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brothers had it right the first time; with its jutting spires and wrought-iron parapets, arches covered with gargoyles and dragons.
    She breathed a sigh as she took in the sight before she started up the stairs. This wasn’t the first instance she’d wondered if she’d chosen the wrong brother. Hera smoothed her hands down her corset and realized they were clammy. This would never do. She was grabbing her fate by the balls and she’d be damned if she’d do it with sweaty palms.
    An unseen servant opened the door for her and quiet rustling of the dead guided her to a sitting area. It overlooked a molten and bubbling lake of red and gold lava. Dark curtains had been pulled aside to reveal a door out onto the balcony.
    Hera saw Hades’ boots before the rest of him. He was reclined on an overstuffed black velvet lounger; his booted feet propped on a stone gargoyle that looked none too pleased at the indignity of being a footrest. It growled when it saw her.
    Her eyes traveled up the length of him, dressed to the nines as a Victorian English gentleman. His riding pants were gray gorgon skin and they clung to him in a fashion that made her feel hot, even though the frigid underworld wind blasted over her exposed skin. His jacket was royal blue velvet and it made his shoulders appear impossibly broad. He held a bottle of Pomegranate Stolichnaya in his hands and he brought the bottle to the generous curve of his sensuous lips as the brisk wind blew his hair down into his eyes.
    He appraised her coldly, his irises burning with a light blue flame. Sweetest Elysium, how had Persephone been able to say no to him? Hera wanted to throw herself on her back right now; she felt like a turtle that’d been flipped by a semi and run over twice.
    “What do you want, most honored wife of my bastard brother?” he drawled.
    His voice slid down her spine like a caress and slipped between her thighs. If only the power of his voice could touch her in ways her husband hadn’t with his hands in centuries, what could the rest of him do? She shivered with anticipation.
    Hera decided she might be out of her depth. Why hadn’t she noticed this about him before? She’d been too wrapped up in her own sorrow to notice. Damn Zeus, damn him twice for making her eternity miserable.
    She reached out to take the vodka from his grasp and her fingers brushed his; the contact sent jolts of pleasure straight to her slit. Hera could imagine those hands doing all sorts of deliciously wicked things to her. How lame would it be if she answered that she only wanted him? Would he see it as a bold move, or would he mock her? Zeus didn’t want her anymore, so she wondered for a moment if maybe Hades wouldn’t either. Hera could hear Nyx in the back of her head telling her not to be stupid, he was a male. Of course he wanted her. She needed this liquid fortification as much as he thought he did.
    “Your efforts to save me are misguided, sweetness.”
    Hera paused; trying her damndest not to think about the way that simple endearment set her blood ablaze. “I’m not trying to save you, Hades. I know better.” Her eyes met his over the rim of the bottle and she took a drink, laving at the last drops on the lip of the container before handing it back to him.
    He laughed: a bitter sound. “Ah, come down to party with the sinners and the lost? Abandon hope all ye who enter here?” He mocked her and brought the bottle to his lips again. Hera couldn’t help but remember her own lips had been there but a moment before.
    “Something like that. Is there room for one more at your misery table? I’m tired of eating bitter ashes alone,” she confessed.
    Hades stood and handed the bottle back to her. “No, Hera. I won’t let you slum down here in the dark. There are those down here who would hurt you. After all, you damned many of them. Have a good cry and run back up to Olympus and my sanctimonious brother.”
    He still didn’t understand. “Who would hurt me,