“Hmm,” she said, the skull mask glinting. “Haven’t I?”
“At least thank me for coming to your rescue again, Bloom.”
“I don’t need your rescue, Sebastian.” He felt a thread of relief at her using his alter ego’s name. It meant she understood the game they were both playing.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “Your shoulders were tense when Zeus approached. I’d hate for you to face consequences for mauling his face in public. He does have a temper, if you recall.”
“He’s safe from me,” she snorted. “I don’t like to make a scene.”
“Don’t you now?” Apollo purred.
They moved with the flow of the music. Other couples swirled around them, but Apollo paid them no attention. This felt right. This was how it should have been—him with Persephone.
But the Fates had screwed him over. And in return, he’d helped her escape them.
Just then, the tower of The Paramount swayed. A faint tremor at first, then a more pronounced shudder.
A pair of winged seraph sentinels burst into the hall, their ivory wings beating furiously. They landed before Zeus, bowing in haste.
“Hades is coming!” Their voices carried across the dancefloor. “He leads a vast army of demons, creatures, and the dead. They poured from the leyline! The guards there are dead. He has reached the outer gate at the golden bridge!”
Panic rippled through the crowd. The hall erupted as gods and goddesses shoved toward the rooftop terrace, desperate to see.
Apollo pushed through the chaos, pulling Persephone with him. She deserved the best view from the front row to watch her mate lay siege to the city of the gods.
Clouds drifted past the tower, so high it brushed the edge of the atmosphere. Below, the city lay in marvelous, sprawling detail: lush gardens, gleaming buildings and houses, pristine streets.
But the perfection was shattered by a seething black mass at the other end of the long golden bridge. Above them, outside the gate, flew Hades’s banner, a skull wreathed in hellfire, flanked by pomegranates, the standard of the Underworld snapping in the wind.
Hades had come for his queen. Just as Apollo had wagered he would.
The sun god let out a low chuckle.
The Underworld army crashed against the city’s gate and walls. Hades hovered amid his archdemons, their forms massive and terrible, their combined magic hammering against the city’s wards in eruptions of hellfire and shadow.
From the ramparts, the godly soldiers hurled fireballs and loosed flaming arrows. Zeus, Poseidon, and Ares had expected retribution. They had prepared. After all, they were the ones who had taken Persephone with them from the arena—a prize reclaimed.
Ares, God of War, was thrumming with anticipation. His armor shone brilliantly beneath the sun. He’d left the celebration early to lead the defense, eager for the clash.
Apollo watched the skirmish unfold along with Persephone. Around them, gods and goddesses voiced their outrage.
“He’s come to ruin everything. Again!”
“Does he ever quit?”
“No.” Apollo chuckled. “He doesn’t.”
“That isn’t funny,” someone snapped.
“Agree to disagree,” Apollo said.
“What if he and his savages breach the walls?”
“He never has before! He’s tried for an eon.”
“What a loser!”
“He never had proper motivation before,” Apollo offered, another low laugh in his voice. “Not like now. When he gets inside, you all had better run.”
