Page 91 of Queen of the Underworld

Even if it had hurt, she still would have wanted to go to the orchard. Excitement chased through her again as she thought about the flower she had produced. She wanted to see if she could do more. Like adding a splash of vibrant green to the dark leaves of the pomegranate trees. She wanted to test the limits of her powers in this realm now that whatever Hades had done to her was losing its effect.

His eyes narrowed.

“You will not be able to use your powers.” Those words leaving his lips both infuriated her and surprised her. How easily he could read her. He pushed away from the doorframe, straightening to his full height, his expression cold, but not cold enough to conceal that flicker of regret that crossed his eyes as he said, “I have sealed them again.”

Her lips flattened and her fists clenched, but one glance over her shoulder at the orchard was enough to have her anger with him fading again. “I would still like to go.”

Whatever he had done might not stop her powers now, and even if they did, she wanted to walk the orchard and maybe talk with him more about his powers and this realm.

His expression remained hard and devoid of emotion, and she was sure he would deny her, but then he held his hand out to her.

Persephone crossed the room to him and slipped hers into it, secretly savouring the way his eyes darkened as her palm slid across his and a thousand tiny bolts of lightning struck in a line up her arm. His thumb closed over the back of her hand and his fingers brushed her wrist, eliciting another thrill that had her breath hitching as he held her immobile with his heated gaze.

And then darkness enveloped her.

When it receded, she was standing at the fringes of the orchard. She went to step forwards, but Hades kept hold of her hand, stopping her, and she looked back at him. He stared at their joined hands, a look she couldn’t quite read on his face as the crimson in his eyes faded to leave them a striking shade of pale blue.

“Hades?” she murmured, tempted to ask him what he was thinking as he gazed at their hands like that.

Did he like holding her hand?

She liked it.

Despite his ferocity and everything people of Olympus would have her believe about him, his grip was gentle, as if he was afraid of hurting her. She wasn’t made of glass. Hadn’t she proved that? He could hold her as tightly as he had when he had saved her from the wyvern and she wouldn’t shatter.

It struck her that she hadn’t thanked him for what he had done.

She turned back to face him, closing the distance between them again, until his warmth embraced her and his power hummed over her skin. “Thank you.”

His blue gaze leaped up to lock with hers, his eyebrows rising high on his forehead. She smiled at his surprise. Had no one ever thanked him for something before? Or maybe he wasn’t sure why she was showing gratitude towards him. She had to admit it was probably confusing given the fact he was still technically holding her captive.

Not that she felt like his prisoner anymore.

“For saving me from the wyvern. I never thanked you.” She glanced at their linked hands as his fingertips brushed her skin, a sharp thrill chasing up her arm in response to the caress, and then met his gaze again.

“You do not need to thank me. My intervention was selfish in nature.” He inched closer to her, until he was all she knew as she tipped her head back to hold his gaze. That gaze scorched her as he breathed, “The wyvern sought to take something of mine.”

A shiver traipsed down her spine and her breath lodged in her throat, her heart pounding a wild, unsteady rhythm as those words seared themselves on her mind together with his possessive look.

She knew she should tell him that she wasn’t his, but the words refused to come.

They would be a lie.

She couldn’t breathe as she stared at him, as awareness of him seeped deep into her bones and she fought the commanding desire to lower her gaze to his lips and kiss him again. She wasn’t sure how long they remained locked in their silent battle, but the longer it went on, the stronger a feeling inside her grew—he was fighting the urge to kiss her too. She willed him to be the one to break, to give her an excuse for kissing him, one that would silence the side of her that still warned her to keep her distance from him.

She cursed that side of her. The good little Olympian. The one who had been raised to be far too prim and proper, to follow the rules and obey her mother without question.

His dark eyebrows slowly drew down, his features hardening as the moment slipped through her fingers, wrenched from her by thoughts of home and how horrified her mother would be—how shocked the whole of Olympus would be—if they knew she was standing here in the Underworld, falling for its dark ruler.

Hades lifted his free hand and cupped her cheek, his palm cool against her overheating cheeks as anger rose within her, born of frustration and a feeling that she couldn’t shake.

She had always been a prisoner.

Her entire life, she had been a captive of convention, and her mother had been her jailer.

And the longer she spent in this world, the more she began to feel that Hades had freed her of that life. He had opened her eyes to how her life had been, how oppressive she had found it, and had awakened her rebellious side—the one that wanted to kiss him again and make him fall in love with her.

The one who wanted to be his queen.

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