“You will do no such thing,” Hades stopped her. “Bring her to me.”
Minthe raised a brow. “The man, too?”
She was trying to goad him, and it worked because Hades could not help answering with a bitter hiss.
“Yes.”
Minthe made a strange sound in the back of her throat, something akin to a laugh, and then left. Hades’ gaze returned to the floor below.
Persephone stood apart from Adonis, arms folded over her chest. Despite her audacity, he wanted to see her, especially on the heels of the Fates’ threat. He would just be punishing himself if he sent her away. Besides, he wanted to know why she had come and brought a mortal with her.
When Minthe walked into view below, he turned away from the window, sat Lachesis’ bundle aside, and poured himself a drink. If he did not have something to distract him, he would pace, and he’d rather not illustrate the chaos of his mind right now.
By the time Minthe returned with Persephone and Adonis in tow, Hades had positioned himself near the windows again. He barely registered Minthe’s approach, because his eyes had locked on his goddess the moment she entered the room.
“Persephone, my lord,” Minthe said.
She was determined. He could see it in her expression—the way her head was tilted, her lips pressed into a hard line. She had come here for something, and Hades found himself eager for a time when she would approach him with a smile, with no reservations or hesitations because she wanted him and nothing else.
“And…her friend, Adonis,” Minthe continued.
At the mention of the mortal’s name, Hades’ mood darkened, and he looked at Adonis, whose eyes widened under his scrutiny. He found it strange that Aphrodite would take this man as a lover, given her attraction to Hephaestus. They were complete opposites—this mortal, untouched by the sufferings of the world. His skin was smooth, his hair glossy and not singed by the forge, his face free of stubble, as if growing a beard would be a hardship for him. And then there was his soul.
Manipulative, deceptive, and abusive.
Hades glanced at Minthe, nodding. “You are dismissed, Minthe. Thank you.”
With her exit, Hades downed the remainder of his drink and crossed the room for a refill. He did not offer a glass to either of his two visitors or invite them to sit. It was not polite, but he was not interested appearing pleasant.
He spoke once his glass was full, leaning against his desk.
“To what do I owe this…intrusion?”
Persephone’s eyes narrowed at his words and tone, and she lifted her head. He was not the only one fighting to be amicable.
“Lord Hades,” she said, taking a notebook out of her purse. “Adonis and I are from New Athens News. We have been investigating several complaints about you and wondered if you might comment.”
Another thing he did not know about his future bride—her occupation.
A journalist.
Hades hated the media. He had spent a lot of money to ensure he was never photographed and denied all interview requests. He did not refuse because he had things to hide, though there was plenty he preferred to keep to himself. He simply felt that they focused on the wrong things—like his relationship status—when Hades would rather give the spotlight to organizations that helped dogs and children and the homeless.
He lifted the glass to his lips and sipped; it was drink or show his anger in a worse way.
“Persephone is investigating,” Adonis said with a nervous laugh. “I’m just…here for moral support.”
Coward, Hades thought before focusing on the notebook Persephone had pulled from her purse. He nodded to it.
“Is that a list of my offenses?”
He would be lying if he said he had not expected this. She was the daughter of Demeter; she had been told only the worst about him. He knew because she had looked at him with such loathing when she had discovered who he was the night of their card game.
She read a few of the names on the list—Cicero Sava, Damen Elias, Tyrone Liakos, Chloe Bella. She couldn’t know what hearing these names meant to him or how it made him feel. It reminded him of his failures. Each one was a mortal who had entered into a bargain with him, each one had been given terms in hopes that they would overcome the vice that burden their soul, and each one had been unsuccessful, resulting in their death.
He was relieved when she stopped reading from the list, but then she looked up and asked, "Do you remember these people?”
Every detail of their face and every worry on their soul.
Again, he sipped his drink.