A Touch of Chaos (22 page)

“Persephone,” said Hecate. “Would you be a dear and bring me towels? A lot of them.”

“Of course,” Persephone said, disappearing into the adjacent bathroom.

Hecate looked at Hades. “You shouldn't scare her like this,” she chided.

“It wasn't my intention to
scare
her,” he said. “I was going to handle it.”

“Tomorrow,” Hecate said, almost mockingly. “When it might be too late.”

Hades averted his eyes, frustrated.

Persephone returned with a stack of towels.

“Your magic isn't reaching the wound at all,” Hecate said. “I will not be able to do much beyond attempting to prevent infection.”

Persephone's stare was hard, her eyes glassy.

He was frustrated that this was how he'd returned to her—far more broken than before.

Hecate placed the towels around Hades's wound, creating a barrier, and then summoned a glass pitcher. “Could you fill this with warm water, dear?” she asked.

“You know you can use your magic,” Hades said when Persephone vanished into the bathroom again. “Why do you keep sending her away?”

“If I used my magic right now, the water would scald you to death,” Hecate snapped. “Besides, would you prefer I berate you in front of your wife?”

“I'd rather you not berate me at all,” he said.

“Then don't—”

“Be an idiot,” he spoke over her. “I know. Believe it or not, I really try not to be.”

“Demeter is dead, Hades.”

Hades's mouth parted, but he had no words to speak.

He was usually aware of every soul that came into his realm, save for the time he'd spent in the labyrinth, and he had been too distracted upon his return to take inventory.

“How?”

“Persephone,” she answered. “She needs you well and as whole as you can be—to lean on in grief but also in guilt.”

Hades swallowed hard, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

He couldn't figure out what he hated most about having been a prisoner of Theseus. Was it that he was separated from Persephone or that separately, they had gone through unimaginable things and neither had been able to be there for the other?

When Persephone returned with the pitcher of water, he couldn't help seeing her differently. The thought made his stomach turn, filling him with guilt beyond anything he'd ever felt, but knowing what she had experienced, he now felt like he could see the burden of it upon her, hardening her features.

In some ways, he recognized her on a deeper level.

Hecate got to work, cleansing his wound, which wasn't necessarily painful but definitely uncomfortable.

“Sybil said you mentioned that we may need the Golden Fleece to heal Harmonia,” Persephone said.

“That is likely the only way either of you will heal now,” Hecate replied.

Fucking great
, Hades thought, except that Hecate and Persephone both looked at him. He must have spoken aloud. “The fleece is in Ares's territory, and in case you've forgotten, we are fighting on opposite sides. He won't give up the wool without a fight.”

“Then we'll fight him,” said Persephone. “He will be more than eager anyway if he thinks he can capture me. Zeus has offered his shield as a reward to anyone who brings me to him in chains.”

Rage erupted inside him.

“
What?
”

“Perhaps you should have saved that piece of information for later,” Hecate said, slathering a layer of something clear and sticky over his wound.

“Do not act so surprised,” Persephone said as if she were unbothered. “You knew he would retaliate.”

That hardly mattered, and besides, while he'd expected Zeus to retaliate, he had not exactly expected a competition between their opposing gods.

“I'll kill him,” he said.

“
After
you're healed,” Persephone said.

He glared. He wasn't sure he could promise that.

Hecate finished by bandaging his wound. It throbbed more now than it had before.

“Let's hope by morning, you have managed to stave off infection.” She started to leave but paused, a stern look coming over her face. “
Rest
,” she said. “In case you need explicit instructions, that means you probably should avoid sex for now.”

“I could have gone my entire existence without ever hearing you say those words,” Hades said.

When she vanished, a strange tension filled the
room, but it had nothing to do with desire. It was a clash of anger and fear, heightened on both sides. Persephone stood at the end of the bed. He wasn't sure what she was staring at or that she was really seeing at all.

“Persephone.”

