A Touch of Malice (Hades x Persephone Saga Book 3)

Hades words were still on her mind when she headed to work at The Coffee House the next morning. She hadn’t been able to pry any more information out of him regarding Adonis’s death, he’d only added that he believed the murder had been planned and executed with intention, a fact that made Persephone fear there would be more assaults.

Despite his brutal death, there was no mention of it in any newspaper. She imagined that was due to Hades’ involvement in the investigation, but that also made her think he’d seen something he didn’t want the public—or her—knowing.

She frowned. She knew Hades was trying to protect her, but if people were attacking favored mortals—or anyone associated with the gods—she needed to know. While the world at large did not know she was a goddess, her association with Hades made her and her friends potential targets, too.

Persephone chose a shadowed corner in coffee shop to setup and wait for Helen and Leuce. Since launching her own online community and blog, The Advocate, a few weeks ago, the three met weekly and because they had no office, they chose various locations across New Athens—The Coffee House being one of their preferred haunts. The two were running behind, probably due to the weather as New Athens was experiencing a cold front.

That was probably an understatement.

It was freezing and snow had been falling from the dreary sky off and on for almost a week. At first, it melted as soon as it touched the ground, but today it had begun to stick to the roads and sidewalks. Meteorologists were calling it the storm of the century. It was the only story in the news that rivaled Persephone and Hades’ engagement announcement. Today, she found that they shared space on the front page of every news outlet—from New Athens News to the Delphi Divine, their headlines warred: 

God of the Dead to Wed Mortal Journalist

and

Winter Storm Steals Summer Sun

A third headline caused knots to form in Persephone’s stomach. It was an opinion column in The Grecian Times—a national newspaper and a rival of New Athens News.

Winter Weather is Divine Punishment 

It was clear that the author of the article was not a fan of the gods, probably an Impious. It began:

In a world ruled by gods, nothing is chance. The question remains—whose wrath are we facing and what is the cause? Another mortal who claimed to be more beautiful than any of the Divine? Or one who dared rebuke their advances? 

It was neither—it was a real-life battle between Hades, Persephone, and her mother, Demeter, the Goddess of Harvest.

Persephone was not surprised that it had come to this. Demeter had done everything in her power to keep Persephone and Hades apart, and it had started from her birth. Locked away in a glass greenhouse, Demeter had fed her lies about the gods and their motives, in particular, Hades who she detested merely for the fact that the Fates had woven their threads together. When Persephone thought of how she used to be under her mother’s strict rule, she felt sick—blind, self-righteous, wrong. She hadn’t been a daughter at all but a prisoner and in the end, it was all for nothing because when Persephone met Hades, all bets were off and the only bargain that mattered was the one she was willing to make with her heart.

“Your latte, Persephone,” Ariana, one of the barista’s, said as she approached. Persephone had come to know almost everyone in The Coffee House, both due to her celebrity and her frequent visits.

“Thank you, Ariana.”

The barista attended the College of Hygienia and was studying Epidemiology. It was a challenging channel of study considering some diseases were god-made and only curable if they deemed them to be.

“I just wanted to say congratulations on your engagement to Lord Hades. You must be so excited.”

Persephone smiled. It was a little hard for her to accept well wishes with Demeter’s storm worsening outside. She couldn’t help thinking that if mortals knew the reason for the sudden change in weather, they would not be so happy about their marriage. Still, she managed to respond. “I am, thank you.”

“Have you chosen a date?”

“No, not yet.”

“Do you think you’ll be married here? I mean, in the Upperworld?”

Persephone took a deep breath. She didn’t mean to be so frustrated by the woman’s questions. She knew they stemmed from her excitement—and yet they only served to make her anxious.

“You know, we haven’t even discussed it. We’ve been very busy.”

“Of course,” the barista said. “Well, I’ll let you get back to work.”

Persephone offered a half-hearted smile as the barista turned to leave. She took a sip of her latte before turning her attention to her tablet, opening an article Helen had sent her late last night for review. She couldn’t quiet describe how she felt when she read the title, but it was something akin to dread.

The Truth About Mortal Activist Group Triad

In the years since The Great Descent, mortals have been restless at the presence of gods on Earth. Since then, various groups have formed in opposition of their influence. Some choose to identify with the ideology of an Impious. These mortals do not pray or worship the gods, nor look to them for reprieve, preferring instead to avoid Divinity altogether. Some Impious prefer to take a passive role in the war against the gods.

Others take a more active role and have chosen to join Triad.

“Gods have a monopoly on everything—from the restaurant industry to clothing, even mining. It’s impossible for mortals to compete,” says an anonymous member of the organization. “What good is money to a god? It isn’t as if they have to survive in our world.”

