“That woman, I want to know if she leaves with anyone.”
Silence followed Hades’ order, and when the god looked at Ilias, he was staring back, brow raised. “Is she in danger, my lord?”
Yes, he thought, she was in danger of never leaving this place. Something inside him wanted to disregard every civility and possess her. Something about her called to him—a thread that pulled at his heart.
He froze as those words surfaced in his mind, eyes narrowing, and thought, it cannot be.
Hades peeled back layer after layer of glamour that kept his vision shielded from the ethereal Threads of Fate. They were like shimmering spiderwebs connecting people and things—some were wisps, others were solid, their strength waxed and waned throughout life. The whole floor was like a net, but Hades was only focused on one, fragile cord that ran from his chest to the woman in shimmering pink.
Fucking Fates.
“My lord?” Ilias asked, sensing the sudden change in him.
This cannot be, he thought. The thread and its placement near his heart had significance in a way he was not quite able to wrap his mind around—the Fates had woven this woman into his life.
She was meant to be his lover.
“Lord Hades?”
“Yes,” the god finally answered, looking at Ilias as he turned from the floor. “Yes, she is in danger.”
He left in a daze, pausing in the shadow to collect his thoughts. His chest felt tight, the thread pulled taunt, and he had the thought that if he continued his retreat, it might snap.
This is some sort of game.
It would not be the first time the Fates had dangled a wish in front of him, only to take it away. That was probably their greatest skill—extracting his deepest desires, then weaving them into his life, only to unravel them when they wished.
It was torture.
When he was younger, it had been more fun for the Fates because his reactions were vicious, his retribution violent, but the angrier he became, the more the Fates took. It was like the sisters wanted to see him tear the world to shreds.
For a while, he had obsessed over it, attempting to bargain for love. When that did not work, he decided to defy the Fates. He would find love; he would force it. The results had been a one-night stand with Minthe and a tumultuous relationship with another nymph named Leuce, who had betrayed him.
His wrath had been swift, and his desire to fight Fate on the subject, quashed. He resigned himself to a lonely existence, building walls around his heart and soul. He existed without expectation of happiness or love, and focused instead on bargaining and balance.
Until now.
He would forever remember the vicious reaction his body had when he laid eyes on the woman in pink. His insides still shook. How could the Fates offer him a taste of what it might feel like to have a soulmate, only to take her away?
As easily as I can condemn a soul to Tartarus, he answered, gritting his teeth.
He was still frustrated as he made his way to the lounge. As he approached, Euryale, the gorgon who stood guard at the entrance, nodded at him despite his invisibility.
“My lord,” she said.
The god smirked, dropping his glamour.
The gorgon was blind. Centuries ago, her eyes had been gouged out of her face and the venomous snakes that had once graced her head had been chopped to pieces—a punishment for her beauty. Hades had found her in the forest. She lay where she had been attacked, curled into the fetal position, sobbing and shaking. He had gathered her up and brought her to the Underworld, allowing her to heal before employing her.
Despite the horror she had experienced, and her attackers’ attempts to take away her power, they had not succeeded, for beneath that blindfold, Euryale’s gaze was still potent. After she healed, Hades released her upon her attackers, and the gorgon had turned them all to stone.
“Your sense of smell amazes me, Euryale.”
“You make it too easy,” the gorgon replied. “Lay off the cologne.”
Hades chuckled, pressed a hand to the gorgon’s shoulder, and entered the lounge.
The environment here was far more subdue, a mix of mortals and ancient creatures chatting and drinking and playing. Some were relaxed, others on edge, fidgeting as they waited to be summoned to one of the suites in the shadows, ready to bargain for their deepest desires no matter the consequences. Hades wandered among them, assessing and searching, attempting to choose his first contract of the night, when he rounded one of the gaming tables and halted, glimpsing a familiar pink dress and silken hair.
She was a siren, luring him with her scent, her beauty, her very presence.
He should turn around, meld with the darkness, and pretend he never laid eyes upon her, but watching her profile made his chest ache, and there was a part of him that resented the feeling. He had never wanted the Fates to have control over his love life, and yet, it was inevitable.
I could have control, he told himself. Use this to my advantage to fulfill my bargain with Aphrodite.
Hades did not often feel guilty, but that thought made his chest sick and heavy.
Make someone fall in love with you.
The bargain was callous and unfair, but Hades wanted to win.
Fucking Fates.
Shoving aside his tumultuous thoughts, he approached her.
“Do you play?” he asked.
She turned to him, and his breath caught in his throat as he was again, stuck by her beauty. Her eyes were wide and fringed with dark lashes. A dust of freckles kissed the tip of her nose and the apples of her cheeks, fading beneath a flush that colored her creamy skin.
Hades took a sip from his glass to wet his throat, but the movement drew her attention to his mouth, and he repressed a groan as he wondered if she tasted like she smelled—sweet, honeyed, forbidden.
After a moment, she smiled, a playful glint in her gaze. “I’m willing to play if you’re willing to teach.”
You wouldn’t say that if you knew who I was, he thought, taking another drink.
Anyone who entered into a game with him was bound to the rules of Nevernight—a loss meant a contract.
You are a bastard, he told himself as he approached the table and sat beside her. The movement stirred the air, and her scent continued to invade his mind. There was something else in the atmosphere—an electricity that made his heart race and the hair on his arms and neck stand on end.
“It’s brave to sit down at a table without knowing the game,” he said.
He thought that she might have sensed the warning in his tone, because she arched a brow at him and asked, “How else would I learn?”
“Hmm.”
She was right, though Hades would not advise running before learning to walk, especially when it came to bargains with him. Still, her response illustrated her cunning and willingness to try new things, and he found that insanely attractive.
“Clever.”
Now that he was close to her, he could not stop staring. He wanted to know why she smelled like wildflowers. What was her connection to Demeter? It felt intrusive and wrong to strip away the barriers that barred her soul from his eyes, but he would be lying if he said he did not want to know who she was beneath that perfect exterior.
She quivered, her lithe shoulders shaking. Was she cold or uncomfortable?
“I have never seen you before,” he finally said, hoping that explained his stare.
“Well, I have never been here before,” she replied, and then narrowed her eyes. “You must come here often.”