Home > A Touch of Malice (Hades & Persephone #3)

A Touch of Malice (Hades & Persephone #3)
Author: Scarlett St. Clair



“Changes of shape, new forms, are the theme which my spirit impels me now to recite. Inspire me, O gods, and spin me a thread from the world’s beginning down to my own lifetime…”






Rough hands parted her legs and skimmed up her thighs, lips followed—a light pressure gliding across her skin. Half-asleep, Persephone arched against the touch, restraints biting into her wrists and ankles. Confused, she tugged on them in an attempt to free her hands and feet but found the bindings would not give. There was something about this, the inability to move, to resist, to fight, that made her heart race and the blood pulse into her throat and head.

“So beautiful.” The words were a whisper against her skin and Persephone froze.

That voice.

She knew that voice.

She’d once considered its owner a friend and now he was an enemy.


His name slipped from between her teeth—laced with rage and fear and disgust. He was the demi-god who had stalked and kidnapped her from the Acropolis.

“Shh,” he whispered, his tongue, wet and cold, slithered against her skin.

A cry tore from her throat. She pressed her thighs together, twisting against the foreign touch ghosting across her skin.

“Tell me what he does that you like,” he whispered, sticky breath bathing her ear, hand skating closer to her center. “I can do better.”

Persephone’s eyes flew open as she sat up, inhaling sharply. Her chest ached and her breathing was ragged, as if she’d just run across the Underworld with a wraith on her heels. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, to realize she was in Hades’ bed, silk sheets clinging to her dampened skin, fire blazing orange in the hearth opposite them, and beside her was the God of the Dead himself, his energy, dark and electric, charging the air, making it heavy and tangible.

“Are you well?” Hades asked.

His voice was clear, quiet—a soothing tonic she wanted to consume. She looked at him. He rested on his side; his exposed skin burnished by the firelight. His eyes glittered black, dark hair spilling over the sheets like waves in a starless sea. Hours ago, she had clutched it between her fingers as she rode him long and slow and breathless.

She swallowed; her tongue felt swollen.

This was not the first time she’d had this nightmare, nor was it the first time she’d woken to find Hades watching.

“You haven’t slept,” she said.

“No,” He replied, and rose beside her, lifting his hand to brush her cheek. His touch sent a shiver down her spine, straight to her soul. “Tell me.”

When he spoke, it was as if his voice were magic, a spell that coaxed words from her mouth even when they seized in her throat.

“I dreamed of Pirithous again.”

Hades’ hand fell from her cheek and Persephone recognized the expression on his face, the violence in his endless eyes. She felt guilty, having unearthed a part of him that he worked so hard to control.

Pirithous haunted Hades just as much as he haunted her.

“He harms you, even in your sleep,” Hades frowned. “I failed you that day.”

“How could you have known he would take me?”

“I should have known.”

It wasn’t possible, of course, though Hades had argued that was why he had assigned Zofie as her protector, but the Aegis had been patrolling the exterior of the Acropolis during the abduction. She had also not noticed anything out of the ordinary because Pirithous’ exit had been through an underground tunnel.

Persephone shivered, thinking of how she’d thoughtlessly accepted the demi-god’s help to escape the Acropolis, all the while he’d been planning her abduction.

She would never trust blindly again.

“You are not all seeing, Hades,” Persephone attempted to soothe.

In the days following her rescue from Pirithous’ home, Hades had been in a dark mood, which had culminated in his attempt to punish Zofie by relieving her of her Aegis duties—a move Persephone had halted.

Still, even after Persephone had rejected Hades’ decree, the Amazon had argued with her.

This is my shame to carry.

The Aegis’s words had frustrated Persephone.

There is no shame. You were doing your job. You seem to think your role as my Aegis is up for discussion. It isn’t.

Zofie’s eyes had gone wide as she looked from her to Hades, uncertain, before she relented, bowing deep.

As you wish, my lady.

After, she’d turned to Hades. I expect to be informed before you attempt to dismiss anyone under my care.

Hades’ brows rose, his lips twitched, and he countered. I hired her.

I’m glad you brought that up, she’d said. The next time you decide I need staff, I also expect to be included in the decision making.

Of course, darling. How shall I apologize?

They’d spent the rest of the evening in bed, but even as he made love to her, she knew he struggled, just like she knew he struggled now.

“You are right,” Hades replied. “Perhaps I should punish Helios, then.”

She gave him a wry look. Hades had made comments before regarding the God of the Sun. It was clear neither of them cared for one another.

“Would that make you feel better?”

“No, but it would be fun,” Hades replied, his voice contradicting his words, sounding more ominous than excited.

Persephone was well aware of Hades proclivity toward violence and his earlier comment on punishment reminded her of the promise she had extracted from him after she’d been rescued—when you torture Pirithous, I get to join. She knew Hades had gone to Tartarus that night to torment the demi-god, knew that he had gone since—but she had never asked to accompany him.

But now she wondered if that was why Pirithous haunted her dreams. Perhaps seeing him in Tartarus—bloodied, broken, tortured—would end these nightmares.

She looked at Hades again and gave her order. “I wish to see him.”

Hades’ expression did not change, but she thought she could feel his emotions in that moment—anger, guilt, and apprehension—but not apprehension at allowing her to face her attacker, apprehension at having her in Tartarus at all. She knew that a part of him feared to show her this side of him, feared what she would think—and yet, he would not deny her.

“As you wish, darling.”


Persephone and Hades manifested in Tartarus, in a windowless, white room so bright, it hurt. As her eyes adjusted, they widened, welded to the spot where Pirithous was restrained in a chair at the center of the room. It had been weeks since she’d seen the demi-god. He appeared to be asleep, chin resting on his chest, eyes closed. She’d once thought he was handsome, but now those sharp cheekbones were hollow, his face wan and ashy.

And the smell.

It wasn’t decay, exactly, but it was acidic and sharp, and it burned her nose.

Her stomach roiled, souring at the sight of him.

“Is he dead?” She could not bring her voice above a whisper just in case—she was not ready to see his eyes. She knew she asked a strange question, given that they stood in Tartarus, in the Underworld, but Persephone was aware of Hades’ preferred methods of torture, knew that he would give life only to extinguish it through a series of harrowing punishments.

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