Unsure if he was calling me a liar or thanking me for the compliment, I kept quiet and continued eating. When I got to the bottom of the bowl, I still didn’t have any idea what to say or not say. So I reluctantly set the trident aside and sat there.
Hades surprised me by nudging the plate with the bread toward me. More than happy to embrace a few more seconds, I broke off chunks and wiped the gravy from the bowl. While I chewed, I glanced at him.
His steady dark gaze worried me as much as his silence. Insane Hades yelled about love and touching and talked about blood and pleasure. I had no idea what a sane Hades would do and wasn’t sure which version was better suited for the conversation we needed to have.
“You begged to hear me speak,” I said when I swallowed. “Will you listen?”
“Speak, and I will listen,” he said.
“Okay.” I took a deep breath and brushed the bread crumbs from my hands. “Um, I’m not sure what to say that won’t upset you.”
He stood abruptly. “What game is this? I do not care for it. Choose another.”
I clenched my hands on my lap and watched him move from one side of the balcony to the other.
“At the risk of making things worse, see what I mean? You’re upset.”
He stopped at the table to glare at me.
“Yes, Goddess, I am upset. Rightfully so. You play with me rather than take payment. Give me what I most desire.”
“I can’t.”
His fisted hands came down on the surface with a crash at the same time he vented his frustration in a rage filled roar that made the building tremble. It felt like I was two seconds from having a heart attack, and my fingernails bit into my hands to the point of pain.
“You can,” he seethed when he quieted. “But you refuse.”
“I refuse because…” Ah, fuck it. Just pull it off like a band-aid.
“I refuse because I’m not who you think I am. I’m not Persephone.”
All anger and frustration evaporated from him. He slowly straightened, staring at me. Then, he threw his head back and laughed. His hair fell in a loose halo of waves that brushed his shoulders. My middle clenched at the sight of his joy. If this would have been how I’d first seen him, I would have already given him what he’d wanted. Instead, I found the action only slightly less terrifying than the yelling since it meant that he didn’t believe me.
“It’s true. No matter how much I might look like her, I’m not Persephone. You don’t want me.”
That stopped his laughter, and I swallowed past the sudden tightness in my throat when his gaze met mine. Slowly, he leaned in over the table, one hand braced on the wood and the other holding my chin to run a thumb over my bottom lip.
“I mistook another for you once, but we both know you can no longer cut off your face without consequence for that jest.”
Horror clawed through me.
“Cut off my face?” I wheezed.
“Never again,” he said with dark warning. “Or the contract will be broken.”
I'd lived too long in Uttira to misunderstand what he meant. If a creature couldn't control someone's will, they negotiated for what they wanted. Most deals were verbal agreements. Some were actual contracts bound in blood. And he’d made a contract with Persephone about cutting off her face? I was in the presence of a sadistic lunatic.
“This face is my own,” I managed in a weak whisper. “It only looks like hers.”
His thumb swiped over my lips a few more times, and I struggled to remember what we were saying. He reminded me.
“Be done, goddess. Give me what I want.”
I stumbled out of the chair, breaking his hold on me.
“I can’t. I’m not her.”
He silently snarled and stalked around the table.
