“How?” Zaid demands. “There’s no boat.”
“Then we fucking swim!”
“And have the souls of the dead pull her deep into the River’s depth?” Zaid asks scathingly, frustration evident in his taut posture. He rakes a hand through his hair. “Fuck.” He pauses like an idea has occurred to him and then turns towards Rafe, who’s scanning our surroundings with a clinical detachment. “Rafe, can you portal us out of here?”
Rafe’s lips thin as he answers simply, “No.”
As the guys continue to discuss their options, I turn my attention back to Everett and his father, still engaged in a fierce battle.
Blood stains Everett’s side, but I don’t know if it’s from him or Cerberus. That disgusting red liquid speckles them both, and the latter appears to be missing an eye from its left head.
My heart aches at the sight of my shifter, at the way he’s fighting—fighting his own father. His father, who should’ve beenprotecting and supporting him instead of constantly putting him down. Who should’ve offered to help his son instead of trying to take me away.
I don’t know what hurts more—the fact that I’m powerless to stop them, or the terrifying realization that this is all because of me. Maybe not entirely, but I’m certainly the catalyst.
The fight continues, blood mixing with dirt and dust as their two forms collide. All I can do is stand here, desperation arcing through my veins and fear coiling in my belly like a nest of venomous snakes.
Shadows converge in front of me, and Zaid immediately tugs me behind him, protecting me with his body. Rafe and Krystian move on either side of me.
At first, I think that this is a wraith like Zaid or even a spirit. But as the darkness solidifies, and I sense the ancient power crackling through the air, I realize that this isn’t just a normal supernatural.
It’s a god.
Hades.
An olive complexion, made all the more striking against his rich, ebony hair. Cold, unnerving gray eyes. A dark scowl. An aura of danger.
Before any of us can even blink, Hades’s hand thrusts out and wraps around my throat. His hold isn’t tight—I can still breathe—but it’s enough to make my guys stop moving. Hell, I’m not even sure they’re breathing.
“Stop fighting, young Everett, or I’ll snap the reaper’s neck.” Hades’s voice is a dark, insidious promise.
I can’t see much with Hades in front of me, consuming my vision, but the sound of growls and cries ceases. When Hades finally removes his hand from my throat and steps aside, I see Everett on his belly with Cerberus looming over him, though Iknow my proud shifter was winning only a few minutes earlier. Yet he doesn’t hesitate now to bare his throat, to surrender.
For me.
“I’m sorry,” I mouth as all three of Everett’s heads turn to stare at me intently, searching me for injuries.
Hades once again reclaims my vision, his head tilted to the side in contemplation. I feel like a butterfly pinned between two glass slides and positioned beneath a microscope. His gaze is assessing, curious, confused.
He snaps his fingers in the air, and creatures of all shapes and sizes materialize seemingly out of thin air. I spot a minotaur—seriously, another one?—with a furry head and strong legs, carrying an ax the size of my body. Beside him stands a creature that appears to be a cross between a lion and an eagle. Another creature is nothing but a skeleton bedecked in heavy armor.
“Guards,” Hades says, his gaze never leaving mine. “Take our…gueststo the throne room. I need to have a word with them.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
THEA
Hades’s palace looms like a monument to the Underworld itself—massive, unyielding, and carved from the very bones of the earth. The walls are a tapestry of black stone, polished to a smooth sheen, and etched with intricate, swirling patterns—images of death, decay, and forgotten souls. They’re so detailed they seem to pulse with life.
As we maneuver through the bustling halls, I can’t help but note the lack of warmth. Only a pervasive chill that sinks deep into my bones, as though the very air is touched by the cold embrace of the dead.
The floor beneath me is smooth, like glass, but with veins of gold running through it, twisting like rivers of frozen ichor. It reflects the dim, flickering light that emanates from the torches lining the hallway and the sconces embedded in the walls.
The ceiling above is an endless, starless black—an abyss that feels too vast for anyone to ever truly comprehend. It’s dotted with faint, shifting points of light, but the lights seem very far away. Distant. Unreachable.
Like the souls trapped in the Underworld itself.
At times, I think I see something move in the shadows, but I dare not look too closely.