He called to her, and that seemed to shake her from her thoughts.

“Come, lie beside me,” he said.

If he couldn't have the comfort of being inside her, he would settle for holding her close.

She didn't move, and he felt dread creep into his chest. Had he already fucked this up?

“Persephone, please,” he said.

Finally, she moved, the bed dipping with her weight. He watched her crawl toward him across their sprawling bed, and when she rested against him with her head on his chest, his anxiety vanished.

“I'm sorry,” he said, kissing her hair.

She did not speak, and he could feel her tears on his skin. He considered asking her to look at him so he could brush them away, but if he did, then he would have to fight the emotion welling in his throat, and he wasn't certain he was capable of facing that battle.

So he didn't.

Hades woke to Persephone's kiss.

He groaned and pressed one hand into her back. The other sought her breast, first through her robe and then sliding beneath it. He twisted her nipple between his fingers, pleased with her breathless groan.

He released her for a moment and tore the tie of
her robe free. He rolled on top of her and buried his face between her breasts, kissing her there before lavishing each one with his tongue, licking and sucking her while she writhed beneath him and slid her foot along his engorged cock.

“Fuck,” he breathed as he brought his mouth to hers.

She pulled him down and he took the chance to dig his feet into the bed, grinding into her, flesh against flesh. He could barely think, it felt so good.

He moved to the side, and his hand swept lower, over her stomach to the apex of her thighs, where he circled her clit and let his fingers slide along her slick entrance.

“
So fucking wet
,” he hummed against her skin, kissing down her neck. He withdrew his fingers, coating her clit with that liquid heat until it grew hard beneath his touch, shifting over her again. He had every intention of kissing down her body and fucking her with his tongue when her fingers dug into his skin, halting him.

“
Hades
,” she said. He knew by the tone of her voice that she had surfaced from the haze of her desire.

Don't say stop
, he pleaded, but it seemed wrong to say those words aloud.

“Just let me taste you,” he groaned.

She sat up, which forced him to sit back on his knees.

“You're bleeding,” she said.

He looked down at the bandaged wound, stained with crimson.

“I was probably bleeding before this,” he said, though those words likely didn't help his case.

Persephone's lips flattened, and she pulled her robe closed. “I'm sorry, Hades. I shouldn't—I didn't mean—”

“
Never
apologize for that,” he said.

They stared at each other, and he knew she felt terrible. She crawled to the other side of the bed.

He sighed, frustrated, and flopped onto his back.

His cock mocked him, pointing straight into the air. He lay there, silent for a few moments, before he wrapped his fingers around his erection. He couldn't believe he was going to have to jerk off while his wife lay beside him, wet as fuck.

“What about ‘no sex' is so hard for you to get?” Persephone asked.

“My fucking dick, Persephone,” he snapped. “That's what's
hard
.”

Silence followed his angry outburst. He let go of himself, placing both his hands beneath his head. In the quiet, he felt ridiculous for being so frustrated.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I just…imagined all this very differently.”

After a few moments, Persephone whispered, “Me too.”

He felt her move, and then she was beside him, shedding her robe.

“What can I do?” she asked.

“Anything,” he answered. Excitement shot straight to the end of his cock.

She gave him a wry look. “That won't hurt you.”

He pretended to consider her question, but he had a list of answers.

“Sit on my face,” he said.

Her gaze slid to his cock and back to his face. “I don't think that will ease your…
affliction
.”

“I beg to differ,” he said. He saw her doubt and pushed forward, explaining, “Pleasing you pleases me. If
you're worried about hurting me, this is the best option. You have control. You're the one who moves. I'll just hold you.”

And fuck you with my mouth
, he thought.

He could tell she was considering it, and then she rose onto her knees and guided her leg over him, straddling him with her slick heat. He brought his hands down on her thighs, feeling triumph for the first time.

“Are you sure this is okay?” she asked. Her palms were pressed flat against his chest, her breasts swollen between her arms.

