I knew I wore the same expression.
But no one stopped Hades. No one dared.
The visual of blood spraying from Trevor’s mouth and nose was as beautiful as it was brutal.
And then Hades grabbed Trevor’s other hand, and no amount of struggling compared to the power and strength that Hades wielded.
Hades did the same with the other one, smashing it against the wall and causing a few pictures to get knocked down. They crashed to the ground, glass breaking.
He moved back and Trevor sank to the ground, sobbing incoherently as he cradled his hands to his chest, blood pouring from his nose and down his chin.
The knuckles were cut and bleeding, and it was very clear a few of his fingers were broken, given the unnatural angle of them.
“Piece of shit,” Hades growled. “Just like your fucking father.”
I was standing there panting, eyes wide, mouth slack-jawed when he turned around. Hades smoothed his hands down the front of his suit, the blood on his knuckles a stark contrast, but looking like it belonged with all those tattoos.
He was so… ominous at that moment. I slowly slid my gaze up to his neck, seeing red splatters of Trevor’s blood on the collar of his shirt and marking the column of his tanned throat.
He’d just broken someone’s hands and, most likely, Trevor’s nose, yet he stood there wearing an expression like it was just another day at the office.
Hades appeared like he hadn’t just become a savage. He stepped up close, and I was frozen in place. He dipped his gaze to my wrists, and I followed his line of vision.
The skin was red and angry, and I knew they’d show finger-sized bruises come morning.
Hades bared his teeth before breathing out slowly, as if trying to control himself.
“Come on, Bunny. Let me take you home before I kill the motherfucker.”
He wrapped his arm around my waist, pulled me snugly against his side, and together, we left the party with everyone staring at us with enormous eyes, slack jaws, and inaudible whispers following us.
Chapter15
Persephone
Iwas staring at the fire, and to be honest, I didn’t really remember driving from the party back to Hades’ house.
When we’d gotten back to the house, Hades had taken me into a bathroom—his —which was attached to a bedroom. He ran me a hot shower.
I hadn’t realized how much I’d needed that until he left me alone and I stood under the spray. I’d turned it as hot as I could stand it, washing away the sweat and booze and the grossly weird thickness that covered me.
I’d put on a pair of soft leggings and an oversized sweater, and here I was, sitting on the leather loveseat in the library as the sound of the flames crackling over the wood filled my head and drowned out everything else.
It filled the void.
I could feel Hades staring at me, but I didn’t look at him.
The blanket he’d wrapped around me was soft. Cashmere. I ran the pads of my fingers on the edge where a strip of silk was stitched.
“When I was younger, I was terrified of thunderstorms.” I ran my fingers over that silk. “My father had been gone for two weeks on business. The night he came back, there was an awful storm.” I stared into those flames, remembering that night vividly. I didn’t know why. It wasn’t any different from any other time.
“I was huddled under my blanket. It was late, but I couldn’t sleep because the thunder was so loud. My father came in and showed me the wool blanket he’d brought back from Ireland.”
I remembered how blue it was. Cobalt, he called it.
“It was so scratchy, but it had this satin trim all the way around that was so soft. He bundled me up and told me when I was scared and restless to run my fingers over the edge, that it would calm me.”
And I did that right now, my fingertips skating over the silk. But this blanket wasn’t heavy or scratchy. It wasn’t thick like the one from my childhood.