It was argument Persephone had heard before, and while she could not speak for other gods, she could defend Hades. The God of the Dead was the wealthiest of the Olympians, but his charitable contributions made a great impact on the mortal world.

Helen continued:

Triad stands for three mortal rights—fairness, freewill, and freedom. Their objective is simple: remove the influence of gods from everyday life. They claim to have new leadership which encourages a more peaceful approach to their resistance of the gods as opposed to their previous antics which included bombing several public gathering places and god-owned businesses.

There was no evidence to suggest Triad had been behind any recent attacks. In fact, the only thing they’d been connected to in the last five years was a protest that had sprung up in the streets of New Athens to object to the Panhellenic Games. Despite being viewed as an important, cultural event to some Greeks, Triad abhorred the act of gods choosing heroes and pitting them against one another. It was a practice that inevitably led to death and while Persephone had to agree that fighting to the death was archaic, it was the mortal’s choice.

Gods, I’m starting to sound like Hades.

She read on:

Despite this claim of peace, there have been a reported 593 attacks against people with a public association with the gods in the last year. Those responsible say they are upholding Triad’s newest mission by ushering in a rebirth. This growing death toll has gone unnoticed by god and mortal alike, overshadowed by news of a marriage, a winter storm, and Aphrodite’s newest fashion line.

Perhaps the gods do not see Triad as a threat but given their history, can they be trusted? As demonstrated, they are not the ones who will suffer if the so-called activist group decides to act. It will be innocent bystanders and in a world where mortals out number gods, should we be asking what the divine should do?

It was the last sentence that left Persephone with a sour taste in her mouth, especially on the heels of Adonis’s death. Still, even given the truths Helen highlighted in her article, Persephone needed more. She wanted to hear from Triad’s leadership—had they taken responsibility for those 593 attacks? If not, die they plan to condemn rogue actions? What were their plans for the future?

She was so focused on making notes, she didn’t notice anyone approach until a voice startled her from her work.

“Are you Persephone Rosi?”

She jumped, head snapping to meet the gaze of a woman with large brown eyes and arched brows. Her face was heart-shaped and framed by thick, dark hair. She wore a black coat, trimmed with fur and clutched a cup of steaming coffee between her hands.

Persephone smiled at her and answered, “I am.”

She expected the woman to ask for a photo or an autograph, but instead, she took the lid off her coffee and poured it in her lap. Persephone jumped to her feet as the burn settled skin-deep and the whole shop went quiet.

For a moment, Persephone was stunned, silenced by the pain and her magic which shook her bones, desperate to defend.

The woman turned, her task fulfilled, but instead of leaving, she came face to face with Zofie, an Amazon and Persephone’s Aegis.

She was beautiful—tall and olive-skinned, dark hair falling in a long braid down her back. When Persephone first met her, she’d been dressed in gold armor, but after a trip to Aphrodite’s boutique, she’d come away with a modern wardrobe. Today, she wore a black jumper. The only item that didn’t fit was a large sword she held and swung at her assaulter’s head.

Screams erupted in the shop.

“Zofie!” Persephone cried, and the Amazon’s blade halted a hair from the woman’s neck. Her eyes locked with Persephone’s, her expression frustrated, as if she did not understand why she could not continue with her execution.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Put the sword away,” Persephone ordered.

“But—” She began to protest.

“Now.”

The command slipped between clenched teeth. That was all Persephone needed, Zofie spilling blood on her behalf. This would already make headlines—people were shamelessly filming and taking pictures. She made a note to inform Ilias of this incident, perhaps he could get ahead of the media.

The Amazon grumbled, but obeyed, and her sword vanished from sight. Without the threat of bodily harm, the woman regained her composure and turned to Persephone again.

“Lemming,” she hissed with more hatred in her eyes than Minthe or her mother had ever possessed, and stormed out of The Coffee House, signaling the pleasant chime of the bell on the door.

As soon as she was gone, Zofie spoke.

“One word, my lady. I’ll slay her in the alley.”

“No, Zofie. That’s all we need, a murder on our hands.”

“It’s not murder,” she argued. “It’s retribution.”

“I’m fine, Zofie.”

She turned to gather her things, conscious that people were still watching. She wished she had control over lightning like Zeus because she would electrocute every device in this place just to teach them to mind their own business.

“But…she wounded you!” Zofie argued. “Lord Hades will not be pleased with me.”

“You did your job, Zofie.”

“If I had done my job, you would not be injured.”

“You came as soon as you could,” Persephone said. “And I am not injured. I’m fine.”

She was lying, of course, mostly to protect Zofie. The Amazon was liable to attempt to resign again if she knew how much pain Persephone was in.

Who would have ever thought to use coffee as a weapon? Persephone thought. What a betrayal.

“Why did she attack you?”

Persephone frowned. She didn’t know.

