A Touch of Ruin (Hades x Persephone Saga Book 2)

Persephone decided to deal with Zofie’s armor quickly.

Upon leaving work, the Amazon trotted alongside her toward Hades’ Lexus and hopped inside.

“To The Pearl, Antoni.”

She wondered if Aphrodite would be in the boutique. Since Zofie was Hades’ employee, and she had been appointed to guard Persephone in the Upperworld, surely he wouldn’t mind if she charged clothing, shoes, and accessories to his account.

And if he did, well, it was his fault for undermining her.

Antoni glanced in the rearview mirror.

“I see you met Zofie,” he said.

“Don’t tell me you knew about this, Antoni.”

The cyclops ducked his head a little, as if to hide from her frustration. “I think it was inevitable, my lady.”

Persephone didn’t respond. She looked out the window as they passed marble-white buildings, stoic churches, and colorful apartments until they came to Aphrodite’s shop. Persephone picked Zofie up, who protested with a loud whine.

“Shh!” she commanded. “No one let’s their cat walk into a shop of their own freewill.”

She stepped out of the limo and into the shop.

“I didn’t know you liked pussies,” Aphrodite said, materializing as soon as Persephone sat the cat on the floor. The goddess was a little more covered than usual, wearing a silk champagne dress, embossed with flowers. It had thin straps, came to her mid-calf, and looked more like a nightgown than something to wear in public, but Persephone was discovering that was Aphrodite’s modus operandi.

“Shift,” Persephone ordered, and Zofie became human again.

Aphrodite’s eyes narrowed upon the Amazon. “A daughter of Ares,” she said. “I’m not surprised.”

Persephone’s brows drew together. “What do you mean?”

“Hades would only ever assign the best to protect you.”

Zofie bowed her head. “It is an honor for you to say, Lady Aphrodite.”

The Goddess of Love offered a half smile, but it was not kind.

“Of course. Everyone knows Amazons are brutal, aggressive, and full of bloodlust. You’re all just like your father.”

Zofie stiffened beside her, and Persephone wondered why the goddess felt the need to be so cruel.

“Aphrodite, I’m hoping to purchase a new wardrobe for my Aegis,” Persephone said quickly. “I need her to blend in if she’s going to…protect me.”

It was hard for Persephone to say the word. She didn’t want to need protection. She wanted to protect herself, but at this point, after what had happened a few days ago, it was likely she’d just rip herself apart.

“What’s the matter? War-time chic too flashy for you?”

Persephone gave Aphrodite a dull look as she began pulling clothing off racks and handing it to the attendants.

“What colors do you like, Zofie?” Persephone asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve never thought about it.”

Persephone paused and looked at her. “Never thought about it?”

“We are warriors, Lady Persephone.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy fashion,” Persephone remarked, and then laughed to herself. She sounded like Lexa.

When the attendant’s arms were piled high with clothes, Persephone ushered Zofie into one of the changing rooms and took a seat. Aphrodite lounge nearby.

“How’s the love life?” Aphrodite asked.

“Why do you always ask that?”

The question frustrated her for obvious reasons. She hadn’t seen Hades since their fight, and she’d agonized over the status of their relationship since.

“I’ve never asked it of you before. I can usually smell it.”

Persephone rolled her eyes, still repulsed by Aphrodite’s unusual skills.

“Then I guess you have your answer.”

Persephone didn’t look at Aphrodite, she stared at the curtain that Zofie had disappeared behind.

“You might not be having sex, but you still love him,” Aphrodite said.

“Of course I love Hades.”

No one needed magic to see that.

“Have you told him?”

“I tried,” she said.

Don’t say you love me.

Aphrodite was quiet for a long moment, and then said, “I have never told anyone I loved them and meant it.”

“What about Hephaestus?”

“I have never told him that I loved him.”

There was an uncomfortable pause and then Persephone asked, “Is that because you really do love him?”

