Page 61 of Hades and Persephone: Keeper of Sins

Willa’s brows nearly touch her hair. “You’re drinking?”

“Yep.” I nod decisively. “I amtonight.”

“Fuck yeah.” Addison grins wide. As his eyes slide over me, I feel a wash of heat prickle at my skin. It’s not the same kind of heat I feel when I’m around Hades, but it’s something.

It’s awareness of someone else, and it makes me feel hopeful that after these months with Hades are done and I’m forced to go home, that maybe I’ll eventually find someone who makes me warm. I’m not fool enough to think I’ll find someone who makes me burn the way Hades makes me burn—but warmth would be nice.

Willa orders me a drink, handing me the glass filled with a deep red liquid that is sweet and tart and instantly has a buzz going straight to my head. I finish two drinks before Willa takes my hand and pulls me onto the dance floor. I feel light and I can’t stop laughing. I’ve never had a night like tonight, where I just let loose. Where I shove the expectations of my parents all the way down so that I’m not heavy with them. Where I’m just a girl havingfun.

We dance until my skin is dewy with sweat before we order another drink. Addison calls for shots and I throw back two before finishing my drink. The room sways, but we stumble onto the dance floor. Minthe’s high laugh has a rush of blood surging in my veins as she moves into Theodor, her hips swaying against his to the rhythm of the music. She lifts her phone and takes a selfie as Addison’s hands find my hips and he pulls me back into him. Uncertaintyis there and gone fast, before I’m leaning back into him. I’m not sure if I let the music move me or Addison, I only know that the feel of him behind me makes me think of Hades. Thinking of Hades when Addison’s hands grip my hips makes me warm.

My head spins and my eyes flutter closed as Addison dips his head into my neck. “I’m pretty sure Minthe is taking photos of us.”

“Mmm,” I murmur. I’m too drunk to care.

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

Hades

The red riverPhlegethon boils as it rolls over the black rock of its bone bed, the magma infused with Uranus’ blood as it spits bullets of fire into the souls that dare try to escape the pits of Tartarus before I’ve decided to release them of their damnation.

In the years following Persephone’s murder, the river had thinned, the bullets it spits far less frequent than they once were.

But never had the bullets stopped. Never had the river failed to spit the rock that would cool into the ash I use for my painted prisons.

I turn to Hecate. “Looks like it’s spitting rock just fine.”

Hecate lifts one pale shoulder, the translucent black lace that hangs from bony limbs catching in the hot breeze that is unending when one stands so close to the border of Tartarus. She drawls, “My mistake.”

“Your mistake?” I repeat. I’m sure I did not hear her right. Hecate doesn’t make mistakes. Her finger is on the pulse of everything within this realm, apart from the roots of Mount Olympus that stretch into the Underworld, the stony roots spreading like disease with every passing millennium.

“Oops.”

Now IknowI didn’t hear her right. Hecate doesn’t make mistakes, but she doesn’t say words likeoops.

I straighten my shoulders, inhaling hot air through my nose. “What’s going on?”

Black lace whirls around her, caught in a wind of her own making. She enjoys standing in the heart of chaos, watchful, but never really involved.

It’s interesting, considering she has her enchanted finger in all the pots.

Finally, the wind dies down and black lace falls against her pale body. “There is much going on, Hades.”

Here we go.“Why don’t you tell me, Hecate, why I’m here then.”

“You have had her for nearly a month.”

My jaw tightens. “You told me the river Phlegethon was no longer spitting ash so that you could lookme in the eye when you told me how long I’ve had my mate for?”

“Why is she still up there, Hades?”

I feel my teeth grind behind my jaw in response to her cool impatience. “It is not your place to question me, Hecate.”

“Have you forgotten who helped you to carry this realm when she was stolen from us?”

“Me!” I roar. Sucking in hot breath that smells like scorched souls, I say quieter, “She was stolen fromme.”

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