“What are you worried about?” he asked, holding her glittering gaze in the dim light of their room.

“Hurting you,” she said and then added sheepishly, “suffocating you.”

“If this is how I suffocate, I would gladly drown in your heat.”

“
Hades
.”

“Put your weight on your knees, darling. I'll do the rest,” he said. “Come.”

She relented and shifted up his body. His muscles tightened with excitement as her knees came to rest on either side of his face. She looked down at him, holding his gaze as he placed his hands on her legs and guided her down, his tongue running along her slick flesh. He was instantly consumed, overwhelmed by her pleasurable scent and the way he was able to watch her from between her legs. She let out an audible gasp, her hands slamming down on the headboard, and he buried his tongue in her heat, delighted when she began to move her hips.

“Ride, darling,” he said. “Like you are on my cock.”

He was eager to show her how good this could be for her.

She was tentative at first, but she quickly found a rhythm, and as she moved, he gripped her ass and spread her wider, taking her deeper. When she grew tired and was still, he would change his approach, kissing and licking and sucking her, rubbing her clit until her body began to shudder, and when he felt her climbing toward release, he climbed too. His muscles locked, and his hips shot off the bed, heels digging into the mattress as he held Persephone hard against his mouth.

She came with a sharp cry, her thighs pressing in on either side of his head. It was all he needed to release the pressure that had been building inside him. His orgasm tore through him, twisting every part of his body.

Fuck
, he would ache tomorrow, but he didn't care because as he came down from his high, his mind was finally quiet.

Hades's words had ignited a primal urge within Dionysus to protect Ariadne.

Unfortunately, that primal urge was directly linked to his madness, and it took everything within his power to quell the tremors shaking his spine, to shove down his anger, to stay rooted to the spot and not go after the God of the Dead and tear him limb from limb.

You would never win
, he told himself. Even with frenzied strength, he was no match for one of the three most powerful Olympians.

“Gods, he is the
worst
,” Ariadne said.

It took him a few more breaths before his heart stopped racing, and then he met her gaze.

“He isn't the worst, believe it or not,” said Dionysus. “But Theseus certainly is.”

“What are you saying?”

“I'm saying he isn't wrong about Theseus,” said
Dionysus. “If Phaedra doesn't go back to him, he will come for her. He'll come for you.”

“We knew that going in,” she said. “Are you saying you regret it?”

“I'll only regret it if anyone gets hurt,” he said.

He could tell she didn't like his response by the way her lips flattened.

“Take me to her,” she said and paused. “Please.”

His eyes lowered to her bloodied clothes. “I think you might want to shower first.”

She looked down at herself as if she'd forgotten she'd just come from the labyrinth.

“I don't have clothes,” she said.

“I'll find you some.”

He thought she would leave then to go downstairs, but she hesitated.

“The baby,” she said. “Is he healthy?”

“Yes,” said Dionysus.

“And…who does he look like?”

“You mean other than an alien?”

She rolled her eyes. “I should have known better than to ask.” She turned and headed for the door.

“I think he has your nose,” Dionysus called after her. She paused, and when she turned to look at him, he added, “And your eyes.”

“You can't know that,” she said. “He's just a baby.”

“I would know your eyes anywhere,” he said.

She pressed her lips together, as if she were trying not to smile, and left his suite.

When he was alone, he blew out a frustrated breath.

Gods
.

What the
fuck
was he thinking?

He should never have gone down this path with her. He didn't know how he'd managed to come this far or how he'd gotten so involved in this battle between the Olympians and the demigods, but here he was, delivering babies and kidnapping wives. He might as well have painted a target on his back, because he'd just invited a fucking sociopath into his territory.

And it was all because of Ariadne.

Fucking feelings
, he thought as he left his suite and headed to the basement.

As he stepped off the elevator, he found the maenads scattered around the living area. Some were knitting, some cleaning weapons, some reading. A group of them were gathered in front of one of several television screens watching the finale of
Titans After Dark
…or whatever it was called.

