Page 50 of Queen of the Underworld

“Persephone,” he murmured and her shoulders managed to tighten further, her fingertips suddenly pressing hard into her arm. Because he had spoken her name, and she didn’t like it? A sense of hopelessness tried to claim ground within him and he let what he had wanted to say fall away, growing mute in her place.

But then she shyly glanced over her shoulder at him, a need in her eyes that he could name.

She wanted him to continue and distract her from whatever sombre thoughts were weighing her down.

He cleared his throat and tried to think of something to say that would please her and draw her out from behind her barriers, and almost smiled when he settled upon a topic he knew would do the trick.

“The forest where we met was enchanting. Was it your creation?” He kept his gaze on her face as he asked that, studying it for signs he was reaching her and she was pleased by his choice of subject, and the praise he had laced into his words.

She nodded and stroked her arm, her air growing awkward, and he felt sure she wouldn’t speak and would continue to torment him by not letting him hear her sweet voice, but then her lips parted.

“Do not tell anyone about it.” Her words were more of a plea than an order, slipping from her laced with fear, something he gathered didn’t please her because her expression hardened and she glowered at him. “I mean it.”

“Ordering me around again? My queen is most certainly bossy.” Hades ran his fingers through his hair and leaned into the pillows, weathering the withering look she cast him.

Or was it another suspicious one?

He was beginning to believe she found this side of him more unsettling than when the darkness had him in its grip. Because he was easier for her to deal with then? She could draw a line between them and deny that spark of attraction that flared in her eyes from time to time, keeping him at arm’s length because a sweet, gentle goddess of Olympus shouldn’t want a monster for a husband.

But he wasn’t a monster right now.

And he found it unsettling too, but also kind ofnice.

His entire day hadn’t been consumed with bloodshed and violence, and a seething endless hunger for both. He had walked the grounds and talked with Cerberus. He had gone over the rosters and reports without slipping into a rage over any unrest in his realm. He had even filled a few hours reading a book.

When was the last time he had done that?

He looked down at himself. When was the last time he had worn anything other than his armour?

Too long ago. So long ago that his mood soured as he thought about it and he shoved his mind back on track, diverting it away from himself and back to her.

He didn’t mean it to, but his response to her order came out gruff. “I would not tell anyone. Who would listen to me if I did?”

She went rigid again.

“Some of the goddesses and gods in Olympus are my friends,” she snapped, tugging a frown from him because he wasn’t sure what had caused such an outburst. Was it an attempt to make him jealous? He was about to ask her when her face slackened and her eyes widened again, and she averted her gaze, refusing to look at him. She muttered beneath her breath, “He did not mean it like that.”

He caught it and frowned as he filed it away and resisted the temptation to bring up the fact she believed no one would listen to him if he told them of her secret forest because no one was interested in hearing about her.

She was right, and he hadn’t meant it like that. He had meant no one would listen to him. No one in Olympus ever did. Everyone there drew a line between them, but in a different way to his Persephone. The line between him and the Olympians divided them entirely and without condition, and what was on their side was their business alone, and what was on his was his business alone.

And Hades was fine with that.

He pushed it to one side as he grew agitated, black thoughts of the Olympians and the things they had done or said to him in the past clouding his mind, rousing the darkness and bringing it back to the fore. He tamped it down with another sip of ambrosia, clinging to his almost-good mood, and focused back on Persephone and his desire to know more about her.

Because he wasn’t the only one feeling talkative tonight.

He would send some of his finest men to visit Olympus and ask more about her, uncovering the reason she felt so alone. He shook his head slightly. No, he would tease it out of her. It would be far more pleasing to find out about her from herself and might bring them closer, scuffing that line she wanted to keep between them and making her see that he did have a heart and he could care about someone.

He was starting to suspect he already cared a great deal about her.

That he was falling for her.

His black eyebrows knitted. Or had he already fallen?

He hadn’t felt the same from the second he had set eyes on her, and that unsteady feeling was only growing worse, filling him with needs only she could satisfy. Not physical needs, but emotional ones.

The silence stretching between them became oppressive, and he wanted to take her mind off her slip, so he said, “How long did it take you to create the forest?”

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