A gaping hole of silence greets my bitterness. My interfering do-gooder drops his arms and takes a step back, probably worried curses are contagious. I immediately miss his warmth and shove my hands in my pockets.
“I…” He trails off as if considering his words. “Find that hard to believe.”
I’m so desperate to escape this whole scene, the change in his tone doesn’t entirely penetrate as I round on him. “Listen, I’m fine now. You can move on…”
The rest of my words wither on my lips.
If I went dead still earlier, I might as well have looked Medusa in the eyes now. The only thing about me that moves is the blood pumping through me so hard and fast, my ears thrum. My mind races to make sense of what my eyes are telling me.
Oh no. This can’t be happening.
Suddenly, it’s as if all the emotions that drove me here like a banshee with a bone to pick blow themselves out, leaving me empty.
I finally felt a smidgeon of connection with someone, and it’s… I mean… I did come up here to have it out with a god. Just not this one.
Even in the dark, only illuminated by constant strobes of lightning, I can see the perfection of his sculpted face—with its hard jaw, a high brow, dark eyes, and lips almost too pretty for his otherwise harsh features—as a clue of what he is. Only the gods and goddesses boast that kind of beauty. But it’s the pale lock that curls up off his forehead into the blackness of the rest of his hair that gives him away.
Every mortal knows the story of how his brother tried to kill him once by taking an axe to his head while he slept, but only succeeded in leaving a scar that changed his hair in that one spot. Unmistakable. Not to mention unforgettable—and extremely unfortunate for me.
Tangling with this god is so much worse than my original plan.
Run. The instinct finally punches through me, urging me to make my legs move. But there’s no point. Besides, the instinct to freeze in place is stronger.
“I’m afraid one of us shouldn’t be here,” I quip, my mouth always filling in for my brain when I’m nervous.
Not helping, Lyra.
I’m also not entirely wrong. What is he doing at this particular temple?
He says nothing, standing with his arms crossed, taking me in the same way I did him, only with a tension that fills the air with more electricity than Zeus’ lightning.
I know what he sees—a slip of a woman with short raven hair, a smallish face, pointed chin, and catlike eyes. My one vanity. They are deep green with a darker outer ring and gold at the center, fringed by long, black lashes. Maybe if I bat them at him? Except beguiling is not in my list of skills, so I nix that thought.
He’s still staring.
There’s an intensity to him that sets me more on edge with every passing second, every part of me prickling.
Silence fills the gaps between us for so long that I reconsider running as an option.
“Do you know who I am?” he finally asks. His deep voice would be smooth except for the harsh growl at the bottom of it. Like a silky, still lake broken by ripples from something under the surface.
Is he serious with that question, though? Everyone knows who he is. “Should I?”
Holy hells, stop popping off, Lyra.
The god’s eyes narrow slightly at my flippant response. Face assuming a hard cast, he takes two slow, long strides directly into my space. “Do you know who I am?”
Everything inside me shrivels like my body already knows I’m dead anyway and is just getting a head start. Fear has a taste I’m more than familiar with—metallic in the mouth, like blood. Or maybe I just bit my tongue.
The gods have punished mortals for much less than what I’ve done and said so far tonight.
My entire body quivers. Merciful gods.
“Hades.” I swallow. “You are Hades.”
The god of death and King of the Underworld himself.
And he does not look happy.
4
Beautiful, Teasing Death
Hades’ barely-there smile turns condescending. “Was that so hard?”
It’s too…deliberate. Like he’s decided to play this a different way. Only that makes no sense.
But gods don’t have to make sense, I guess.
Drawing the notice of any of them is a bad idea. They are capricious beings who might curse you rather than bless you depending on their mood and the way the breeze is blowing. Especially this one.
“Now, let’s talk about what you think you were doing,” Hades says.
I frown, confused. “I thought you already—”
“And with the Crucible starting tonight, even,” he continues in a disappointed voice, as if I hadn’t spoken.
