Page 9 of Hades and Persephone: Crown of Souls

If this place is real—more than a figment of my own insanity—then the man before me truly is the God of the Dead. A being capable of monstrous things. A ruler of Tartarus. And yet he looks at his people with the love of a father. My brain can’t quite cope.

The tray slides onto the table. The scent of something savory permeates the air. I hear Maya’s softly shuffling footsteps over stone, and then there is only silence.

Hades lifts plates from the tray. Perfectly cooked vegetables, fresh, steaming bread with a dollop of melting herb-infused, whipped butter, and a perfectly grilled chicken breast drizzled in a creamy sauce sprinkled with sundried tomatoes.

“Eat, little goddess.” His voice is low with just enough of an edge to call my eyes to his.

“I’ve never seen you look at someone like that before.” My words are so soft, for a moment, I’m not confident he heard me speak at all.

Hades cocks his head just slightly. “Like what?”

“Like you love them. Deeply.” A small, nervous laugh escapes. I lift my fork in an attempt to draw attention elsewhere. But I can’t help myself from adding, “You’ve never looked at anyone we’ve encountered together like that before.”

“You mean I’ve never looked at the living souls on Earth like that before?” Hades asks, and I nod. “I do not feel for the souls above the way that I feel for the souls who linger here in the Underworld.”

“What do you mean, linger?”

“The Underworld is a complex place, Persephone. And the realms are a complex system.”

“Will you explain it to me?”

“Yes. In time.” He slices a thick piece of chicken and my stomach growls loudly. “But now you need to eat.”

I want to argue, want to tell him that I need answers—all the answersright now. But he’s not wrong, I need to eat. I’m terribly hungry, and the scent of the dish is more than tempting.

Sinking the prongs of my fork into a perfectly cooked, blue-toned baby potato, I lift it to my lips. Then I stop.

“Is something wrong with the potato, Persephone?”

My heart is drumming so loudly now, I’m confident he can hear it. My eyes drop to the blue potato, glistening with oil and herbs, to the plate. The food is sumptuous, tempting. My gaze lifts to the tray where dessert sits in two crystal cups.

It is a layered cake treat topped with fresh, juicy pomegranate seeds in a bed of deep red jelly.

I lower my fork to the table and force past my suddenly bone-dry throat, “Pomegranates.”

Hades looks to the treat and back to me. “It was once your favorite.” He lowers his fork and sits back in his chair, his large hands resting on the table. “I trapped you here in the Underworld with me once. Tricked you with enchanted food.” His chair pushes back over stone as he rises. My heart quivers. “I will never trick or scheme to keep you again.” He stops moving beside my chair, his dark eyes fixed on mine. He leans over the table and dunks his finger into the treat, scooping jelly and plump red seeds. “I will never deceive you again, as long as I live.” He brings his finger to my lips and begs quietly. Roughly. “Trust me, little goddess.”

I don’t know what drives me to do it.

I know the myth. The horrors of the stories that survived thousands and thousands of years. The trickery and deceit.The rape…

And yet, there was love within the darkness of their collision. I know it in a way that is deeper than certainty. Perhaps it was misconstrued and shrouded in confusion. The shrapnel of messy misunderstandings, but it was love, nonetheless.

I open my mouth and draw his finger inside. Hollowing my cheeks, I suck the once damning fruit from the finger of the God of the Dead. An explosion of sweet tartness floods my mouth in the moment before I swallow, sucking his finger clean all the way to the tip.

And that’s when it happens. I see the flames I’ve seen so many times before ignite the depths of his eyes. At the same time, in a hearth crafted of smoked iron and what looks to be bones of ebony, the same flames that dance dangerously in his eyes ignite behind him as though brought to life by ancient magic.

Warmth floods the space as Hades stands, unmoving. His finger still glistens, wet from where I sucked it clean. His jaw is tense with restrained need I wish he would succumb to.

My belly aches with a need more intense than any craving I’ve ever experienced. I want him to snap and toss the food to the floor, clearing the table so that he might feast on me instead.

I want it so badly, the picture of it is more than a vision in my mind. I can see it clearly, feel his lips on my skin, between my legs…

I squeeze my thighs together in my seat. Hades’ nostrils flare. His eyes drop. He swallows, the apple in his throat bobbing once. He clears his throat, and although he blinks, the fire doesn’t vanish like all the times before. This time, I don’t explain it away as a trick of my unreliable mind.

He lowers back to the seat at the head of the table and, far more calmly than I feel inside, he lifts his fork. “I need you to eat, Persephone.”

“Why?” My question sounds on a croak.

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