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He still felt guilty over how he handled Persephone. He had failed to be there for her through Lexa’s time inthe hospital, failed to prepare her for a death that he had not realized would be so devastating.

You’ve been the God of the Underworld so long, you’ve forgotten what it is really like to be on the brink of losing someone.

But even as she had spoken those words, he had felt like he was losing her.

“Sephy!” Hermes’s voice tore through his thoughts, and he turned to see the God of Mischief enter the kitchen, two bottles of alcohol in each hand. He set them down before dragging her against him for a hug. “You smell like Hades…and sex,” he declared, which, despite feeling a little guilty, made Hades chuckle.

“Stop being creepy, Hermes!” Persephone seethed.

Amusement ignited the god’s eyes as he released her and turned to Ben with intrigue. Hades groaned inwardly. Why did Hermes have to be attracted to literally everyone? He supposed it didn’t matter. Once the fucker opened his mouth, Hermes’s interest would cease.

“Oh, and who is this?”

“This is Ben. Sybil’s…” Persephone hesitated, apparently uncertain of how to describe the stalker. It didn’t matter, anyway, because neither one of them was paying attention.

“Hermes, right?” Ben asked.

Hermes looked bright with pride. “So you’ve heard of me?”

Hades offered a humorless laugh as he took another drink. The comment was absurd—there wasn’t a mortal alive who didn’t know the God of Mischief.

“Of course,” the mortal replied. “Are you still the Messenger of the Gods or do they use email?”

Hades tried to hide his smile as he turned toward the window, pulling back a single curtain that had been tacked to the wall as he listened to Hermes’s snappy reply.

“It’sLordHermes to you,” he said.

Whatever followed was lost to Hades as he observed the weather. The snow was heavier, and now and then, ice tapped against the window.

The storm was worsening by the hour.

“Well, well, well,” Hermes announced, his voice closer than before. “Look who decided to darken the corner—literally.”

Hades turned from the window and watched the god approach.

Hermes stabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “Can you believe that mortal?” he asked, then spoke in a mocking tone. “Do the gods use email? Fucker.”

Hades found himself chuckling again.

Hermes glared. “Don’t pretend like you aren’t antiquated too. Weren’t you replaced bymurder?”

“That’s…no, Hermes,” said Hades.

“I mean, the audacity!”

“You know, true revenge would be to not let him know he’s gotten under your skin,” said Hades.

“You’re only saying that for your benefit.”

Hades shrugged and took a drink.

“The fucker thinks he is an oracle. Let him offer false prophecies and find himself at the mercy of Hecate.”

Hades was not certain which god the mortal claimed to speak for or if he only claimed to see visions. Either way, Hecate despised anyone who alleged false power.

“Summon her,” said Hermes, and then his voice darkened. “I want to see him burn.”

Hades did not respond, though he enjoyed thinking about the scene Hecate would make inside Sybil’s small apartment if he called for her to punish the false prophet.