The Passion of Hades - Eliza Raine Page 0,29

thought about marriage much. I wasn't one of those young girls who had a vision of their wedding day all planned out by the age of ten, but I also never gave it much consideration as a teenager, or even an adult. I'd never had a serious boyfriend before, because I simply never desired the company of any of the men I'd dated enough to keep seeing them. My brother said I was picky, and that I should keep it that way. He wanted the best for his little sister. I wondered what Sam would make of the King of the Underworld as my prospective partner, and the thought of his face if he ever saw Hades caused a bittersweet smile to settle on my lips.

Was the reason I'd never been interested in anyone before because I was meant to be with Hades? The passion I felt for him was so intense, I'd never felt anything like it before in my life. Fated. Bonded. If I went home, to New York, would I be destined to spend the rest of my life alone? Or with someone who would never make me feel... whatever it was Hades was doing to me?

Or was that just lust? If we gave in to our feelings, and got it all out of our systems, would the reality of the situation then just crash back in, leaving nothing but the death and darkness and secrets?

I let out a long breath. Lose the Trials, stay alive, get back home. That was plan and I had to stick to it.

Despite the fact that a mind-bendingly gorgeous god wanted to worship me.

Fire. There was fire. And pain. Someone had their hand around my throat... I blinked and tried to thrash my head, and realized with a start that it was the man whose wife I had killed. His eyes were wild with madness, and my body was convulsing with pain. But I was lifting my hand, Faesforos ready to strike. I was going to kill him.

'No,' I tried to moan, but no sound came out of my mouth. I tried to stop my wrist. I deserved to die for what I'd done. Let him kill me. Let him take my life, in forfeit of his wife's. But the dagger kept moving, and my stomach twisted as I felt the tip pierce his flesh, then sink between his ribs.

I woke with a shout, gasping for breath and for a brief moment, I had no idea where I was.

'Persy?' Skop was on his feet in front of me and I stared at him, my pulse racing and sweat soaking my neck and back. 'Persy, what happened?'

'A nightmare,' I breathed, bile in my throat. 'Just a nightmare.'

I'd been ready to kill that man. And not in the dream, in real life. In the ballroom that night. My body had responded without my head's intervention, my will to survive stronger than my revulsion at what needed to be done.

I was everything they said I was. There was a monster inside me, one that would kill to keep me alive.

I felt sick.

It was you or him. You did what anyone would have done, I tried to tell myself, my skin crawling.

I knew there was no way I could go back to sleep, my heart still hammering in my chest and the feel of the blade entering flesh so vivid in my mind. I stamped to my washroom and turned on the water on the shower, letting it run as hot as I could stand.

But it didn't help. Water couldn't wash away what I'd done to that man. I may not have actually ended his life, but I had been prepared to. And I had been the one who deserved to die if I really had killed his wife, not him.

The desire to hear that it wasn't my fault, to be absolved of my guilt, made me think of the Atlas garden. I needed to talk to the voice. I needed to hear it wasn't my fault.

'You OK?' asked Skop as I marched out of the washroom and back towards my bed.

'I'm going back to sleep,' I said firmly, pulling back the comforter and climbing into bed.

'Erm, yeah, good idea,' he said, jumping up with me. But rather than spin round in circles on the covers, then flopping onto his side as he usually did, he lay on his front, head resting on his paws alertly.

'I'm fine, Skop,' I told him. 'Just confused.'

It took what