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It wasn’t a question. It was a demand.

Her body answered, vibrating against his as she let him wring come from her body.

He pushed her onto the bed unceremoniously, his cock dripping as he got to his knees.

“Can you handle me?”

She was flushed and deliriously high on pleasure. He imagined she would say yes to anything right now, but it would be enough.

She nodded, her chest rising and falling quickly.

“Yes.”

He jerked her toward him, lifting her so that her ass rested against his thighs, and entered her.

Persephone arched on the bed, her breasts bouncing with each of his thrusts. It made him move faster, fill her deeper. She was so gods-damned beautiful, so fuckingerotic, and she likely had no idea, but watching her take him like this was a fucking dream.

“Oh, fuck,” she cried, writhing.

Her hands were everywhere, gripping him and then her breasts, then tangling in her hair, and with each thrust, he felt the pressure build. He chased it, held it longer, determined to make this last.

Their bodies grew slick, and there came a point when Hades could no longer hold on to her. He bent over her, arms braced on either side of her face as he finished. He could feel his cock pulsing inside her, and he could not hold himself up. His whole body shook.

He landed atop her, his head on her breasts. Persephone did not seem to mind as she wrapped her body around him.

After a long moment of silence, she spoke.

“You’re mine,” she said, her fingers trailing through his hair, which had come loose during their intercourse. “Of course I can handle you.”

Hades lifted himself up so he could meet her gaze. He wasn’t sure why he always waited for her to break, to leave, to run when she spoke like this. It didn’t make sense. It would never make sense.

But he was so fucking grateful she loved him.

“I never thought I’d thank the Fates for anything they gave me, but you—you were worth all of it.”

“All of what?”

“The suffering.”

CHAPTER XIII

THESEUS

Theseus stared at a series of photos. They were all pictures of the same man, taken from different angles. His name was Adonis—a famous favored mortal—and he had been beaten to a bloody pulp and stabbed through with Cronos’s scythe outside Aphrodite’s club, La Rose.

While Theseus had not been directly involved in this attack, he’d managed to plant the seeds that saw it through. He wondered how long before Aphrodite’s anger got the best of her, how long before Hades’s sense of honor brought him right to his door. Theseus has lived a long time in the shadow of the gods. He knew their strengths and their weaknesses, but he also knew mortals and how to make them afraid.

The start of snow in summer had been his sign to incite chaos. Amid the backdrop of Demeter’s storm, which would already inspire anger among the mortals and feature heavily in the media, he knew he could further feed the existing doubt and anger against thegods. And while he was aware that it would hardly hurt them, it would cause division, and at the center of it all were two gods: Hades and Persephone.

He had not expected them to feature as they were, but their love worked in his favor, and it would serve to further divide the gods while he continued to build mistrust among the mortals on earth. He would hardly have to lift a finger—the gods always got in their own way.

Theseus just needed to ensure that as the chaos unfolded, mortals had someone to turn to—someone to worship in place of the Olympians who had reigned for so long.

And that person would be him.

Theseus could sense the vibration of his phone before it rang. He snatched it up, answering before the sound could disturb the silence.

He gave no greeting, only waited for the person on the other end to speak.