A Touch of Ruin (Hades & Persephone #2) - Scarlett St. Clair Page 0,46

can you say you wish for me to be your queen when given the opportunity to treat me as your equal, you fuck it up completely? Does your word mean nothing?”

Hades eyes widened, surprised by her words. It was the blow she wanted to land. She turned from him, looped her arm through Hermes’ and strolled out of the throne room.

“That took some real lady balls, Sephy,” Hermes said.

The goddess frowned. It might have taken balls, but it didn’t make her feel any better.

“At this rate, we’ll never reconcile,” she said, frowning.

“Oh, I really doubt that,” Hermes said. “I don’t think Hades is willing to go that long without fucking you.”

Persephone glared at the god. “Not everything is about sex, Hermes.”

“Yes, it is. I’m not saying that to be vulgar,” he paused and chuckled a little. “Well, kinda. What I’m really trying to say is Hades loves you. You didn’t see him last night. I did. He won’t go long without talking to you. He’s too afraid he’ll lose you.”

She hoped Hermes was right. Despite her final words to Hades, she hadn’t wanted to leave his presence, and doing so made her heart hurt.

Hermes stayed for most of the afternoon and joined her and Hecate for a picnic in Asphodel. The gods played with Cerberus, Typhon, and Orthrus and chatted with the souls. When they were finished, Persephone found solace alone in the grove Hades had gifted her.

She marveled at his work.

Here in her forest, the ground was covered in a sea of purple and white flowers. The canopy overhead, a harbor of silver leaves so thick, none of Hades’ strange daylight filtered inside.

It was beautiful and ethereal.

And it was all an illusion.

She had witnessed Hades lift his magic from the Underworld, revealing desolate and deserted land. The sight had shocked her but left her in awe of his skills. How was he able to wield magic like thread, weaving ash and smoke and fire into sweet scents, vibrant colors, and gorgeous landscape?

She found a spot in her grove with periwinkle and white phlox and sat near a withered patch of ground. She took a breath, closed her eyes and meditated. She focused on her breath like Hecate had directed, and then the flow of her blood in her body, and then the flow of power in her veins and the press of life against her skin. She tried to imagine the bald patch in front of her teeming with life, but when she opened her eyes, there was nothing. Her shoulders fell, and she felt the weight of her failure heavy on her back.

Hades scent stirred the air and suddenly, he was around her—his chest to her back, his arms against hers, his legs cradling her body. His warmth was like the darkness, dense and lulling. She wanted it to consume her.

“You are practicing your magic?” he asked.

“More like failing,” she answered.

He laughed as he exhaled. “You aren’t failing. You have so much power.” His voice made her shiver, and she wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe anything he said in that sensuous voice.

“Then why can’t I use it?”

“You are using it,” he answered.

“Not...correctly.”

“Is there a correct way to use your magic?”

Persephone didn’t answer, not because she didn’t have one, but because she was frustrated with Hades’ question. Of course, there was a correct way to use magic.

The god chuckled and his fingers clasped her wrists lightly. “You use your magic all the time—when you are angry, when you are aroused…” Hades’ lips were a breath away from her skin. She wanted desperately to turn and kiss him, but she resisted.

“That’s not magic,” she answered quietly.

“Then what is magic?” he asked.

“Magic is…” she searched for words on a shuddering breath. “Control.”

Hades chuckled. “Magic is not controlled. It is passionate, expressive. It reacts to emotions, no matter your level of expertise.”

His hands shifted, cupping her own. Persephone swallowed.

“Close your eyes,” he whispered.

She did.

“Tell me what you feel.”

Aroused, she thought.

“I feel…warm,” she said instead.

She knew Hades was amused by the tone of his voice.

“Focus on it.” he said. “Where does it start?”

“Low,” she answered and shivered despite the heat. “In my stomach.”

“Feed it,” he breathed.

She did—with thoughts of pushing him into the flowers and pleasuring him. He would be surprised at first, but his eyes would take on that dark smolder and he would attempt to take control.

Except that she wouldn’t let him. She would take him into her mouth until he bucked against her and then lick the