Aphrodite didn’t answer, and Zofie picked that moment to leave the changing room in a tailored blue dress that made her look remarkably tan and accentuated her athleticism.

“Oh, Zofie! You look beautiful.”

The Amazon flushed crimson and stood in front of the mirror, smoothing her hands over the fabric.

“It’s not very conducive to fighting,” she commented, attempting to kick out her feet and squat.

“Oh, darling. If you cannot fight in heels and a tailored dress in this age, how can you call yourself a warrior?”

Persephone couldn’t tell if Aphrodite was being serious or not. It was easy for an immortal to say something like that. Gods were virtually invincible.

“Let’s hope you won’t have a reason to fight anyone while you’re guarding me,” Persephone said.

Zofie disappeared behind the curtain again. She tried on several outfits, preferring pant suits over skirts and dresses. Persephone did manage to convince the Amazon to buy one dress, a floor length gown in the same color blue as the first one she’d tried on, arguing that if the warrior was going to be her Aegis, she would have to attend formal events.

When they were finished shopping, Persephone and Zofie stood outside Aphrodite’s shop.

“Do you have a home?” she asked.

“My home is in Terme,” she answered.

That was north and several hundred miles away. “Do you have a place to stay here in New Athens?”

Zofie frowned and seemed confused. “I must go where you go, Persephone.”

It was then, a thought occurred to her.

“Where would you have stayed had I not discovered you?”

“Outside,” she said.

“Zofie!”

“It is fine, my lady, I am resilient.”

“Resilient I have no doubt. I won’t have you sleeping outside—as a cat or otherwise. You can sleep on the couch for now.”

They would work out sleeping arrangements again once Lexa returned home. Sybil had taken Lexa’s bed for the time being, and it wasn’t likely Persephone would be sleeping in the Underworld for the next few weeks.

“I cannot sleep,” Zofie said.

“What do you mean?”

“I do not need sleep. Who will watch over you if I am not awake?”

“Zofie, I’ve survived this long without being abducted. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

But as the words left her mouth, she felt foreign magic grip her and the familiar pull of being sucked into a void.

Someone was forcing her to teleport.

“Zofie—”

The Amazon’s eyes widened, and the last thing she saw before she vanished was the determined look on Zofie’s face as she reached for her.

A second later, Persephone was thrust into the middle of a screaming crowd. The air around her was hazy and sticky. It smelled like tobacco and body odor.

“There she is!” Apollo wrapped an arm around her neck and hauled her against him. He was sweaty and dressed casually, in a polo shirt and jeans.

“What the actual fuck, Apollo?” Persephone demanded, pushing away savagely, but the god held her tight, pulling her along through the crowd toward a small stage at the front of the room. As he did, he turned his head toward hers, whispering against her ear.

“We had a bargain, Goddess.”

She hated the feel of his breath on her skin. She should have expected Apollo to abduct her at any given moment. It was a part of the deal she’d forgotten to clarify and now she regretted it.

She was thrust beneath bright lights, they blinded her and made the whole place appear darker, so it was hard to tell just how many people were in the crowd in front of her.

Apollo grabbed the mic and cried into it.

“Persephone Rosi, everyone! You may know her as Hades’ lover, but tonight, she’s our jury, judge, and executioner!”

The crowd cheered.

Apollo returned the mic to its cradle and reached for Persephone’s arm. She recoiled, but the god placed his hand on her back, guiding her to a chair to the side of the stage.

“Stop touching me, Apollo,” she said through her teeth.

“Stop acting like you don’t like me,” the god replied.

“I don’t. Liking you wasn’t part of the deal,” she snapped.

Apollo’s eyes flashed. “I’m not opposed to ending the bargain, Persephone, if you can live with the death of your friend.”

She glared and sat. Apollo smiled.

“Good girl. Now, you are going to sit here with a smile on that pretty face and judge this competition for me, got it?”

