He tugged on her hand, and she followed him down the stairs into the garden below. He felt a thrill of excitement as he brought her to the edge where lavender wisteria wept, where inky roses and pink peonies bloomed, and purple and red slavia twisted like serpents from darkness. Would she find this just as astounding?
His answer came as soon as her feet touched the dark stone path leading into the garden. She wrenched her hand from his and turned on him.
“You bastard!”
Hades suddenly felt completely ridiculous. His mouth tightened. “Names, Persephone.”
“Don’t you dare! This—this is beautiful!”
So she was impressed, but why the anger?
“It is,” he agreed.
“Why would you ask me to create life here?” She sounded…devastated, as if seeing his realm and the flora that grew here drained her hope. Did she grieve for what she felt she had no power to create?
With a wave of his hand, he dismantled the illusion. Revealing the truth of his realm felt like revealing the truth of his soul. The Underworld was desolate—a wasteland of ash.
“It is illusion,” he explained. “If it is a garden you wish to create, then it will truly be the only life here.”
Hades called the glamour back and walked ahead. Persephone followed, and he wondered what she was thinking. Was she appalled by what he had shown her? Did she think less of the Underworld just because its beauty was a creation of his own magic? He had not intended to give her a tour of the Underworld to make her feel powerless…but he could feel her doubt and anger flare. As much as he hated being the reason for these feelings, he knew it was the only way she could reach her potential. One day, Persephone would tire of feeling defenseless, and his queen would rise from the ashes. A goddess.
Hades stopped near a retaining wall at the back of his garden. On the other side were the Asphodel Fields. At his feet, the earth was barren and black.
“You may work here,” Hades said.
If Persephone wanted to grow a garden, if that was her way of creating life in the Underworld, then she would have to do it in the ashy soil of the Underworld.
“I still don’t understand,” Persephone said. “Illusion or not, you have all of this beauty. Why demand this of me?”
Because it is the will of your soul, he thought.
“If you do not wish to fulfill the terms of our contract, you have only to say so, Lady Persephone. I can have a suite prepared for you in less than an hour.”
“We do not get along well enough to be housemates, Hades.”
Her comment inspired a few salacious images—bare skin and breathy moans.
He disagreed.
“How often am I allowed to come here and work?”
“As often as you want,” he said, because after today, he would ensure she never took that portal again. “I know you are eager to complete your task.”
Her gaze fell to the ground, and she bent to scoop up a handful of sand. It was not meant to nurture life, the texture like ground bone. She rose to her feet again.
“And…how shall I enter the Underworld?” she asked. “I’m assuming you don’t want me to return the way I came?”
“Hmm.” It was the question he had been waiting for, and his answer made his body tight with anticipation. He tilted his head to the side, and she stared back, lips parting.
It was enough of an invitation.
He gripped her shoulders and pulled her flush against him, bringing his mouth to hers. He could have offered her favor without laying so much as a finger on her, but it was an excuse to touch her. Given that, he should have been gentle, but he found he was anything but tame. His body reacted like it was on fire and desperate to be smothered. He felt ridiculous; he had kissed and fucked, but he had never felt this…whatever it was. This burning desire, this desperate wish to claim and protect and to love.
Then again, he had never kissed or fucked a woman destined to be his lover. Was the thread the reason he felt so…uncontrolled?
He urged her lips apart, his tongue gliding against hers, his teeth grazing her lips. She tasted like wine and salt, and smelled like a bed of sweet roses. Her body trembled, and he held her tighter so that there was no space between them, feeling all her soft curves against the hard contours of his own body. She was just as enthusiastic, kissing him with unabashed abandon. He got the sense that she would not have appreciated gentle, that she craved passion, rough and raw.
Her arms wound around his neck, and he groaned, the sound coming from somewhere deep and long asleep. He moved, directing her until she was pressed into the stone. His hands drifted down her waist and over her round bottom, where he gripped and lifted her from the ground. With her legs planted around his waist, her heels digging into his back, his erection grinding into her most sensitive place, he let his lips wander, trailing her jaw, nipping her ear, kissing down her neck. Now and then he would pause and taste her skin, salty from the river. She arched beneath him, gasping until she took control, driving her hands through his hair, loosening the strands until it fell in layers around his face. It was his hair she used to control him, because as his hands slipped beneath her robe, grazing the hot and tender skin between her thighs, she gripped it harder, and it was that sharp pull that brought him back to reality.