mouth fell open a little at his question. “First, I wouldn’t allow a mortal to gamble their soul away. Second, if you’re going to request a bargain, challenge them to go to rehab if they’re an addict—and do one better—pay for it. If I had all the money you have, I’d spend it helping people.”

He studied her a moment. “And if they relapsed?”

“Then what?” she asked. “Life is hard out there, Hades, and sometimes living it is penance enough. Mortals need hope, not threats of punishment.”

Silence stretched between them, and then Hades lifted his hands—another game. This time, when Hades won, he took her wrist and pulled her to him. He laid her palm flat, his fingers brushing the bandage Hecate had helped her tie. “What happened?”

She offered a breathy laugh. “It’s nothing compared to bruised ribs.”

Hades’ face hardened, and he was quiet. After a moment, he pressed a kiss to her palm, and she felt the healing warmth of his lips seal her skin. It happened so quickly she had no time to pull away.

“Why does it bother you so much?” She wasn’t sure why she was whispering. She guessed it was because this all felt so intimate—the way they sat, facing each other on the couch, leaning so close she could kiss him.

Instead of answering, he placed a hand on the side of her face, and Persephone swallowed thickly. If he kissed her now, she wouldn’t be responsible for what happened next.

Then the door to Hades’ study opened, and Minthe entered the room. She wore an electric blue dress that hugged her curves in ways that left little to the imagination, and Persephone was surprised by the shock of jealousy that ricocheted through her. She had a thought that if she were mistress of the Underworld, Minthe would always wear turtlenecks and knock before she entered any room.

The flaming-haired nymph stopped short when she saw Persephone sitting beside Hades, her anger obvious. A smile curled Persephone’s lips at the thought that Minthe might be jealous, too.

The god withdrew his hand from her face, and asked in an irritated voice, “Yes, Minthe?”

“My lord, Charon has requested your presence in the throne room.”

“Has he said why?”

“He has caught an intruder.”

Persephone looked at Hades. “An intruder? How? Would they not drown in the Styx?”

“If Charon caught an intruder it’s likely he attempted to sneak onto his ferry.” Hades stood and held out his hand. “Come, you will join me.”

Persephone took his hand—a move that Minthe watched with fire in her eyes before she twisted on her heels and left the study ahead of them. They followed her down the hall and to Hades’ cavernous, high-ceilinged throne room. Rounded glass windows let in muted light. Black flags bearing images of gold narcissus flanked either side of the room all the way to the precipice of Hades’ throne. Like him, it was sculpted and looked as if it were composed of thousands of pieces of shattered, sharp obsidian.

A man with umber skin stood there near the precipice, draped in white and crowned with gold. Two long braids hung over his shoulders, clamped with gold. His dark eyes first fell upon Hades, then on her.

Persephone tested Hades’ grip on her hand, but the god only held her tighter, guiding her past the Ferryman and up the steps to his throne. Hades waved his hand, and a smaller throne materialized beside his; Persephone hesitated.

“You are a goddess. You will sit in a throne.” He guided her to be seated and only then released her hand. When he took his place upon his throne, Persephone thought for a moment that he might drop his glamour, but he didn’t. “Charon, to what do I owe the interruption?”

“You’re Charon?” Persephone asked the man in white. He looked nothing like the drawings in her Ancient Greek textbook that always depicted him as either an old man, a skeleton, or a figure cloaked in black. This version almost resembled a god—beautiful and charming.

Charon grinned, and Hades’ jaw tightened. “I am indeed, my lady.”

“Please call me Persephone,” she said.

“My lady will do,” Hades said sharply. “I am growing impatient, Charon.”

The ferryman bowed his head. Persephone got the sense Charon was amused by Hades’ mood. “My lord, a man named Orpheus was caught sneaking onto my ferry. He wishes for an audience with you.”

“Show him in. I am eager to return to my conversation with Lady Persephone.”

Charon snapped his fingers, and a man appeared before them on his knees, hands tied behind his back. Persephone inhaled, surprised by the manner in which he’d been restrained. The man’s curly hair was plastered to his forehead, still dripping with river water from the Styx. He looked defeated.

“Is he dangerous?” Persephone asked.

Charon looked at Hades, so Persephone did, too.

“You can see to his soul. Is he dangerous?” she asked again.

She could tell by the way the veins in Hades’ neck rose that he was gritting his teeth. Finally, he said, “No.”

