A Touch of Ruin (Hades x Persephone Saga Book 2)
A Touch of Ruin: Part 1 – Chapter 4

Persephone lay awake, listening to Lexa’s shallow snoring and Sybil’s wheezing breath. It was three in the morning, and she had to be up in four hours, but she couldn’t stop thinking about everything that had happened today. She considered the pros and cons of writing the exclusive Demetri and Kal wanted. She supposed it was one way to control the information she released, except that she was being forced to offer up details of her personal life. Worse, they’d taken the choice away from her, and she hated that.

But could she give up her dream job? She’d come to New Athens with dreams of freedom, success, and adventure. She’d had a taste of each, and just when she’d shook the chains of her mother’s custody, she found herself shackled with another restraint.

Would the cycle never end?

Then there was Sybil.

Persephone couldn’t let Apollo get away with his treatment of the oracle. She couldn’t understand why Sybil didn’t want her to write about the God of Music. He needed to answer for his behavior. There was also a part of her that hoped an article about Apollo meant Demetri and Kal would be less interested in the story of her relationship with Hades.

Persephone sighed. Her head was so full of thoughts—words piled up so high, it felt like they were pushing against her skull. She stood quietly and teleported to the Underworld, slipping into Hades bedchamber. If anyone was going to ease the tension in her head, it was the God of the Dead.

She hadn’t expected to replace him asleep. She’d begun to suspect he rarely did, except when she was around. He lay partially covered by silk sheets; his muscled chest contoured from the firelight of the hearth. His arms were over his head, as if he’d fallen asleep stretching. She reached to touch his face and was surprised when his hand bit down on her wrist.

She yelped, more from fear than pain. Hades opened his eyes.

“Fuck,” he cursed, sitting up lightning-fast, he lessened his hold on her wrist, and drew her to him. “Did I hurt you?”

She would have answered, but he was pressing kisses to her skin, and each one sent a shock through her body.

“Persephone?” he stared up at her, a myriad of emotions clouding his eyes. It was almost like he was despondent; his breath shallow and his brows drawn together.

She smiled, brushing a piece of hair from his face. “I’m fine, Hades. You only scared me.”

He kissed her palm and held her tight against him as he laid down.

“I did not think you would come to me tonight.”

She rested her head on his chest. He was warm and solid and right.

“I can’t sleep without you,” she admitted, feeling completely ridiculous, but it was true.

Hades palms soothed, running up and down her back. Now and then he paused, to squeeze her bottom. She wiggled against him, his erection growing harder between them.

“That is because I keep you up so late.”

She sat up, straddling him, and laced her fingers through his.

“Not everything is about sex, Hades.”

“No one said anything about sex, Persephone,” he pointed out.

She raised a brow and rolled her hips. “I don’t need words to know you’re thinking about sex.”

He chuckled, and his hands moved to her breasts. Her breath caught in her throat, and her fingers curled around his wrists like shackles.

“I want to talk, Hades.”

He arched a perfect brow. “Talk,” he said. “I can multitask…or have you forgotten?”

He rose into a sitting position and captured a nipple between his teeth, teasing her through her shirt. She wanted to give in and let him explore. Her hands—traitorous hands—slide around his neck and tangled into his hair. He smelled like warm spice and she could practically taste his tongue, flavored with whiskey.

“I don’t think you can multitask this time,” she said. “I know that look.”

Hades pulled away long enough to ask, “What look?”

She took his head between her hands. She thought to keep him from distracting her with his mouth, but his hands were moving under her shirt, over her skin, making her shiver.

“That look,” she said, as if it explained everything. “The one you have now. Your eyes are dark but there’s something…alive behind them. Sometimes I think it’s passion, sometimes I think it’s violence. Sometimes I think it’s all of your lifetimes.”

His eyes glittered and his hands fell to her thighs.

“Hades,” she hissed his name, and he covered her mouth with his, shifting so that she was beneath him. His tongue slipped into her mouth. She’d been right about how he would taste, smokey and sweet. She wanted more and twined her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist. His lips left hers to explore the contours of her neck and breasts.

Persephone tightened her hold around his waist to keep him from shifting lower.

“Hades,” she breathed. “I said I wanted to talk.”

“Talk,” he said again.

“About Apollo,” she breathed.

Hades froze and he growled—it was an unnatural sound, and it sent a shiver down her spine. He pulled away completely, no longer touching her.

“Tell me why the name of my nephew is upon your lips?”

“He’s my next project.”

Hades blinked and she was certain she saw violence in his eyes.

She hurried to continue. “He fired Sybil, Hades. For refusing to be his lover.”

He stared, and his silence was angry. His lips were set tight and a vein pulsed in his forehead. He left the bed completely naked. For a moment, she watched him walk away—well-muscled ass and all.

“Where are you going?” she demanded.

“I can’t stay in our bed while you talk about Apollo.”

She didn’t miss that he had called his bed our bed. That made her feel warm inside, except that she’d fucked it up by mentioning Apollo.

She scrambled after him.

“I’m only talking about him because I want to help Sybil!”

Hades poured himself a drink.

“What he’s doing is wrong, Hades. Apollo can’t punish Sybil because she rejected him.”

“Apparently he can,” Hades said, taking a slow sip from his glass.

“He has taken away her livelihood! She has nothing and will have nothing unless Apollo is exposed!”

Hades drained his glass and poured another. After a stretch of tense silence, he said, “You cannot write about Apollo, Persephone.”

“I’ve told you before, you can’t tell me who to write about, Hades.”

The God of the Underworld sat his glass down with an audible click.

