My Lord Hades (7 page)

different worlds. His was violent and bloody; hers was happy and peaceful. He was born in a time when the strong survived and the weak perished. She was born in a time when the weak ruled and the strong protected them. He was no stranger to war, savage in battle and merciful in death, where there was little guilt in killing. To her war was a distant concept she had never see.

He had to fight for that which he wanted, to kill those who stood in the way of his own survival.

He was born to a world where it was right to fight and be savage against equally barbaric enemies.

He could no more fit into her world than she could fit in his. They were poorly matched. But even knowing all this, he couldn’t stop watching her as she sat atop the hill with her nymph friends, one of which could’ve been the nymph in his room and two others who looked vaguely familiar.

He wanted to go to Persephone and ease the loneliness he knew she felt even among the

company of her friends, her mother, and her garden. Instead he closed his eyes, relaxed for the first time since he was a babe of three-years, and dozed.

“I thought you weren’t coming back.”

Hades jerked, his body reacting to the threat before he could fully stop it. Grabbing the hand reaching out to him, he pulled her off balance. She pitched forward into his lap and he caught her against him.

She felt so good.She shifted against him, looking up at him from her place in his lap without fear or awkwardness at the strangeness of his action or her position. She was actually smiling, mirth dancing in her eyes.

“Note to self, don’t wake the sleeping warrior.”

“Sorry, I had a visitor this morning—”

“Tarma. She said something about seeing your man part?”

His face heated with embarrassment. “She woke me from sleep and I left without my

clothes.”

“Was it so bad to have a nymph in your bed?”

He coughed. What kind of woman was this! She didn’t know what a man was. But she talked

of sexual things as if…as if they were everyday things, like flowers and food. She was too innocent to realize that sitting on the lap of a Phlegethon daemon-god was no safer than

discussing a man’s nether regions.

“I didn’t invite her there and I prefer to choose my own bed partners.”

She reached out to grip his forearm and he didn’t try to stop her. He wanted to prove her touch had no power over him. Her hand rested on his arm and his skin prickled under the

strength of her power.

Liquid heat flowed through him in a single hot wave that brought instant desire to his loins.

He shifted slightly and stilled as his disobedient man part leapt with the friction, his thickening arousal pinned between their bodies. He swallowed hard and stared down at her.

Her true power, like his, was buried behind a weaker aura of magic. He stared into those

liquid eyes and knew he could deny her nothing. Her magic was a balm to his soul, unlike

anything he’d ever encountered. It tasted pleasant, sweet, and innocent, with the gentlest hint of sensuality and passion. It didn’t attack, but thrummed through the blood beating below the surface of her honeyed skin. His own magic rose to meet hers, swirling around them, enveloping them in a warm cocoon of magic.

She slid off his lap and knelt beside him so they could face each other. “May I touch your face?”

His body reacted to the soft touch of her hands skimming up his scarred arms, over his

shoulders, fingering the jagged edges of his hair, and finally resting on his face. She looked so serious as her fingers combed through his short beard. She touched the cleft in his chin, and then her own chin. She ran her fingers over his cheeks, pausing at the twin scars starting at his jaw and curving up his left cheek to his cheekbone. He waited for the disgust and the questions that would follow, or the avoidance of it.

In his youth his mother had often teased him that with his pretty face he’d be mistaken for a woman, but when his face was cut from cheekbone to chin by a harpy and roughly stitched back together, she’d mocked him his skills as a warrior and a looker.

She traced the scars, brushing a lock of hair from his face. She leaned closer, her lush body pressed intimately against his, and his body flushed with instant heat. He was lost and didn’t care. He wanted her to touch him. He craved it.

She giggled, dragging him from the invigorating taste of her magic. “What’s so amusing?”

“The hair on your head is soft, but the hair on your face…the, um, the beard, ‘tis wiry.” She brushed her fingers over the hair on his lower jaw. “I don’t have that. See.”

He didn’t resist as she brought his hand to her face, resting his fingers against her cheek. Yes, she was soft. Soft as silk. She was stunning too. Her high cheekbones flushed with color, her full lips curved into a smile for him.