“Then release him from those bindings.”

Hades’ eyes bored into hers. Finally, he turned to the man and waved his hand. When the bonds disappeared, he fell forward, hitting the floor. As he climbed to his feet, he looked at Persephone. “Thank you, my lady.”

“Why have you come to the Underworld?” Hades asked.

Persephone was impressed; the mortal kept Hades’ gaze and showed no sign of fear. “I have come for my wife.” Hades did not respond, and the man continued. “I wish to propose a contract—my soul in exchange for hers.”

“I do not trade in souls, mortal,” the god answered.

“My lord, please—”

Hades held up his hand, and the man turned his gaze to Persephone, pleading.

“Do not look upon her for aid, mortal. She cannot help you.”

Persephone took that as a challenge. “Tell me of your wife.” She ignored Hades’ gaze burned and focused on Orpheus. “What was her name?”

“Eurydice. She died a day after we were married.”

“I am sorry. How did she die?”

“She just went to sleep and never woke up.” His voice broke.

“You lost her so suddenly.” Persephone’s chest ached and her throat felt tight. She felt such sympathy for the man who stood broken before them.

“The Fates cut her life-thread,” Hades said. “I cannot return her to the living, and I will not bargain to return souls.”

Persephone’s fists curled. She wanted to argue with the god in that moment—before Minthe and Charon and this mortal. Was that not what he had done during The Great War? Bargained with the gods to bring back their heroes?

“Lord Hades, please—” Orpheus choked. “I love her.”

Something hard and cold settled in her stomach when Hades laughed—a single harsh bark. “You may have loved her, mortal, but you did not come here for her. You came for yourself.” Hades reclined in his throne. “I will not grant your request. Charon.”

The daimon’s name was a command, and with a snap of his wrist, both he and Orpheus were gone.

Persephone seethed, refusing to look at Hades. She was surprised when Hades broke the silence.

“You wish to tell me to make an exception.”

“You wish to tell me why it’s not possible,” she countered.

His lips twitched. “I cannot make an exception for one person, Persephone. Do you know how often I am petitioned to return souls from the Underworld?”

She imagined often, but still. “You barely offered him a voice. They were only married for a day, Hades.”

“Tragic,” he said.

She glared at him. “Are you so heartless?”

“They are not the first to have a sad love story, Persephone, nor will they be the last, I imagine.”

“You’ve brought mortals back for less,” she said.

Hades looked at her. “Love is a selfish reason to bring the dead back.”

“And war isn’t?”

Hades’ eyes darkened. “You speak of what you do not know, Goddess.”

“Tell me how you picked sides, Hades,” she said.

“I didn’t.”

“Just like you didn’t offer Orpheus another option. Would it have been relinquishing your control to offer him even a glimpse of his wife, safe and happy in the Underworld?”

“How dare you speak to Lord Hades—” Minthe began, but she stumbled when Persephone glared at her. She wished she had the power to turn Minthe into a plant.

“Enough.” Hades stood, and Persephone followed. “We are done here.”

“Shall I show Persephone out?” Minthe asked.

“You may call her Lady Persephone,” Hades said. “And no. We are not finished.”

Minthe did not take her dismissal well, but she left, her heels clicking against the marble as she went. Persephone watched her leave until she felt Hades’ fingers under her chin. He lifted her eyes to his.

“It seems you have a lot of opinions on how I manage my realm.”

“You showed him no compassion,” she said. He stared at her for a moment but said nothing, and she wondered what he was thinking. “Worse, you mocked the love he had for his wife.”

“I questioned his love. I did not mock it.”

“Who are you to question love?”

“A god, Persephone.”

She glared at him. “All of your power and you do nothing with it but hurt.” He flinched at that, and she continued, “How can you be so passionate and not believe in love?”

Hades offered a humorless laugh. “Because passion doesn’t need love, darling.”

Persephone knew just as well as he did that lust fueled the passion they shared, and yet she was surprised and angered by his response. Why? He had not treated her with compassion, and she was a goddess. Perhaps she hoped to see him as moved by Orpheus’s plea as she had been. Maybe she had hoped to see a different god in the moment—one who would prove all her assumptions wrong.

And yet, it had only confirmed them.

“You are a ruthless god,” she said, and snapped her fingers, leaving Hades alone in his throne room.