Apollo patted her face. She wanted to kick him in the balls, but refrained, gripping the edges of her chair. As he turned back to the crowd, they began to chant his name. The god encouraged this by pumping his arms in the air.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Lyre, we have a challenger in our midst.”

The crowd booed, but Persephone felt relieved that she finally knew where she was. The Lyre was a venue in New Athens where musicians of all kinds performed. It was located in the Arts District at the edge of the city.

“A satyr who claims he is a better musician than me!”

More boos from the crowd.

“You know what I say to that? Prove it.”

He drew away from the mic, his face awash in the light from the stage.

“Bring the competitor forth!”

There was a disruption, and Persephone watched as the crowd split. Two burly men dragged a satyr between them. He was young and blond, his hair a nest of curls atop his head. His jaw was set, and his chest rose and fell quickly, giving away his fear, but his eyes were narrowed, black, and set upon Apollo with a hatred that Persephone could feel.

“Satyr! Your Hubris will be punished.”

The crowd cheered, and Apollo motioned for the men to bring the young man forward. They shoved him onto the stage, and he stumbled, falling to his knees. Persephone watched as Apollo summoned an instrument from thin air. It looked like a type of flute, and when the satyr saw it, his eyes widened. Clearly, it was important to him.

Apollo tossed it to him, and he caught it against his chest.

“Play it,” the god ordered. “Show us your talents, Marsyas.”

For a moment, the boy seemed even more frightened at hearing his name leave the god’s mouth, and then she watched as he rose to his feet, his expression determined.

Marsyas put the flute to his lips and began to perform. At first, Persephone could barely hear the music he created because the crowd was so unruly. She couldn’t help thinking that they seemed to be under some sort of spell, but slowly, they fell silent. Persephone watched Apollo, noting the way he clenched his fists and the tension in his shoulders. Clearly, he hadn’t expected the satyr to be good.

His music was beautiful—it was sweet, and it swelled, filling the whole room, seeping into pores and twinning with blood. Somehow, it knew exactly how to target each dark emotion, each painful memory, and by the end, Persephone found herself crying.

The crowd was quiet and Persephone couldn’t tell if they were stunned into silence, or if Apollo was preventing them from reacting with his magic, so she started to clap, and slowly, the rest joined in, whistling, cheering, and chanting the satyr’s name. Apollo’s face reddened and he gazed menacingly at Persephone and the young man before summoning his own instrument, a lyre.

As he strummed, a pretty tune emerged, and each note seemed to carry longer than the last. It was a strange and ethereal sound, one that didn’t calm, but commanded attention. Persephone felt as if she were on the edge of her seat, and she couldn’t figure out why. Was she fearful of Apollo? Or was she waiting for the music to transform into something more?

When he ended, the crowd erupted into applause.

Persephone felt like an invisible hand had clasped her heart and just released it. She sagged into her chair, taking deep breaths.

Apollo bowed to the crowd and then turned to Persephone.

“And now let us welcome our beautiful judge!” He smiled, but his gaze was threatening.

He gestured for Persephone to join him in the spotlight. She did, cringing when his arm snaked around her waist.

“Persephone, beautiful goddess that you are, tell us who is the winner of tonight’s competition? Marsyas,” he paused to let the crowd boo, the earlier hypnosis they’d experienced while listening to his music, gone. “Or me, the God of Music.”

The crowd cheered, and Apollo shoved the mic in her face. She could feel her heart beating hard in her chest and sweat beaded on her forehead. She hated these lights; they were too bright and too hot.

She looked at Apollo and then at Marsyas, who seemed just as frightened by what she might say.

She spoke, her lips brushing the hard metal of the mic.

“Marsyas.”

That was when all hell broke loose.

The crowd cried in protest and some rushed the stage. At the same time, the burly men who had dragged the satyr to the stage, returned and grabbed him again, forcing him to his knees.

“No, no, please!” It was the first time the young man had spoken. He pleaded with her, his dark eyes desperate, “Take it back! Lord Apollo, I was wrong to speak against your talent. You are superior!”

