God of Darkness. Aimee Carter

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      As Lord of the Underworld, Hades was feared by the living and revered by the dead. A member of the eternal council of gods, he had unimaginable power at his fingertips, ready to do whatever he must to uphold his duties and laws. And as the ruler of the souls who died, he would live forever, guaranteed true immortality through his duties to them.

      But he would have traded it all if it meant he could be mortal.

      In his existence, Hades had seen more faces and heard more stories than the rest of the council combined. Eventually every mortal entered his kingdom, and while he only came face-to-face with a fraction of them, he felt each and every presence. He felt each and every moment of their lost lives.

      And that was why he envied them their mortality. To have a set period of time to live—to know there would be an end instead of an endless sea of time … It would have been a wonderful thing. That way, even if he wound up alone, he would know it would end someday. Being a god granted him no such relief.

      He sat in his throne after a long day of judgment, the silence heavy around him. The number of souls had seemed to grow exponentially over the past few centuries, or perhaps it had only seemed so as he no longer had Persephone. His wife, his friend, his partner—he had depended on her far more than he’d realized. Even knowing she would never love him the way he loved her, he held on to her memory, treasuring it as one would a lifetime of happiness.

      He’d kept his promise to himself, however, and had never gone to see her. It was agonizing, knowing she was so close yet so in love with someone else, and he couldn’t allow himself that kind of pain. The wounds had only begun to heal, and while scars were inevitable, to rip them open again would only ensure they would never close.

      Instead he allowed himself to dream about her during what little time he did sleep. He allowed himself to dream about a life they could have had if he had not been so wrong in his actions—if he had done what she wanted, said the right thing, never allowed Demeter to talk him into marriage in the first place. If he had asked Persephone herself what she had wanted all those eons ago, before they’d both done irreparable harm to each other. And during those brief hours, he was happy.

      Leaning against his throne, he exhaled, his eyes falling shut. Five hundred years today. That was how long it had been since he’d let her go, and it still felt as agonizing as the day he’d watched her die. Forget scars. At that moment he was convinced it would never get better no matter how much time passed.

      The doors of the throne room opened, and with a sigh, he stirred. The next batch of souls weren’t due until morning, and James knew better than to bother him. But even though he hadn’t anticipated anyone in particular, he certainly hadn’t expected the girl standing in the archway at the end of the aisle.

      “Hera. Calliope,” he said, correcting himself as he stood. “It is good to see you.”

      “And you as well, Hades.” As she approached him, she bowed her head, and he did the same. It had been millennia since the two of them had been alone—since before his marriage to Persephone, and the reminder stabbed at him. “I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”

      He shook his head and took her hands, squeezing them in greeting. “No, no. My day is done. I was about to retire.”

      “Oh.” СКАЧАТЬ