Page 33 of Hades and Persephone: Crown of Souls

Her whispers of a need for jealousy, her dark advice to seduce man, after man—to invite my husband to watch in the hope that he would break and prove the obsession that had driven him to take me from the garden of flowers, to ravage me in the Underworld, had not waned.

To drive him to a breaking point that never came. And Demeter knew it would never come. She knew Hades.She knows Hades.

And somehow, I’d been her naive little puppet, my optimistic heart bursting with hope each time I lay with a new man that it would be the time hefought for me.

Only, he never did.

And I don’t understand why. I don’t understand how Demeter knew he would never ‘prove’ his love for me.

Are times truly so different now that I would have believed the way to win my husband’s heart had been to sleep with other men? To light the flames of his jealousy so much that he would snap and…what? Claim me? But how? He’d already claimed me.

He’d stolen me to the Underworld, invading my body with force entirely absent of consciousness—driven by the lonelinesstheyhad forced him to suffer. He’d roamed a land echoing with the devastating lullaby of souls infected with sorrow while a backdrop of torment whispered a promise of madness.

Theyhad made him and yet…

He’d never snapped as Demeter had told me he should. I might not remember everything of my past life—but I know witha confidence that is soul-deep, Hades never invaded my body against my will after that first time of desperate madness.

His patience with me had stretched beyond anything my own mind could fathom.

My heart broke for him, for the pieces of this puzzle that fell so tragically together—and the holes I was still missing.

I need answers.

I have too many questions.

“Persephone?” Hades calls again. “Talk to me. What do you remember?”

“I remember dying.”

“You saw your death?” The paler of the two men moves for the first time, taking long, lethal steps toward me. There is urgency in his voice when he commands, “Tell me. Tell me how it happened.”

Hades makes a low noise of threat behind me, and the dark man with starlight in his eyes pushes off the blue crystal bridge. He ambles toward me until he’s lowered to his haunches before me. “I’m Hypnos, God of Sleep and Dreams. The idiot is my brother, Thanatos, God of Death.”

“Death?” I frown. “But Hades is?—”

Hypnos cuts me off, “Hades is the God of the Underworld. Because of that, he is, technically God of the Dead and Death. But Thanatos is—well, he is the personification of death. You can think of him like a reaper. When a soul dies, it is him they first see. He transports souls.”

“I thought that was what Hermes did?” I’m so confused.

“He did. It’s how they met, actually.” Hypnos’ starlight eyes are fastened so intently on me, I can barely breathe. “But Hermes is the Messenger God. He’s clever, a little tricky. Sometimes problematic. But Thanatos loved him. Like I said, he’s an idiot.”

I don’t know what to make of Hypnos. I really don’t, and I’m so confused.

“Hypnos,” Hades warns.

“Right. To the point.” He dips his chin, but I have a feeling it’s more to hide a smirk than it is in subservience to his king. Hades huffs a sigh, confirming my suspicion. “Please excuse Thanatos his abruptness. As the God of Death, when you passed, he should have been notified. He should have been there for your transition. To guide your soul in the Underworld. He should have been with you, but he never felt your death. It wasn’t until much later that he found out you’d died at all. And then, he’d been unable to find your soul. He searched alongside Hades for centuries, seeking your eternal soul. Blaming himself for how he could have missed the call of your soul for his in death.”

My eyes lift from Hypnos to Thanatos. There is a slight tremor to the stillness of his stance. Even his lips are pale, as one might appear lying in a coffin. The color of life never touched him when his soul was graced with animation, and yet there is an undeniable edge of attraction that clings to him. In the back of my mind, a little voice whispers the word ‘vampire’ even though I know there is no such thing.

“So—” I frown as I continue to process Hypnos’ words. “So, no one ever found my soul when I died?”

It’s Hades who answers, his voice deathly sober. “No.”

“Is that normal?” I can’t help myself from asking, even though I suspect I already know the answer. It’s not normal. Souls don’t go ‘missing’ in the Underworld.

“No,” Thanatos speaks for the first time since Hypnos came to the rescue of his mini outburst. “It’s not normal at all.”

My eyes slide to the dark pits of his, and hold. One would think I’d be uncomfortable looking into these dark expanses, but I don’t. I feel oddly at ease under the study of Death. I feel justas oddly drawn to the mysterious confidence that emanates from Hypnos.

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