It took a few passes to recall why I’d even asked about humans smelling differently. I need proof that I lacked powers. Right.
How did the creatures back home always seem to know that I was human? If it wasn’t the way I smelled, did I somehow look different?
Back in Uttira, the only home I’d ever known, I dressed like they’d dressed when in their human forms. I was sure I hadn’t looked any different.
I froze as I realized it wasn’t in my appearance but in my behavior. The creatures in Uttira all sought to outdo one another with their abilities. They believed only the strongest prevailed, no matter the race. I’d thought that knowledge had been my strength and that following the rules had kept me alive. But I now saw that the first, most basic rule had made me a target—never to look them in the eyes.
That’s how it was so easy for them to spot me. I was always looking away so they couldn’t steal my will. Something I was certain no creature could do to a goddess.
But did I dare admit that very human flaw to Hades? Was I willing to sacrifice my freedom of choice just to prove who I was? And would it even prove anything, or would Hades claim I was faking it?
I frowned, realizing he wouldn’t simply say that. He would push me to do things he knew I didn’t want to do in an attempt to force me to admit that I was faking. My gaze slid to the bed and the things he could make me do there.
Heat reignited in my face, and I struggled to breathe through the tightening in my chest.
There had to be another option. I just needed some more time to think.
Taking a calming breath, I turned away from the bed and came up short at the sight of Hades standing right there.
“You’re troubled. Tell me what you need, Goddess.”
I almost snorted. Swallowing it, I decided to try for some honesty, something he didn’t seem to expect from Persephone.
“I need a way to prove to you that I’m human.”
“You needn’t prove anything to me. I will take you as you are and accept whatever you are willing to give. You know this.”
“You will accept everything from Persephone, your goddess. I’m not her.”
His burst of frustration emerged as a fierce snarl and a hand roughly shoved through his hair.
“Why can I never be enough?” he demanded.
I exhaled slowly, trying my best not to feel sorry for him. It was so hard, though. I doubted Hades had received many hugs in his very long existence, and it sure looked like he could use one. How many times had I wished for that simple contact? A sympathetic hug and someone to care, just for five minutes.
A lifetime of loneliness got the better of me, and I caught the hand not in his hair. He stilled, staring down as my fingers stroked over his knuckles.
“I’m not telling you who I am to torment you.”
He turned his hand in mine, touching my fingers reverently.
“You want to prove that you’re not the same goddess you were? Then be different. Give me your touch freely.” The low rumble of his words sent a shiver through me, and I gently tugged my fingers free.
“Maybe I would if I believed for a moment that my touch wouldn’t be seen as an invitation for more.”
His gaze narrowed at me.
“Speak plainly.”
“I thought I was.” When his expression darkened, I quickly added, “I’m not opposed to touching you. I’m opposed to the way you try turning each touch into a push to have sex with you. Why can’t a touch just be a touch?”
Some of the anger left him, and he offered his hand.
“My apologies. Touch my hand freely, and I will know it is nothing more than a simple touch.”
Where I’d expected a tone filled with resentment, there was eagerness, and I wasn’t sure why. So I hesitated to take his hand.
He started to frown.