As he crossed the room, he caught a glimpse of Oceanus on screen, his face stricken with horror as he looked at Gaia, who wailed beside him. They were watching the world burn, ignited by Zeus's lightning in the aftermath of the death of Typhon, who, in a previous episode, had laid siege to Mount Olympus.

Not that Dionysus was invested or anything. It just unnerved him. He felt like he was about to watch the same scene unfold around him in the mortal world.

Dionysus made his way down one of several darkened hallways that branched off the main room in search of Naia, who would likely have clothes for Ariadne.

The door to her room was ajar, but he knocked anyway, not wishing to intrude. She answered quickly, a book in her hand.

“You okay?” she asked, her eyes alight with amusement.

Clearly Lilaia had told her about what had transpired in the delivery room. He narrowed his eyes.

“How much do you know?” he asked.

“Oh,
everything
,” she said.

“And how many of the maenads know?”

“Oh,
everyone
,” she assured him.

Dionysus sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Great.”

“If it helps, I expected you to faint,” she said.

“It doesn't,” Dionysus said dryly.

She snickered.

“I came to see if you have any clothes I could borrow,” he said.

“We're not really the same size, Dionysus.”

“For
Ariadne
,” he said. “She's out of the labyrinth.”

Naia's amusement withered. “Is she okay?”

“I think so,” he said. “She yells at me like she is.”

Naia frowned. “Did you ask her if she was okay?”

“No,” he said. “I didn't exactly have a chance.”

He decided not to tell her about how Hades had also yelled at them.

Naia pursed her lips but said nothing. She disappeared into her room and came back with a bundle of clothes.

“She's not all right, Dionysus,” said Naia.

“Then I guess she'll tell her sister,” he said.

Naia leveled a hard look at him. “You care about her?”

“Do you really have to ask?”

“Then make sure she's okay,” she said, shoving the bundle into his chest.

“Fine, I'll ask,” he said. “But you know what she's going to say? Just take me to my sister.”

“The point is, Dionysus, that you cared enough to ask.”

He was still thinking about Naia's words as he wandered down the hall to Ariadne's room. He knocked on the door, but there was no answer. He tried the handle, and it turned, but he hesitated to enter. Was this an invasion of privacy? She had to know he was coming to deliver her clothes, right?

The sheer amount of anxiety this gave him was absolutely absurd, yet he didn't want to give Ariadne any more reason to be irritated with him.

He cracked the door.

“Ari,” he called into the room.

Again, there was no answer, and he assumed that meant she was still in the shower and it was safe to enter.

He slipped inside.

Her room was sparse, having only a small bed and desk. She hadn't tried to make this a home, though Dionysus was not all that surprised. She hadn't exactly come here willingly and had spent her early days trying to escape. She stayed now because she was in danger—because Theseus wanted her, though that did not seem to scare her as much as it should. She was willing to risk herself for others, even if they did not wish to be saved.

Her sister was a prime example. He wasn't sure he'd ever tell her the truth of Phaedra's rescue, which was that she had begged to stay.

“
It will be worse for everyone if I leave
,” she'd said.

“
We will keep you safe
,” Dionysus had said, but he knew what had convinced her to leave with them, and
that was the promise of seeing Ariadne. It was a testament to the love they had for each other, but Dionysus knew Phaedra's fear of Theseus was stronger. She would return to her husband. The only question was how much destruction Theseus would have to cause before she left.

And would her return even stop his chaos?

Dionysus approached Ariadne's bed with the intention of leaving her clothes there, but as he did, he noticed a picture pinned to the wall. It was creased and stained, yet that did not dull the bright smiles of a young Ariadne and Phaedra staring back. It made him wonder what led them to where they were now, but he thought he could guess the answer. It was a predator named Theseus.

His eyes lowered to her bed, and as he set the clothes down, he noticed something sticking out from under it. He bent to pick it up and found it was a leather-bound journal.