Lemming, the woman had called her—another word for blind follower. Persephone knew the word, but she’d never been called one before.

“I don’t know,” she said, and sighed. She met Zofie’s gaze. “Call Ilias, advise him of what happened. Perhaps he can get ahead of the media.”

“Of course, my lady. Where are you going?”

“To find Hades,” she said, and assess the damage to her legs. Her skin stung beneath her clothes. “The last time someone tried to hurt me, he tortured them.”

She shrugged on her coat and sent Leuce and Helen a quick text, letting them know their morning meeting was cancelled and she’d see them later tonight.

“I will see you at Sybil’s?” she asked the Amazon.

“Yes, for the housewarming,” she said, and her brows pinched together. “Shall I bring wood?”

Persephone laughed. “No, Zofie. Bring…wine or food.”

Persephone didn’t know much about Zofie’s upbringing, but it was evident that the island from which she originated did not evolve with modern society. When she’d asked Hecate about it, she’d said, “That’s how Ares prefers it.”

“Prefers…what?”

“The Amazons are his children, bred for war not the world. He keeps them sequestered on the island of Terme so that they will never know anything but battle.”

After learning this, Persephone wondered how Zofie had come to know Hades and became her Aegis.

She focused on the Amazon again. “If you need ideas, just text Sybil and ask her what to bring. She’ll help.”

Persephone sent a quick text to Leuce and Helen, letting them know she’d had to leave The Coffee House early and stepped outside. The cold sliced into her, and it was worse where her clothing was wet, freezing her skin beneath. She made her way down the sidewalk, slick with water and gathering snow, rounding the corner of the building until she was out of sight of passersby’s before teleporting to the Underworld.

She appeared in her bedchamber, half expecting Hades to be there, waiting, frustrated, ready to inspect her for injury, but he had not arrived yet. She sat her purse aside and shrugged out of her jacket, peeling off her faux leather leggings. She could still feel the residual sting where the hot coffee had sat against her skin. Luckily, the damage was minimal—her thighs were red and a little swollen, a hint of bubbled skin speckled across her legs. Maybe running cold water over it would help, she thought.

As she turned to enter the bathroom, she found her way blocked by Hades.

Persephone startled, her hands pressing to her heart, over her naked breast. The god stood with glittering eyes, smartly dressed in his tailored black suit. His hair was slick and tied into a perfect bun at the back of his head, not a wisp out of place. His chiseled jaw close-shaven and well-manicured. He was immaculate and sexual, a presence that stole her breathe and made her ache.

“Hades! You scared me.”

His gaze dropped to her chest and he grinned, reaching for her hand.

“You should have known I would find you once you took your clothes off. It is a sixth sense.”

As he bent to brush his lips along her knuckles, his eyes dipped lower, and a frown touched his mouth. He released her hand only to press his palm against her thigh. She shivered; his touch cool against the heat of the blisters.

“What is this?” His question was almost a hiss.

Apparently, word hadn’t reached him yet.

“A woman poured coffee into my lap,” Persephone explained.

“Poured?”

“If you are asking if it was intentional, the answer is yes.”

Something dark flashed in Hades’ eyes. It was the same look she’d seen last night when she’d brought news of Adonis’s death. After a moment, he knelt before her. A wave of magic burst from his hands, settling into her skin until she no longer felt the pain of the burns or saw the scalding upon her skin. Despite being healed, Hades remained on his knees, hands drifting to the back of her legs.

“Will you tell me who this woman was?” Hades asked, his lips grazing the inner part of her thigh.

“No,” she said, inhaling sharply, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders.

“I cannot…persuade you?”

“Perhaps,” she admitted, the word escaping on a breath. “But I do not know her name, so all your…persuading would be in vain.”

“Nothing I do is in vain.”

Hades’ grip tightened on her, and his head dipped between her legs—his mouth closing over her clit. Persephone gasped, her fingers threading into his slick hair.

“Hades—”

“Don’t make me stop,” he said, his voice rough.

“You have thirty minutes,” she said.

Hades paused, looking up at her from the ground.

Gods, he was beautiful and so fucking erotic. The heat in the bottom of her stomach melted her insides. She was wet for him. By the time he put his mouth on her, she would come—he wouldn’t even need to coax an orgasm from her.

“Only thirty?”

“Do you need more?” she challenged.

He offered a wicked grin. “Darling, we both know I could make you come in five, but what if I’d like to take my time?”

“Later,” she said. “We have a party to attend, and I still need to make cupcakes.”

Hades frowned. “Is it not a mortal custom to be fashionably late?”

Persephone raised a brow. “Did Hermes tell you that?”

“Is he wrong?”

“I will not be late to Sybil’s party, Hades. If you wish to please me then you’ll make me come and on time.”

Hades smirked.

“As you wish, my darling.”