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Thirty-Three

Hades

She’s troubled,I sense her unease as Hypnos wades us through the mess of her dreams. Tendrils of darkness creep along bright whips of light, as though fearful the lash it may bring, cowed by the glow. From every direction, a horrified sound slaps back at her. Screams, sharp and flooded with fear. Her eyes are wide, her head whipping side to side.

She is restless in sleep.

I ache to comfort her even as something darker, something violent, surges inside me. I have half a mind to tear through the wards that keep me from entering the realm in which was once, so long ago and for such a short while, my home.

If I could get my hands on Zeus now, I would take my time peeling the flesh from his meat, unspooling muscle and tendon to the black of his Gods’ bone. I would revel in the symphony of his agony and encapsule his vicious soul so that he could watch as all the world forgot his name. As all memory of him was wiped from history.

I would watch him fall into the despair of madness; his starved soul wrapped in isolation for all of eternity.

I would revel in every moment of his suffering, for the pain he’s caused Persephone. My mate.

Beside me, Hypnos touches his ghostly hand to my wrist. A tether of braided white and black, like vines of smoke and fog push from his fingertips to clasp my wrist.

“I will leave you now,” he tells me. “Follow the threads of my soul back.”

I look at my friend, nodding once. And then I watch as the form of him begins to fade and shrink, as though he’s moving backwards through a tunnel without any end or light in sight.

When I can no longer see or feel Hypnos, I turn back to Persephone. She lays in a bed that isn’t mine, and the sight alone has another surge of anger rising.

She doesn’t belong here, in this bed. In this realm.

She whimpers, her cry small and pained. I take a step closer but stop, sickness swelling, as the blankets beside her shift. A hand snakes out to touch her back and a possession unlike any I’ve ever felt before in all my centuries flares red-hot and blinding inside me. Jealous rage has flames edging my vision, and I hear a familiar voice whisper softly, “Just a dream, Persephone. You’re safe.”

The hand on her back comes into focus as Persephone settles under the comforting touch blended with the soothing sound of Leuce’s tired words.

My gaze shifts from Persephone to Leuce in the bed beside her. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the nymph look so tired as she flops onto her back, her hand sliding from Persephone as she slides back into troubled sleep.

For them, Olympus is clearly a place of torment.

But we don’t have much time. Hypnos had tried for hours to connect me to Persephone. For hours, she’d fallen in and out ofsleep. Pulled from the peace of her dreams into the terror of her nightmares only to wake and shove us both from her mind.

I’d nearly lost my mind and Hypnos had nearly lost hope in his ability to connect to her, something I didn’t think the God of Dreams’ ego took kindly to.

Persephone whimpers again, but this time I waste no time in touching my own hands to her skin. I curse low at the feel of her icy flesh under my burning touch.Why is she so cold?

Lifting her into my arms, I envision our bed in our room. I envision the glowing ceiling of amethyst and the fall of stars that rain to the daggered points of the crystal.

In the weeks since Persephone has been gone, Hypnos has schooled me more than once on the workings of a dream. Particularly, how to guide a dream in a specific direction.

All I want now is to guide us home. Away from Olympus. Away from everything that causes her lovely soul distress.

It doesn’t take long for my desires to form around us, and as I lower her to the comfort of our bed her beautiful eyes finally flutter open. Her hair is a golden blonde, and I ache for the familiar red that is the color of her hair while at home in the Underworld. The sight of the blonde now reminds me that we aren’t truly in our bed in our room. That she is not truly here with me in my arms.

That she is not truly safe.

“Hades?” Her brows pull in as she shoves up onto her elbows. Her eyes drift over the room and she stutters, “Wh-what’s happening? Am I—am I home?”

Fuck, home.

“You’re dreaming.”

“What?” Her brows slant in confusion.

“Hypnos connected us.”