“What are you doing?”

Dionysus whirled to find Ariadne in the doorway of her bathroom. She stood, wrapped in a white towel, her dark hair plastered to her head. He knew she'd asked him a question, but he couldn't think beyond her and the water dripping off her body, which led to other thoughts like the fact that she was naked under that towel and how she'd felt against him and around him in the cave.

Fuck. He was aroused, and she wasn't even naked.

Ariadne's eyes fell to the journal in his hands. At first, she looked horrified, and then she looked pissed.

Say something, you idiot!
he thought, but he couldn't unstick his tongue from the top of his mouth.

She crossed to him and yanked the journal away, simultaneously dropping her towel.

Suddenly, she was naked, and Dionysus continued to be speechless, but he did manage to retrieve her towel—or at least he tried, but Ariadne moved at the same time. Their heads knocked together hard, and while Dionysus barely felt anything, the impact sent Ariadne to the ground. It did not help that she landed in what was probably the most erotic position ever—on her back with her legs splayed.

Fuck me
, he thought.

She lifted herself up onto her elbows and rubbed her head.

“Gods, I hate you,” she whined.

Those words shook him, and he realized he was still holding her towel.

He shoved it out to her and then offered his hand, helping her to her feet. He held up the journal she'd dropped too. She took it and hugged it to her chest along with the towel.

“I didn't read it,” he said quickly. “I just saw it on the floor and picked it up.” Though now he had to admit he was even more curious about what was inside. “I…uh…” he said, swallowing. “I brought you some clothes. They're from Naia.”

Gods, he was embarrassing.

“Thank you,” she said.

They stared at each other, and then he lifted his hand, calling on his magic to heal the blossoming redness across her forehead. Her eyes fluttered closed beneath his touch, and his fingers lingered, tracing along her cheekbone to the corner of her mouth.

He wanted to kiss her there, but instead, he dropped his hand.

She opened her eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked. He hoped she knew he was asking about more than just her head.

“I will be,” she said. “Once I see my sister.”

It was the answer he had expected, but he understood.

“I'll let you get dressed,” he said.

When he stepped outside her room, he ran his hands over his braids, hooking them behind his neck.

“You are a fucking idiot,” he muttered to himself and proceeded to pace until she emerged a few minutes later. “Ready?” he asked.

He knew the answer, but he felt like he needed to ask before teleporting.

She nodded, taking a breath. She seemed nervous, and he wondered why. From what he could tell, she and Phaedra had a good relationship, though it was possible Theseus had poisoned the connection between them.

“I'm ready,” she said.

He offered his hand. He didn't need to touch her to teleport, but he thought it might be comforting. She didn't hesitate, and when his fingers closed around hers, they vanished, appearing in the living room of his home.

When they arrived, she immediately released his hand.

“Where is she?”

“In your room,” he said and then corrected himself. “Well, not
your
room, exactly. The guest room.”

He had never seen her eyes so bright or her excitement so high, and truthfully, it made him sad. It was the first time he realized what all this had really done to her.

She started toward the door but paused.

“Thank you, Dionysus,” she said. “You don't know how much this means to me.”

He hoped it meant the world, because that was exactly what it would cost.

She did not wait for a reaction. She turned and raced to the door, knocking quietly.

There was a pause, and then it opened, at first only a crack and then wider, and there was Phaedra, ghostly pale, illuminated from behind by a warm amber light.

“Ariadne,” she whispered.

Ariadne nodded, her mouth quivering, but it was Phaedra who burst into tears first, and then she threw her arms around Ariadne's neck and sobbed.

Dionysus left the sisters then. It felt intrusive to linger.

He headed down the hall to his room and showered. When he was done, he climbed into bed. For a while, he just lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. His mind felt so full of words and emotions, he could not even begin to process what had taken place over the last twenty-four hours. He just hoped that when Theseus came, he was powerful enough to protect his people.