Page 8 of Hades and Persephone: Threads of Fate

My mouth opens to assault the poorman with a series of questions when the flap to the tent opens and Hades appears. He is massive under the white fabric. And he looks darkly dangerous. Even in my state, I’m ashamed to admit, my silly body responds.

“What happened?” he demands on a low and precarious growl that has pebbles of awareness rising on my flesh.

“It’s nothing serious.” The medic adjusts the fan on the table beside me, the cool breeze raising the hairs on my already pebbled skin. “The sun caught up to her. Heatstroke. She lost consciousness for a short while.” His eyes slide to mine before cutting back to Hades. “I’ll send her with a few pills to help settle any stomach upset, but fluids are especially important. Electrolytes as well. I’ve recommended she take the rest of the week off, but I expect she’ll be feeling better by tomorrow, if not this evening.”

“I lost consciousness?” I frown, my head shaking. “But the earthquake?”

The medic blinks at me like I have two heads. Hades’ concern level ratchets up a notch.

“There was no earthquake.” Hades is the first to speak, his voice rough and firm and dark.

I shake my head. I insist, “There was.”

I make to sit again. This time when the medic attempts to shove me back into the bed, I slap his hands away. Sliding from the bed, I hurry past both men into the high, hot sun. I’ve never had heatstrokein my life. I’m confident I don’t have it now. I don’t feel ill, just unsettled.

I can feel both Hades and the medic at my back as I race across the site to where I’d been working alongside Willa—who isstillworking where I’d left her.

How? My thoughts shatter to merge with an impossible memory.

“The ground—” I stammer, pointing down at the ground that had fallen away beneath me not long ago. The ground that is now solid and undisturbed. Ground that has clearly never been disturbed in the last few hundred years, at least. Maybe longer.

Willa rises, hurrying to my side. “Girl, are you okay?”

“What?” I’m beginning to feel dizzy, and I’m calling a crowd to my scene. Still, I can’t help myself as I point to where I’d been working. “That’s not a temple base.”

Willa glances over her shoulder and back to me. “Sure, it is, hon.”

“No,” I say with vehemence. I pull my hand into my chest when it starts shaking. “It’s a door—an entrance. There are stairs under there. Alotof stairs. Steep ones.”

“Hon, you’ve got heatstroke,” Willa says softly, gently. My eyes shift frantically around the crowd that has gathered, but I don’t miss the look Hades shares with Minthe. It’s not a look I can decipher, but I’m not sold that it’s a look that says they think I’m crazy.

I’m not sold, because that’s the look everyone else is giving me. Barring Hades and Minthe, they all think I’m losing it.

I’m not sure that I’m not.

I feel myself shut down even as I stare at the ground where I’d been working. It all felt so real, but I can’t ignore the reality before me now. The ground is undisturbed. There’s no tunnel of stairs dropping into a hollow hole of black shadows.

Taking a step back on shaky knees, I feel tears prick my eyes as I mumble quietly, “I don’t know what happened. I’m so—sorry.”

Compassion and worry line Willa’s features. “It’s okay, girl. You passed out and obviously had a wild dream. You were whimpering, too. Addison carried you to the medic tent when I called for help.” I feel Hades tense behind me when Addison is mentioned, but I don’t have the headspace for more than this right now. “I think you just need some rest.”

I bob my head. “Yeah. Rest.”

A big, firm hand touches the small of my back. Hades’ hand. He dips his head low and rumbles, “Come. I’m taking you home.”

When I stumble on shaky knees, Hades sweeps me up in strong arms. Through my protests, he carries me as though I weigh nothing at all.

Chapter

Four

Hades

They’ve been workingthe Eleusis site for years, and had never come close to discovering the underground temple that was once a passage into the Underworld. Long since sealed, they will discover nothing more than a wide, ancient room deep below the earth. That’s if they are smart enough to listen to Persephone, and exhume the land that conceals the staircase she claims, accurately, exists.

A low click echoes in the penthouse. I turn from the wall of windows at the sound of herbare feet moving over tile, the low clack-clacking of dog nails not far behind.

Persephone appears, white blonde waves pulled messily into a high ponytail that sharpens her normally soft features. She’s wearing a pair of pink pajama shorts and matching top. Even from all the way across the room, I can see she’s not wearing a bra.

---