Page 61 of The Queen & the King

Hades nuzzles my head, and his chest rises as he inhales deeply. The sobs don’t ease, instead becoming harder, and I feel like I can’t breathe, like I need to get all the tears out of me. I need to rid myself of Adonis, what he did to me, and what he almost did to me.

Hades strokes my back, kissing my head over and over, and I feel something wrap around me. It doesn’t feel like his shadows, but it’s something that is innately part of him wrapping around me, healing me.

“I’m here, my spring,” Hades whispers into me, squeezing me, trying to calm me, and it’s working. Though I continue to sob, I can breathe, if only to inhale more of his intoxicating scent.

Hades lifts me into his arms and carries me to the bathtub, climbing into it while still holding me as he sits down. I’m not sure when he filled it, but hot water surrounds us, and we sit there, both still fully clothed, his hands gently stroking my back. All I can do is stay curled into him, crying. His magic has healed me externally, but this, what he’s doing right now, is healing me internally.

After what feels like hours, the tears finally dry up, and I nuzzle my cheek against Hades’ shoulder as he strokes my hair. It suddenly occurs to me how I must look, covered in dried blood and probably dirt. I pull away from Hades slightly and turn so my back is to him.

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” I explain as I turn the water on and start to wash my face.

Hades grabs my chin with a growl and forces me to face him. “That is unacceptable.” I meet his gaze after a moment, his eyes fierce but also so full of love and devotion. “You do not hide from me, Persephone.” He moves his gaze down the length of my body as though cataloging every newly healed injury like he can still see them.

“Do you… find meuglylike this?” My voice trembles a little at the word.

“I find you beautiful always,” Hades growls, meeting my gaze again.

A small sob escapes me. “Is he dead?”

Hades nods once. “I would never let him live. He’s lucky I was not able to attend.”

Something about the way he talks, the words he’s saying, makes me feel a slight thrill, and I find my gaze wandering to his lips.

“Kiss me,” I demand.

Hades doesn’t hesitate, easing my fear that he doesn’t want me. He leans in, brushing his lips over mine. It is the barest of kisses before I pull back.

“Not like that,” I say. That kiss made me feel delicate and broken, but I am not those things when I am with Hades. He makes me feel empowered, sexy, and strong.

Hades tips his head, studying my face. “What do you mean?”

I shift to face him more and lean in, pressing my lips to his and kissing him deeply, passionately. My tongue slides along the seam of his lips, practically begging for entry, which he allows eagerly, and my tongue brushes over his. I dig my fingers into his hair, softly moaning before I pull back.

“Like that.”

Hades pulls my thigh over his lap. I straddle him, and he kisses me again, his fingers digging into my hips.

Oh, yes. This is what I need. I start to open his shirt. It is soaked, and my fingers fumble slightly in my rush. Hades catches my hands, stilling them. He pulls back, his gaze searching mine. “Are you sure?” he asks.

“I want you to fuck me. Here. In my bed. In my prison.” I look over his face. He is my salvation. “You make me feel free.”

Hades cups my cheek. “And you make me feel everything.”

My breath catches at his words, and I kiss him again, working the buttons until the shirt is completely open. Hades stands in the bathtub, lifting me, and steps out, his lips never leaving mine. I yank his hair as we head to the bedroom, both of us dripping wet.

Thirty-Eight

Hades

IN MY PRISON.

My claws shred her gown, needing that last remnant of her night with the now very dead male gone. I knew the moment it was done. My hands withered and vanished from my wrists. The Underworld has already healed me, and thatcretin’shands already hold space in a globe in my office.

Over the next couple of weeks, I’ll lose my hands suddenly and without warning. The loss and pain of it is the price demanded from the Goddess of Revenge. A price to be paid. One I’d pay hundreds of times over. If she had demanded to lose my head or heart, I still wouldn’t have hesitated. She called me for help.

She needs me now. It’s written in her eyes and how she shoves my shirt off my shoulders, the franticness of her kiss.

I rip the offending fabric from my body, tunneling my fingers into her hair, my tongue flicking against hers. Her hands fly to my pants, tearing them open. I groan at her urgency. I can’t get rid of the clothes fast enough for her.

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