But his pleas fell on deaf ears because Apollo only had eyes for Persephone.

“You dare defy me?” he said through his teeth. His jaw was clenched so hard, the veins in his neck popped.

“There is no fine print, Apollo. Marsyas was better than you.”

It didn’t help that she had never actually liked Apollo’s music.

The god’s fury soon turned to amusement, and a wicked smile cut across his beautiful face. The sudden change in his demeanor turned her blood to ice.

“Jury, judge, and executioner, Persephone.”

He turned toward the crowd.

“You have heard Persephone’s verdict,” he cried into the mic. “Marsyas, the winner.”

The crowd was still angry. They shouted obscenities and threw things at the stage. Persephone ducked behind Apollo.

“Careful,” he warned. “She is protected by Hades.”

She found it odd that he would say that, thinking he might prefer that she face the abuse, but at his reminder, the crowd calmed.

“Though Marsyas is the winner, he is still guilty of Hubris. How shall we punish him?”

“Hang him!” someone yelled.

“Gut him!” another said.

“Flay him!” several cried. The cheers were the loudest then.

“So be it!” Apollo returned the mic to its cradle and twisted toward Marsyas who was struggling in the arms of the men who held him.

“Apollo, you cannot be serious!” Persephone reached for him, and the god shoved her aside.

“Hubris is the downfall of humanity and should be punished,” he said. “I will be the punisher.”

“He is a child!” she argued. “If he is guilty of Hubris, you are, too. Is your pride too wounded to let him live?”

Apollo clenched his fists. “His death is on your hands, Persephone.”

The goddess jumped in front of him, blocking Marsyas from view.

“You will not touch him. You will not hurt him!” She was desperate, and she feared she might lose control. She could feel her magic pulsing, making her flesh tingle and her hair rise.

Apollo laughed. “And how will you stop me?”

Apollo’s magic surrounding her, suffocating her with the smell of laurel. She glared at him.

“Now,” he turned back to Marsyas. “Let the skinning begin.”

Persephone felt nauseous.

This can’t be happening.

Apollo summoned a blade from thin air, its edges gleamed beneath the burning lights.

Persephone struggled to free herself, but the more she resisted, the heavier Apollo’s magic felt.

She watched, wide-eyed and terrified as Apollo knelt before the satyr, and pressed the blade to his cheek.

When she saw blood drip down his face, she lost control.

“Stop!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. Her magic fled from her body. It was an unusual feeling, like it was coming out of all her pores and her mouth and her eyes. It burned as if it were tearing skin and blinded as if it were pure light.

When the feeling faded, she was shocked to find everyone frozen: Apollo, his men, the crowd, everyone except Marsyas.

The satyr stared at Persephone, face pale and stained with crimson from the wound Apollo had made.

“Y-you’re a goddess.”

Persephone rushed to him and tried to pry the man’s fingers from the satyr’s arm, but they were wrapped too tightly. Frantic, she looked for another option. She didn’t know how long her magic would hold. She wasn’t even sure how she’d managed to freeze the whole room.

Then her eyes fell to the knife Apollo held inches from Marsyas’ face. She reached for it, and the slick handle slipping from his grasp. She took a few deep breaths before cutting into the man’s fingers so that Marsyas could free himself.

“Run,” she said.

“He will find me!” he argued, rubbing his arm.

“I promise you he won’t come after you again,” she said. “Go!”

The satyr obeyed.

She waited until he was out of sight to turn to Apollo and kick him hard in the balls.

The release of aggression was enough, and the whole room came to life again.

“Motherfucker!” the man behind her roared clutching his hand to his chest while Apollo collapsed to the ground, groveling.

Persephone loomed over him.

“Don’t you ever put me in that situation again,” Persephone’s voice shook with anger. Apollo breathed heavily, glaring up at her. “We might have an agreement, but I will not be used. Fuck you.”

She left the building with a smile on her face.