raging, lips raw. “If you make me your prisoner, I will spend the rest of my life hating you.”
“You already do.”
He noted how she seemed to recoil at his words, staring up at him as if his comment hurt. “Do you really believe that?”
He did not answer, just offered a mocking laugh, and then pressed a hot kiss to her mouth before tearing away viciously. “I will erase the memory of him from your skin.”
He yanked the sheet from her hands, and she was naked before him as she was last night, her eyes full of desire, and all he could think was that he fucking wanted this—her passion and her body and her soul.
He grasped her bottom, lifting her from the ground, and her body molded to his without his guidance. It was silent surrender, a sign that she wanted this just as much as he did. His lips crushed hers, and heat blossomed low in his belly, filling his groin until he was hard and desperate to be inside her. He felt frantic, and his body vibrated with need, urged by Persephone’s viscous hands, scraping his scalp, yanking on his hair. He growled low in his throat, pressing her into the bedpost, grinding his lengthen into her softness. He reveled in the way her mouth broke from his so that she could gasp for breath as he moved against her, pressing kisses down her neck and shoulder, tongue tasting. He was senseless, and she was a spell, a contract he would fulfill endlessly if it meant having her like this every day for the rest of his life.
My lover, he thought. My wife, my queen.
He froze, almost saying those words aloud, and then shifted, dropping her on the bed. He stood over her, breathing hard, and she looked up at him, surprised but as beautiful and as sensual as ever, legs parted, breasts firm and full. He had two choices before him, he could take her or leave her, and on the heels of her article, he felt it was best to leave because the only thing that would wait for them on the other side of this was sorrow.
After a moment, he managed a savage smile. “Well, you would probably enjoy fucking me, but you definitely don’t like me.”
He barely registered the horror on her face before he vanished.
She was right—he was a bastard.
CHAPTER XVIII – THE THREE MOONS
Hades stood outside an occult shop known as The Three Moons. It was where Hecate had traced the scent of magic used at Poseidon’s shipyard. Beside him was Hecate, who looked like a member of a cult, dressed in a black silken cloak and hood. They were both gazing at the imagery on the shop window—a full moon framed by two half-moons. It was Hecate’s symbol, and it had multiple meanings, none of which were represented by the man who ran the shop—Vasilis Remes, a Magi.
Magi were mortals who tended to practice black magic and poorly, often creating chaos Hecate had to quell.
“Tell me you have brought me here to curse this mortal,” Hecate said, hopeful, glancing at Hades.
Hades lips quirked. “Only if you are very good.”
He stepped past her and entered the shop. As he did, a bell sounded overhead, and a voice snapped from somewhere in the dark, “Be with you in a minute!”
Hades and Hecate exchanged a look.
“Excellent customer service,” she commented and began to explore the shop, wrinkling her nose as she went. “This place stinks of dark magic.”
Hades could smell it, too. It reeked of burnt flesh and something…metallic. The shop was dark. The large window bearing Hecate’s symbol had been covered with dark
paint. The only light source came from black candles, all varying heights. Hades did not know much about witchcraft, but he knew those candles were typically used for
protection, which made him wonder exactly what Vasilis Remes needed protecting from…well, other than them.
Then again, perhaps the Magi kept the shop dark to hide the chaos. It was a wreck, crowded with cases of stones and crystals of all shapes and sizes, books that were unorganized and shoved into every open nook. There were hexing poppets and athames, vials of oils and dust, and—
“Dove’s blood,” Hecate said.
Hades looked at the goddess, who had been across the room moments ago. They had a competition going for a few years. The first to sneak up on the other wins, the prize to be claimed on the day of victory.