“Don’t!” My voice is soft, but Hades stops immediately, his gaze cutting to mine. “Not for me,” I add.
The god of death narrows his eyes in a way that makes a now-sweating Poseidon lean away, even though Hades is looking at me.
“Not for you?” he asks me silkily, his voice like sandpaper on fire by now. “Fine. For me, then. Because you are mine, and he dared to threaten you, let alone make you bleed.”
That word again.
That possessive fucking word. I should protest. I should push back, lash out against it. Because I don’t belong to anyone. Not even the Order. What I shouldn’t do is react with something darkly sensuous that slides through my body, waking me up from the inside in glorious, gut-clenching, heat-pooling folly. And I definitely shouldn’t like it.
I do. I like it. A lot.
No. No way. Wanting Hades will only ever end in sorrow.
“Exactly,” I say. “I’m yours. You chose me, and I was about to take care of it my own damn way.” Where the hells did those words come from? Calling myself his is the last thing I should be doing.
Something flares in Hades’ eyes. Something dangerous. Something so seductively triumphant, my body quivers instinctively.
I have no idea what reaction I expected. Definitely not for him to slam the knife into the ground beside Poseidon’s leg, making the god yelp.
“Go sleep it off, brother,” he says in a voice gone all fire and brimstone, the skin tightening over his cheekbones. “You lost. Deal with it.”
Hades disappears only to appear directly in front of me, wrap his arms around me, and disappear us both.
I know we’re back in Hades’ house in Olympus because of the red and black surrounding me, but I don’t know which room because immediately his body pins me against a wall and his lips are on mine.
And…oh gods. I’m in trouble. Because I’m kissing him back.
This is different from the last time.
That kiss started out with a non-lust-related reason and turned into something else. This? This is already something else.
It takes the heat and quivering already running rampant through me and shifts them into a thousand sensations that turn my mind hazy and set the rest of me on fire. I’ve never been kissed, not before him, but I’ve dreamed of it. I never imagined anything like this, though. Like Hades wants to devour me. Like I want him to.
The god with razor-sharp control is chipping at the edges.
Because of me.
I didn’t know I could feel like this.
Everything about me gathers in tighter and tighter, condensing, like the sensation has no outlet, and a whimper escapes my lips even as I’m kissing him back.
But at that one tiny sound, Hades goes abruptly, utterly still, then pulls away and drops his forehead against mine.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
And I realize I was wrong. His diminishing control isn’t about me—it’s about his champion. I scared him tonight because he could have lost his place in the Crucible. If he’s that afraid of losing, his reasons must be huge.
I take a deep breath to say something. Anything.
But he’s already gone, leaving only a swirl of smoke where he stood pressed against me, the burn of sulfur sharp in my nostrils. I shiver as the heat from his touch fades, leaving behind only cold.
And regret.
36
Hermes’ Labor
I don’t know how I could’ve possibly fallen asleep after everything, but I did. So hard that all my training abandons me and I have no idea anyone is in my room until Hades shakes me awake.
“The second Labor is about to start, Lyra.”
I blink the sleep out of my eyes to blearily focus on his face hovering just above mine—on his lips. What would he do if I kissed him?
His eyes narrow. “Lyra?”
“What?” I shove my head into my pillow.
I should be alert instantly with a god in my room, but everything about me feels slow and groggy. And it’s entirely Hades’ fault. I tossed and turned all night, dreaming of his hand sliding along my—
“The next Labor, Lyra.” He pulls the pillow out from under my head. “It’s Hermes’. Get dressed fast—”
He flips my covers back—and swears.
The word clangs like a bell I’m standing too close to, or maybe it’s the bubbling sensation that does it as Hades’ gaze is fixed on my bare midriff. Either way, my brain boots up with a kick of adrenaline too late because I’m already fading away.
Without my vest.
