Persephone sighed, took his glass of brandy, and downed it.
Another man might think her sigh was of longing. That perhaps she wanted a child herself. But Hades knew his wife didn't have such inclinations. Persephone was an eternal girl. The Divine Maiden, even after he took her maidenhood. His sweet, innocent, but also cunning wife. She didn't long for a child, and he had no need for more children. His hounds were his sons, and they were all any father could want. No, that sigh was one of capitulation. Persephone may not want children of her own, but she loved them. His actions were now above reproach in her eyes.
Hades grinned as she stood up to refill the glass. His wife was even lovelier when she shot back liquor, snorted, or even—very rarely—used naughty words. The crassness just enhanced her delicate beauty.
“I will be careful,” Hades promised. “But I won't stop helping my hounds. They need me.”
Persephone lifted a brow at him as she returned.
“They do!”
She handed him the glass and sat down. “Just be careful.”
“I already said I would.” He lifted his glass to her in salute, then took a gulp.
“I didn't know the hounds could have children.”
Hades chuckled. “Neither did I. I think Earth has altered them, made them fertile. The Cerberuses here have never procreated.”
“This changes everything. Every Cerberus mate is now a potential mother.”
Hades pondered that. “I wonder what the child will be like.”
“The other Olympians will wonder the same. They may have something to say about this.”
“I had nothing to do with it. I am the God of Death, not Life. They cannot blame me for what destiny has given them.”
Persephone shook her head at her husband. “You're just lucky that the Fates are on your side.”
“Indeed,” Hades muttered.
A Special Look
Keep reading for a special look into the next book of the Hounds of Hades Series:
Hair of the Dogs
Chapter One
“I don't want anyone else,” the woman whined to her friends for the hundredth time that night.
“Girl, you need to get over him. It's been six months,” one of those friends said. “Come on now. We brought you here so you can see there's so much more than that asshole. Take a look around. Isn't there anyone you find attractive?”
“No one will be as good as Craig.”
I rolled my eyes. As the owner/bartender of Hair of the Dog, I'd heard it all. That particular line had been said about a thousand times before, maybe more. Just remove “Craig” and insert the name of your choice. I blame it on hormones. Hormones do a number on us all, but especially us ladies. We can get fixated.
One of the friends of the fixated woman was a regular. She came up to the bar. “Hey, Amelia.”
“Hey, Julie,” I said. “Another round?”
“Yeah, um. Do you have any of the stuff you gave me that one time? You know, when I was getting over Jack.” She slid a hundred-dollar bill my way.
I grinned and pocketed the money. Sometimes, I added my potions to customer's drinks for free, when I saw someone in desperate need of help or if I wanted to reel a new customer in. Yes, like a drug dealer. With the sort of extra service I offered, discretion was best, and clients needed to be vetted, usually by some intense observation on my part. I'd been in Spokane longenough that word had spread and I rarely reeled in newbies. Only when I was inspired. I always listened to my instincts.
“Sure thing.” I winked at her and pulled a special bottle out of my private stash—the one I kept locked up so my employees couldn't get into it. I made her another round of mojitos and added a splash of Get Over It—a potion I created to help the heartbroken. “Here you go.” I added a sprig of mint to the special one. “The mint's in hers.”
“Got it!” Julie beamed. “Thank you, Amélie. You're an angel.”
