“Because he has little to do with Castle Olympus,” Ares grunts, clearly tiring of my inquisition.

“You mean he doesn’t attend the nightly slaying of innocent humans?” I can’t contain the bitterness, so rather than try, I let it all spill free.

“He’s somewhat of a recluse.”

“Interesting.”

Ares’ brows pinch together. “Is it?”

I nod. “Yes.”

Ares sighs. “The slaying isn’t a nightly occurrence, Persephone. It happens, and far more often than most like, but it isn’t nightly.”

“Oh?”

“Your return to the world is, it can be a blessing or a curse. Zeus hasn’t yet decided which you will be to Olympus. He is both gauging your power and how you respond to the ways in which he feeds his own. He is asserting dominance over you. I advise you to abstain from reacting in future.” The gold in his eyes spear with sudden daggers of red. “It will get worse.”

A sharp inhale snags in my lungs. “Worse?”

Could it get worse?

Ares dips his head as the Pegasuses swoop down and land smoothly on rough ground. I think I see a flash of shame before it’s cleared away under the mask of Ares.

Ares stands with the girl. “We’re here.”

Chapter

Thirty-One

Persephone

A giant wooddoor the size of at least three normal doors wide and two high, clad in strips of metal held in place by fist-sized bolts, swings open. My heart bobs in my chest at the sight of the God that greets us, and the clearly unwelcoming look that paints his face.

He takes a few lumbering steps from the abode he’s crafted into the side of a mountain, tucked away into the crevices of a realm I very much doubt looks kindly on those of a more reclusive nature. He folds his arms over a wide chest, metal making muscles strain against the white shirt he wears.

His eyes glide over us, the assessment dangerous. They are dark and blasted with shards of silver, as though the very metal he shapes has imbedded itself in his very eyes like splinters under skin.

They shimmer in the muted light of the moon as he cocks his head only slightly to the side, eyes dropping to the girl Ares carries before flicking up to meet Ares’ eyes.

“Ares.”

“Hephaestus.” Ares walks himself and the girl closer. Ribbons of bloodstained hair, once golden, fall over his arm as though stretching for the ground. Her head is tipped back, and no one can miss the very obvious handprints that stain her throat black and blue.

I do my best to swallow my bobbing heart as I move with Ares, closer to the unimpressed God barring the entrance to his home.

“Why are you here?” Hephaestus grunts, voice rough and unwelcome.

“She needs somewhere safe.”

“And you thought to yourself that that somewhere was with me?” The dark incredulity in Hephaestus’ question has me wanting to tuck tail and run.

The girl has already suffered enough. She doesn’t need to be left somewhere she is very clearly not wanted.

“Eileithyia is full,” Ares says simply.

Hephaestus sighs. He hangs his head between his shoulders for a long moment before he sighs again. “What am I to do with her?”

“Give her space and time to heal,” I tell him, fighting not to shrink when those metal blasted eyes land heavily on me. “She has been so hurt, her innocence torn from her without mercy, her heart shattered beforehand.” When Hephaestus doesn’t take his eyes from me, I press on. “She was forced to watch her father’s murder in the arena before—before his killer was gifted her in celebration of his,” I swallow the acid that threatens to spill between my lips. Quietly, I finish, “His victory.”