He tentatively reached out, his mind caressing hers, and ran into an unnatural barrier. He delved deeper, stunned by what he found. She was cut off from the power of her birthright, unaware of the magic flowing between them. Who would dare to tamper with the natural order of things?

He sought the cause of her blocked power or some hint as to who placed them there. Maybe

if he could learn more about them, he could remove it. All he found was that it was strong, stronger than any Titan or Olympian could manage, and it was slowly disintegrating.

He wanted to release her, to break open the cracks in the barrier, but he knew the danger all too well. If done slowly, over a period of time, she’d forgo the spin into madness he’d

experienced. If done now, he risked causing her more harm.

He sobered immediately. “I have to go.”

“Have I done something wrong?”

He placed his finger under her chin and raised her face to him. She was so pretty, the sunlight revealing the trust in her face as she gazed up at him. He brushed her earlobe with his thumb, cupping her chin in his calloused hand.

His gaze traveled from her indigo eyes to her lush lips. They remained slightly apart, moist and inviting. He imagined nibbling on the full bottom lip and delving into the warmth of her mouth. He wanted to explore her.

He willed his breathing to slow, understanding that only her innocence allowed him to touch her, and he refused to take advantage of that sweetness. It was refreshing to be in the presence of an honest soul that the world hadn’t tarnished. And he felt a fierce need to keep it that way.

“No, sweetling. I want…”

He wanted to kiss her luscious lips and taste magic and passion flowing beneath her skin. He wanted to lay her back on the loam and claim her as his mate. He wanted to take her far away from this place and those who had hurt her. But he couldn’t. A man like him could never touch a woman as delicate as her and not destroy it.

“I want us to be friends, but right nowI have business at Mount Olympus.”

She leaned forward, the full length of her body pressing against his, her hands resting on his shoulders. His hand dropped to the small of her back. Her silky hair brushed his fingers. Her breasts crushed against his chest and her pelvis settled against his hip bone.

The light touch of her warm mouth against his shocked him. The contact was brief, but left his lips tingling. She rose and stepped away. The simple action left him both relieved and frustrated.

“Then friends we shall be.”

She turned and walked away. Hades watched her from his place on the ground as she traveled up the hill to the small villa nestled close to the top. His body refused to respond to his commands. She deserved a kind and gentle god. She deserved better than a killer for a friend.

Persephone nearly hummed with excitement. She’d met Hades again. She’d spoken with

him, touched him. And now she understood a measure of the nymphs’ fascination with men.

His face had been rough, his shoulders and arms strong. But there was more to the man than that. Hades spoke with her as if she were a woman and not a child. He’d answered what few questions she’d asked of him with honesty. He showed interest in her. His touch was electrifying, warming her body and soul. Something in him called to her. He promised companionship,

adventure, and an end to the loneliness they shared.

She glided into the villa, a smile on her face. She knew she would see him again. She sat at the table with Aunt Hestia and began to eat her meal of strawberries and apples mixed with ambrosia and nectar with vigor. She didn’t think anything had tasted so good in her life.

“What has put you in such a good mood tonight?” Hestia asked.

Persephone shoved the fruit salad into her mouth and chewed it slowly, thinking furiously for a reason. “I’m happy the war is over and we are safe here. Mother will be home soon, won’t she?”

“I’m already here.”

Persephone gasped and turned to the door. She lept from her chair and rushed into her

mother’s arms. “I missed you.”

Her mother drew in a shaky breath, and though she didn’t move, her aura of magic trembled.

“I was only gone a day.”

The statement seemed to hold more meaning than the simple phrase implied. “What’s

wrong?”

Demeter glanced at her and then away. Something was definitely wrong. “You were always a

perceptive child. I went to secure our place among the gods. Only things didn’t turn out as planned. You are to meet the Olympians, my dear child.”

Persephone began to smile. “You mean…I’ll finally meet the gods of the nymphs’ stories.”

“What stories?!” Demeter’s soft voice turned hard and angry.

