Mother, May I

It’s been two months. Two months since we left Valhalla. Two months since we ran away with our tails between our legs. Two months since I found my mate. Two months since this shit should’ve been done.

And what do I have to show for it? A semi-comatose mate who basically had to restart her entire goddess-making process when we moved from Valhalla to the Underworld. A rowdy, often undisciplined army that’s been on ice for two months. Traitors and defectors on all sides. And the worst case of blue balls I’ve had in my entire existence.

To say I’m a bit on edge is the biggest understatement of the millennium.

The worst part? Valhalla ran on a faster timeline than Earth. But the Underworld? Runs on Earth’s schedule.

So yeah—two months to get Nyx back to where she was when we left. What would’ve taken two weeks in Valhalla took two fucking months down here.

It doesn’t help that I’ve imprinted on her so much that I can’t screw anyone else without causing us both extreme pain. I could handle it—pain often adds to the pleasure. But her transition to goddesshood? Can’t. And I can’t fuck her until we perform the ritual. Needless to say, she’s been giving a lot of semi-alert head.

And while there’s something alluring about taking what you want whether your partner is fully awake or not... a bit of movement would be really helpful.

Meanwhile, I’m dealing with gods, warriors, and demons who literally are chaos incarnate. That’s what they were made for. Doesn’t fucking help when I need them to follow instructions. Hades is running ragged trying to keep them from turning his realm into a circus.

And how do I get my generals—who just want to destroy everything—to stay on task?

Adro, some evil African deity, wants to bring back child sacrifice. Apophis, Egyptian god of destruction and disorder, wants to start setting off earthquakes like it’s a fun hobby. Nergal, Mesopotamian god of chaos, has this plan where he pulls a number out of a hat, throws a dart at a map, and kills that number of people in that place. And honestly, the way he explains it? Pure chaos. I get it now.

They all want to do what they’re gods of. Sure, that tracks. But come on. They’ve been around since the birth of civilization. Have you learned absolutely nothing? Because this shit is killing me.

After barbequing one, two, or maybe ten minor deities and banishing their spirits to Tartarus, I realized I can only keep a few gods in my council. The rest? I delegate to underlings as generals. They’re better at taking instructions, and some of them actually have useful opinions. I just send the gods off on random "critical" tasks to keep them out of my hair.

You’d think being the most evil, most powerful being on the fucking planet would mean people stop trying to double-cross me.

Hermes didn’t get that memo—I had to threaten his mates.

Loki didn’t get it either—so I sacrificed his son Fenrir to the mutts, broom riders, and flying bitches.

Those two are confirmed traitors. But we’ve had defectors too. Gods like Anansi, Kokopelli, and Sun Wukong? Gone. Just disappeared. Probably somewhere in the Underworld. But with the amount of shit Hades is juggling, we can’t track them. And Persephone? As fucking hot as she is, I don’t trust her. I’d fuck her if I could, but that’s as far as my trust goes.

Speaking of fucking—I need some head. Preferably more engaged than what I’ve been getting.

Hermes meets me in Nyx’s and my room—formerly Hades and Persephone’s. I can’t stay away from her too long. I have to sleep beside her. It’s... disconcerting.

It’s not the intense need wolves feel. I’ve felt that before. I’ve been here since the beginning, experienced everything this world has to offer.

I hated that wolf-matebond intensity. It’s messy, all-consuming. It gets in the way. Every damn decision revolves around making sure that person is there with you.

I mated with some random she-wolf once. Nothing special—beautiful, subservient, easy to control. Decent in bed. Better after some lessons. Corruptible, which I appreciated. She grew to love the finer—and filthier—temptations.

But the need? Too much. I killed her after a few decades. Honestly, I’ve never felt better.

Nyx, though? This is different. It’s not overwhelming. It’s like an itch in the back of my mind. I see something, smell something, hear a song—and I think of her. I want to spend time with her. Eat what she loves. Read what she reads.

I don’t need her. I just... want her.

Which might be worse.

Because I miss her.

I shove that thought aside as I head to our bedroom. Hermes is waiting outside.

“My lord,” he says, bowing.

“Is everything ready?” I ask, brushing past him.

“Yes, my lord.” He waves his hands as we enter. A cauldron appears, medicinal steam wafting from it beside her pillow. Stethoscopes. Syringes. Enchanted magnifying glasses.

“Please lie beside our lady,” Hermes says.

I climb into bed beside Nyx, stroking her cheek, kissing her forehead. I’d be embarrassed—if I didn’t see the jealousy on Hermes’ face.

He hasn’t seen his mates since arriving. I’ve kept him on lockdown.

He’s a cagey bastard. I can’t let him scheme. Keeping him away from his mates? Keeps him off-balance. Desperate.

But his skill in medicine is the only shot we’ve got to wake Nyx.

I cradle her against me. “Now what?”

“Pull her so her head rests on your chest. You both need to be naked—skin to skin. I’ll cover you with a blanket and funnel the steam around you,” Hermes explains.

We arrange ourselves quickly. He pulls a massive funnel over the cauldron, directing the steam toward us, then draws the curtains closed.

“You need to let the steam build. Once it forms a thick cloud, I’ll cast the spell. She’ll wake,” Hermes says.

I narrow my eyes. “You know what’ll happen if this isn’t legit.”

“Yes, my lord. I would never hurt you or your mate.” He doesn’t say the rest—not until I get my mates back. But I know. It’s the only reason he hasn’t run back to Earth.

It takes thirty minutes. I get a little drowsy, honestly. But I like the feel of her in my arms. Her scent. The weight of her. The rhythm of her breathing. It’s... comforting.

“My lord?” Hermes says quietly. “I’m starting the spell.”

Excitement sharpens me awake.

Ancient Greek flows from Hermes’ lips, wrapping around us like silk.

And then—it’s like the world shifts.

One second her eyes are closed.

The next, those beautiful brown eyes are staring into mine.

“Hello, my love,” I whisper.