“Then you should not have told me your plans,” he said.

She guessed his next thought: You shouldn’t have mentioned Apollo in my bedchamber, either.

His words fueled her anger, and she felt her power moving in her veins.

“He won’t get away with this, Hades!”

She didn’t add that she really needed this story—that it would provide a diversion for what her boss really wanted—a story about them. Hades must have sensed the change in her power, because when he spoke again, his words were careful and calm.

“I’m not disagreeing with you, but you aren’t going to be the one to serve justice, Persephone.”

“Who, if not me? No one else is willing to challenge him. The public adores him.”

She didn’t understand how they could love Apollo and fear Hades.

“All the more reason for you to be strategic,” Hades reasoned. “There are other ways to have your justice.”

Persephone wasn’t sure she liked what Hades was insinuating.

She glared at him. “What are you so afraid of? I wrote about you and look at the good that came out of it.”

“I am a reasonable god,” he said. “Not to mention you intrigued me. I do not want Apollo intrigued by you.”

Persephone didn’t care if Apollo became intrigued by her or not—the God of Music wouldn’t get anywhere with her.

“You know I’ll be careful,” she said. “Besides, would Apollo really mess with what’s yours?”

Hades lips thinned, and he held out his hand for her to take.

“Come,” he said, sitting in a chair before the fire.

She approached as if his words were magnetic and she were steel. Hades’ fingers wrapped around hers and he pulled her to him, her knees on either side of his thighs. Every curve melded to his hard frame. She kept his dark gaze as he spoke.

“You do not understand the Divine. I cannot protect you from another god. It is a fight you would have to win on your own.”

Persephone’s confidence wavered. There were a lot of rules that bound gods—promises and contracts and favors—and they all had one thing in common—they were unbreakable.

“Are you saying you wouldn’t fight for me?”

Hades sighed and brushed his finger along her cheek. “Darling, I would burn this world for you.”

He kissed her fiercely, violently, leaving her lips raw. When he broke away, she was breathless, and his hands were pressed so firmly into her skin, it was like he was holding her bones.

“I am begging you—do not write about the God of Music.”

She found herself nodding, transfixed by the vulnerable look in Hades’ dark eyes. He hadn’t been near as desperate to stop her from writing about himself.

“But what about Sybil?” she asked. “If I do not expose him, who will help her?”

Hades eyes softened. “You cannot save everyone, my darling.”

“I’m not trying to save everyone, just the ones who are wronged by the gods.”

He studied her for a moment and then brushed a piece of her hair from her face.

“This world does not deserve you.”

“Yes, they do,” she answered. “Everyone deserves compassion, Hades. Even in death.”

“But you are not talking about compassion,” he said, his thumb brushed her cheek. “You are hoping to rescue mortals from the punishment of gods. It is as vain as promising to bring the dead back to life.”

“Because you have deemed it so,” she argued.

Hades looked away, clenching his jaw. She had obviously struck a chord. Guilt made her stomach turn. She knew she was being unfair. The Underworld had rules and a balance of power she didn’t completely understand.

She hadn’t meant to upset him, but she really wanted change.

She reached for him, guiding his eyes back to hers.

“I won’t write about Apollo,” she said.

He relaxed a little, but his face was still hard.

“I know you wish for justice, but trust me on this, Persephone.”

“I trust you.”

His expression was blank, and it felt a little like he didn’t believe her. That thought was fleeting as he lifted her into his arms, holding her gaze, and moving toward the bed.

He sat her on the edge, helped her out of her clothes, and guided her to her back. He knelt between her legs, and his mouth descended lapping at the tight bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. Persephone arched off the bed, her head digging into the mattress, her hands tangling in the sea of sheets around her. She struggled to catch her breath.

“Hades!”

Her cries seemed to have no effect on him as he kept his languorous, torturous pace. Soon his fingers parted her hot flesh, joining his tongue. He stroked and stretched her, moving in tandem with her breathing until she found release.

When he was finished, he sat back on his heels, brought his fingers to his lips, and sucked them clean.

“You are my favorite flavor,” he said. “I could drink from you all day.”

Hades gripped her hips and pulled her toward him, sliding into her in one slick thrust. She felt him in her blood and bones and soul.

The friction built inside her, and soon her moans turned to screams.

“Say my name,” Hades growled.

Persephone clutched the silk beneath her. The sheets stuck to her skin, her body warm with perspiration.

“Say it!” he commanded.

“Hades!” she gasped.

“Again.”

“Hades.”

“Pray to me,” he commanded. “Beg me to make you come.”

“Hades.” She was out of breath–her words barely formed. “Please.”

He thrust.

“Please what?”

Thrust.

“Make me come.”

Thrust.

“Do it!” she screamed.

They came together, and Hades collapsed on top of her, kissing her deeply, the taste of her still upon his lips. After a moment, he gathered her into his arms and teleported to the baths where they showered and worshipped one another again.

With an hour to spare before she had to be up, Persephone laid down to rest. Hades stretched out beside her, holding her close.

“Persephone?” Hades spoke, the scuff of his beard tickling her ear.

“Hmm?” She was too tired to use words, eyes heavy with sleep.

“Speak another’s name in this bed again and know you have assigned their soul to Tartarus.”

She opened her eyes. She wanted to look at him, to see the violence in his gaze and chase it—why had this upset him so much? Did the God of the Underworld, Rich One, Receiver of Many, fear Apollo?

After his warning, Hades relaxed, his breath grew even and calm. Reluctant to disturb his peace, she snuggled close and fell asleep.