My gamble was that my enemies wouldn’t kill me outright. I’d seen the net in their grasp—not blades but a capture device. They wanted me alive, at least for now.
I’d revealed my blood magic when I defended Nero. I’d watched the shock on Stardust’s face, the disbelief in Kingsley’s eyes.
Because I’d showcased Persephone’s legacy, my enemies would want to study me, to question, to leverage, before they murdered me. This time, awakening, I’d learned to think like a strategist, a skill my former selves never lived long enough to master. So I would let them take me and arrive as an offered prize, a captive on a platter.
And I would bring doom to their door.
The risk was great. My body was still mortal, fragile, even with a goddess stirring inside it. But this was the only way to unspool the deep, dirty truth and to pull it, thread by bloody thread, into the light.
The week I stayed with Nero, I ran every scenario. Lying beside him at night, watching him sleep, I turned each angle over in the dark. I couldn’t consult him, and as much as I trusted him, I believed he was blind to something crucial.
Everyone knew about his feud with Zeus. The King of Gods always wanted to clip Hades’s wings in order to keep the God of Death from growing more powerful. Targeting me was the easiest way to wound him, but there was something else.
I felt it in my blood. I needed to find the missing piece to truly break this curse imposed on Hades and me.
So here I was, letting enemy hands take me. Allowing them to drag me from the net like a mermaid caught in a fisherman’s trap.
No one knew I had fully awakened. Not even my mate. And that would be my lethal weapon: a surprise no one saw coming.
It didn’t mean I wasn’t afraid. My heart hammered against my ribs as rough hands grabbed me, as the net drew tight. Fear was rational. Fear kept you sharp.
But my wrath was so much deeper.
So I let them underestimate me. Let them see weakness, fright, and helplessness in me. Let them believe I was just another failed reincarnation, waiting to die.
They’d always underestimated Persephone. Saw her as a victim, a prize, a pawn.
But I knew her now. She was me. And I remembered the truth they had forgotten.
Persephone, the once naïve maiden Goddess of Spring, had always been a masterful actress.
And the final act was mine.
Chapter
Fourteen
Bloom
Into the Spinners' Lair
They cuffed me first, the cold metal infused with spells so potent they seemed to leach the strength from my bones. I felt the dark magic crawling over my skin, binding my power. Then they pulled the enchanted hood over my head to prevent me from seeing anything.
A small army of minor gods surrounded me, their footfalls heavy on the forest floor. I stumbled over roots and debris, but hands on either side yanked me upright before shoving me forward again.
“Move faster,” one called. “We’re not dragging this out.”
I didn’t bother to ask where we were going. But I marked the changes—the fade of familiar forest sounds, the shift from softearth to unyielding pavement. I was forced into a vehicle, driven for what felt like an hour, then hauled back out into cool, still air.
Then, voices. A new group had been waiting. A transition, efficient and cold. I was being handed over like sealed cargo.
These new captors were different. No mockery, no curiosity. They asked no questions but simply took hold and began to move.
It was a portal. A leyline jump.
Hands pulled me forward without warning, and the ground vanished beneath my feet.
I was spinning, tumbling through a vortex of distorted space, the hood tightening until each breath was a struggle. My stomach lurched; I nearly lost the breakfast I’d eaten hours before.
