known this would be a possibility, but he had been grossly unprepared, because at the end of it all, he loved her.
“Persephone! Where is she?”
“Sh-She went for a walk, my lord,” a nymph said.
“She was following Cerberus,” another added.
“Toward Tartarus.”
Fuck.
He vanished and appeared on the outskirts of Tartarus. This part of his realm was vast and covered hundreds upon hundreds of acres. Why would she come here? he thought as he attempted to focus on finding her, rather than his racing heart and the dread boiling in the pit of his stomach.
He’d told her from the beginning he did not want her to know the path to Tartarus, that her curiosity would get the best of her. Had she heard Aphrodite’s words and sought to prove herself right about him? Perhaps she had come in hopes that she would find something to prove he was just as cruel and calculated as she thought.
Well, she would find it here.
It wasn’t long before he felt her—a faint pull at the edge of his senses.
She was in The Cavern, the oldest part of Tartarus. When he appeared there, he felt her presence strengthen and he knew where he’d find her.
In Tantalus’ cave.
Disgust curled in Hades gut.
Tantalus was a king, a demi-god born of Zeus, and among the first generation of mortals to populate the Earth. Gifted with Zeus’ particular brand of arrogance, he thought to test the gods by committing filicide. The wicked king killed his son, Pelops, ground him to a pulp and attempted to feed him to the Olympians. Hades remembered the smell of burnt flesh wafting through the Great Hall. The merriment had ended immediately, and their wrath had been swift. Hades had stood, pointed at Tantalus, and sent him straight to Tartarus, while the others attempted to assemble Pelops again.
That had not been the end of Tantalus’ punishment, either, as Zeus had cursed his legacy, the impact of which was still felt to this day.
Hades made his way into the darkness that blanketed the cave, where Tantalus had lived and suffered for an eternity. He saw Persephone race toward him, terror written across her beautiful face. She slammed into him, and he grabbed her shoulders to steady her.
“No! Please—” Her voice broke, full of fear and his emotions raged.
“Persephone,” Hades said quickly, trying to calm her.
When she looked at him, recognition and relief descended upon her face.
“Hades!”
Her arms tightened around his waist. She buried her head in his chest and sobbed.
“Shh.” His kissed her hair, thankful that she still touched him, that she still found comfort in his presence. “What are you doing here?”
Then he heard Tantalus’ voice cut through the dark and Hades’ blood turned to ice.
“Where are you, little bitch?”
Hades set Persephone aside and approached the grotto where Tantalus was imprisoned, snapping his fingers so that the pillar where Tantalus was chained turned. The man was a sack of bones, loose skin sagging over sharp angles. He was pale and withered, his hair scraggly and matted, like wire coming out of his face and head.
He had not looked upon the prisoner in years, as his method of torture tended to take care of itself, starvation and thirst while always being within reach of food and water. Except that Hades knew he had partaken of drink because his lips, drained of color, glistened.
Hades flung his hand toward Tantalus, and the mortal’s knees gave out, pulling the manacles that held his arms overhead tight, and he cried out.
“My goddess was kind to you,” Hades hissed. “And this is how you repay her?”
Hades closed his fist, and Tantalus heaved, spitting up the water Persephone had given him until there was nothing left to vomit. Then he parted the water in the grotto, creating a dry path straight to the prisoner. The wicked king struggled to find his footing, pressing his feet flat against the column to which he was chained. Hades enjoyed watching him struggle. It eased the burden of his anger and his wish to see this mortal meet a violent end.
“You deserve to feel as I have felt—desperate and starved and alone!” Tantalus spit out as Hades approached.
Hades’ hand closed over the man’s neck.
“How do you know I haven’t felt like that for centuries, mortal?” he said quietly, his voice deadly in its tone. It promised punishment and pain, it promised all of the things Tantalus claimed he felt now, but worse.
His glamour melted away, and he stood before his prisoner in his Divine form as he had