A Touch of Ruin (Hades & Persephone #2) - Scarlett St. Clair Page 0,114
just returned from the hospital and poured a glass of wine when someone knocked. She was paranoid about answering the door when she was home alone, so she ignored it, thinking whoever was there would go away.
Except they didn’t.
The knocking became excessive. Persephone approached; her heart stuttered in her chest. She peaked out the window and screamed.
“Apollo!” she yelled. The god’s face was pressed against the glass. She threw open the door. “Why are you knocking?”
“I am practicing respecting boundaries,” Apollo said. “Is this not a mortal custom?”
She would have laughed, but he had scared her.
“I think I preferred you just appearing wherever you’re not wanted.”
To her surprise, he smirked. “Careful what you wish for, Seph.”
She thought about correcting him but let the nickname slide. At least he hadn’t called her Honey Lips.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to bring you this,” he said, and pulled something from behind his back. It was a small, gold lyre.
Persephone took the instrument. “It’s beautiful,” she said and then met his violet eyes. “Why?”
“To say thank you.”
She grinned. “I think that’s the first time you ever thanked me.”
“It’s the first time you gave me a reason,” he teased, and then nodded to the instrument. “I can teach you to play it…if you want.”
“I’d like that.”
After a beat, he became serious again, his jaw tightened, and his eyes hardened.
“I’m really sorry about Lexa, Persephone. If it means anything to you, just know...I didn’t actually know her soul was broken when I healed her.”
Persephone looked at her feet. She hadn’t known either, hadn’t known what it would mean for Lexa or her loved ones.
“Thanks,” she said, looking at him again. “Wanna come in for some wine?”
“No,” he said quickly, and then laughed. “I would like to keep my balls, thank you.”
Persephone wouldn’t put it past Hades to manifest without warning. Still, even with the offer, Apollo lingered.
“There’s something else.”
Persephone waited.
“I’d like to let you out of the contract,” the god said at last.
Persephone’s eyes widened. “What?”
The god smiled ruefully. “I’m trying to change.”
“I see that,” she said, and paused. “But I prefer to hold to my bargains, and if my calculations are correct, we still have five months and four days left.”
She appreciated how Apollo was trying to be different and she knew change took time. She wanted to spend these next few months watching him, guiding him. She trusted he could change with her, but other people? She wasn’t certain.
Apollo raised a brow and challenged, “Coffee tomorrow, two o’clock?”
“Is that a demand or a request?”
“Both?”
“Fine, but I get to pick the place.”
Persephone swore she saw a moment of hesitation in Apollo’s eyes—a gut reaction to disagree and demand control, but then his eyes softened.
“Fine. See you then.”
And he was gone.
CHAPTER XXVI - A TOUCH OF SERENITY
Two weeks later, Lexa was released from the hospital. Their apartment felt smaller with six people inside, all fawning over Lexa. Eliska and Adam bought groceries and stocked their pantry to overflowing, Jaison had moved more of his things into Lexa’s bedroom and took immediate responsibility for her medicines. Sybil, Persephone, and Zofie hung back, watching everything unfold, unsure of what to do.
Persephone wasn’t sure what the worst part was—the fact that that Lexa seemed to be completely detached from the situation or that her parents and Jaison were ignoring how different she was. She spent long stretches of time sleeping and when she wasn’t asleep, she stared at the wall. When asked direct questions, she just gaped at the person speaking until they repeated themselves, and sometimes, even then she didn’t answer.
“She’s not the same,” Persephone had said one night after she’d asked Lexa if she wanted to join them in the living room to watch Titans After Dark. It wasn’t Persephone’s favorite, but she remembered how her best friend would light up when discussing the gritty details of the Primordial drama.
She hadn’t looked at Persephone when she’d answered with a quiet, “No.”
When she’d spoken in the kitchen, she’d mostly been talking to herself. It was her own attempt to process grief. Lexa might not have died, but they’d lost her either way.
“She was hit by a freaking car,” Jaison snapped. “She’s not going to bounce back.”
Persephone blinked, shocked by his anger.
“I know. I didn’t mean—”
“Maybe if you weren’t so wrapped up in your own problems, you’d see that.”
He stomped back to Lexa’s room without another word.
“He’s just upset,” Sybil said. “He knows she isn’t the same.”
“This mortal has distressed you,” Zofie said. “Do you want me to