Page 339 of The First Taste

Hades lunges toward me, a deep growl barreling from his throat. “I could fucking kill ye. Ye know that?” He corners me, moving so fast that I don’t have time to escape. “Yer lucky that I need a forger still. Because otherwise…” He steps so close; he’s almost pressed against me. Not touching, but almost. “I might like to find out just how sweet yer last gasp sounds while I slowly choke ye to death.”

I swallow and look up into his face. Without a doubt, there is little to read there but violence and mayhem and a twisted sort of beauty. I tremble.

He’s a hair away from wrapping his fingers around my little neck and squeezing, I can tell. I suck in a breath, wishing away the tears that threaten to break free.

Hades grabs me then, making me cry out. He turns me around, crushing me against the wall briefly. He pulls my hands behind my back and a tear breaks loose, rolling down my cheek.

He manhandles me, roughly pulling me away from the wall and pushing me back to the kitchen. Then suddenly, he lets me go.

I gasp, whirling around and backing away. He clenches his fists, as though I’m too caustic to even touch with his bare hands.

Hades raises one finger, commanding me. “Wise men know that patience is a virtue, Persephone. Dinnae forget it. Ye’ll be paid handsomely for the whole time ye are with me, so bide yer time.”

I raise my hand to my cheek, trying to remain unemotional. “There are people that will miss me, you know. I’ll be national news before you know it.”

His lips twitch with a dark humor. “I highly doubt that anyone even knows yer name, Persephone. Much less likely is that someone can be arsed to report ye missing.”

Another tear falls. I dash it away too. “You keep acting like I’ve agreed to this. I haven’t, Hades! You kidnapped me! I’m not going to do anything for you unless you let me leave!”

Another flare of anger crosses his sullen expression. “I dinnae care about yer feelings, lass. I could literally give a fuck about yer opinions. And ye leave when I tell ye to, not a second fucking before that.”

I’m going to burst into tears. I can feel the anger, frustration and sadness welling up inside me, pressing to be let out, smothering me. The last thing I want is to cry in front of this… this monster.

So, I turn around, running toward the relatively safety of the bedroom I woke up in. Half expecting him to chase me.

To continue to terrorize me.

But he doesn’t. He just stands there, watching me climb the stairs, my tears beginning to fall.

Hades

In the darkness, I lie in my bed, the covers and sheets wrenched aside. I dream restlessly of my past, as I do far too often.

It’s a warm early evening when my mother hauls her bags down the stairs. She’s been fighting with my father all day. My father’s fiery temper usually flares a few times a day, his booming voice sending my mother or one of us boys skittering across the house. Sometimes it is accompanied by violence too.

Slapping, hitting, and choking come with my father’s reactions to nearly anything. It’s a normal part of the texture of any day. When I go to sleep, I count my bruises and check the spots where my father’s heavy blows have landed, unfazed.

It’s normal to hear my father erupt over the smallest thing. It’s standard to crouch down on the floor, eyes clenched, silently enduring my father’s fists. That’s how it has always been since I can remember.

But today my mother, with her soft voice and her stooped shoulders… she stood up to him. Got in his face, despite his abuse, and wouldn’t back down.

And now she has to go.

“Hades,” my mother coos. There are tears running down her pale, bruise-mottled cheeks. She licks her cracked lips, darting her gaze at my father, who is smoldering as he watches over us.

I’m standing here, blank faced, not able to show her how wretched she’s making me feel. Even on the eve of her leaving I dare not let my feelings show.

Not if I want to keep my father from combusting and pulling my brothers and I into his fury.

My mother pulls in a breath, refocusing on me. “Ye understand, right?”

Her words are more a plea than anything else. My breath catches in my lungs. “When will ye come back?”

“Oh, my darling boy.” She kneels down, pulling me into her arms. My face presses into her long, dark hair.

She smells like soap and heather and very faintly of cheap whiskey. I inhale her scent, as if trapping that little bit of her in my lungs forever could keep her from leaving.

“I don’t know,” she murmurs, her voice filled with tears. “But I need a favor. Okay? I need ye to take care of yer brothers while I’m gone. Be their champion.”