Persephone winced. She tread on dangerous ground and her inner voice warned her to be

wary of her mother. Though why she should, the soft voice wouldn’t or couldn’t divulge.

“They told me of Hermes stealing Apollo’s cattle and repaying the theft with a lyre. Then there are Hermes flying sandals. Or stories of the virgin Artemis in the forests, who needs no man, hunting animals with her bow and with her maidens. What’s a virgin, Mother?” She didn’t stop to let her mother explain but rushed on. “Or there was the story of Athena springing from Zeus’ head. And recently they told me of Hades’ defiance toward Coronus, and Zeus rescuing him from Tartarus, and his defeat of the Titans.”

Demeter shook her head, her face softening. “When we do go to Olympus, Persephone, you

must stay away from Hades.”

She frowned. “Why, Mother? Rayes said he was a gentleman when she tripped in front of

him. He picked her up and sent her on her way.”

Hestia snorted.

“Because I said so!” Demeter snapped. She closed her eyes, clasped her hands before her,

and took several deep breaths. “Please, just obey me.”

The urge to comply with her mother’s command was strong. “Please, Mother, why do you

hate this god so? I need to understand.”

Demeter sighed. “He’s a daemon. He’s an evil man who murdered hundreds. He’s killed his

wife.”

Persephone knew daemons were fearful immortals, yet the horror she saw in her mother’s

and aunt’s faces were not mirrored in her own face. She couldn’t bring herself to fear Hades.

“He was justly imprisoned by Coronus for defiance of Titan law.”

“Did we not too defy Titan Law?” Persephone asked.

“He attacked your grandfather in his own home,” Demeter snapped.

“So did the Olympians.”

“He causes death and mayhem wherever he goes, child,” Hestia said. “His life is not one of peace and harmony such as yours.”

Persephone frowned. Try as she might, she couldn’t connect the god they spoke of with her Hades. He wasn’t that man; she was sure of it. There was no desire to harm anyone.

She promised herself, and him, that no matter what she heard about him, she would hold tight to her memory of him in the forest, and maybe one day she could ask him about the tales she’d learned about him. She knew in her heart she could trust him to tell the truth.

PERSEPHONE STOOD at the window, staring at the chariot pulled by two winged horses of

pale gold, landing in the middle of her mother’s prized flower bed. Their massive hooves turned the moist soil and destroyed the carefully cultivated plants.

Demeter joined Persephone at the window. “What are—”

Demeter rushed out of the villa, waving her hands and screaming at the blond charioteer. The woman glanced down at the ground, an eyebrow cocked, and shrugged. Persephone tried not to laugh at the sight of her small mother berating the tall, muscular charioteer who looked

indifferent to the whole mess.

The woman led her horses out of the garden, destroying more plants. Her mother turned on

her heel and stalked back to the house. The door opened and slammed shut.

“Stop gawking, Persephone, and get your things,” Demeter snapped. “Your father insists on meeting you before the party.”

Persephone nodded. Her mother’s temper was on a short fuse, and since her last visit to

Olympus, it had only gotten worse. Persephone had spent the last two days keeping her distance.

She would awaken early and take a picnic into the meadow to pick flowers or just to daydream of Hades. Her mother barely reacted to her disappearances, waving her away so she could sit in her chair and stare out the window toward Olympus with a melancholy look.

“Is Zeus a good god, Mother?”

Demeter frowned and glanced at Persephone. The long pause told Persephone enough.

“Of course he is. He wouldn’t be King of the Gods if he wasn’t. Why do you ask?”

Persephone shrugged. “I just wanted to know what kind of god my father is.”

Demeter’s mouth formed a tight line. “What have the nymphs been telling you?”

“That one of the oak dryads fell from her tree yesterday and broke her ankle. That Harmonia is in love again. Artemis is arranging another hunt soon. And Apollo wants to rule over the sun, but it’s an unconfirmed rumor.”

The ruse worked better than usual. Demeter’s attention was drawn back to the window

overlooking Mount Olympus. “I should forbid you from having anything to do with those