The Goddess Legacy: The Goddess Queen\The Lovestruck Goddess\Goddess of the Underworld\God of Thieves\God of Darkness (Harlequin Teen) (37 page)

Henry stared at Ingrid blankly. “Persephone liked pomegranates,
certainly, but I’m afraid the story you’ve heard isn’t what really
happened.”

“Well, of course it isn’t,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You
didn’t kidnap me, after all.”

He nearly choked.
“Kidnap?”

“You really don’t know, do you?” Ingrid took his hands and sat
him down on the nearest bench, and in the warm breeze, she told him everything
she knew about the Persephone myth. And the more she spoke, the more Henry
realized it really was nothing more than a myth that held next to no truth. Was
that really what the world thought of him? What Ingrid thought of him?

Once she’d finished, he told her the real story, every last
painful moment of it. From agreeing to the arranged marriage to their disastrous
wedding night to Persephone’s affairs. Especially with James.

And rather than ask question after question as she usually did,
Ingrid remained quiet. He’d never told anyone before, not like this, not as if
it was ancient history. A small piece of his burden lifted away with each word
he spoke, and once he was finished, he felt strangely empty. Not healed, but as
if there was room for more now.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “It’s terrible, what you had to
go through.”

“I’m afraid I brought it on myself,” he said with a small, sad
smile, and Ingrid furiously shook her head.

“You’re crazy. Of course that isn’t your fault. You were as
much a victim as she was, and you didn’t—you didn’t do anything
wrong
. She’s the one who broke your heart.”

“I am the one who forced her into marriage to begin with.”

“No, her mother forced her into marriage. You did everything
you could to make an awful situation livable for both of you.” She shifted
closer to him on the bench, her hand sliding up his arm to settle on his
shoulder. “I get why you don’t love me the way I want you to, and I won’t ever
pressure you, I promise. But do yourself a favor and at least try to move on,
would you? Even if we’re only ever friends, we could be happy. Really, really
happy.”

“I would like nothing more,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to
her cheek. “Persephone is my past, one I cannot ever forget. But you, Ingrid,
are my future. And for the first time in an eon, I do not dread it.”

Ingrid leaned toward him, brushing her lips against the corner
of his mouth. It was such an intimate gesture that Henry nearly moved back, but
he couldn’t. Not when it could mean losing Ingrid. “You better not,” she
murmured with a playful smile. “We’re going to be happy together—you know that,
right?”

“I do.” Or at least he hoped so.

“Good.” Another grin, and her blue eyes sparkled. “Now, I’m
serious about those seeds. There has to be a ceremony to make this all official.
That’s the only way you can do it, you know.”

“Is that so?” he said, amused, and he clasped her hand in his.
“Very well. For you, I will do it.”

She squealed and threw her arms around his neck. “Can I wear a
dress? A really pretty one?”

“The most beautiful dress you can think of,” he promised,
kissing her knuckles. “You can have whatever you want.”

Her grin relaxed into a warm smile, and she cupped his cheek.
“Hasn’t anyone told you? I already do.”

Her words were a greater salve than any medication in the
world, and he gathered her up, holding her in the sunshine. They would be happy
together. Perhaps not as happy as he’d once wanted to be with Persephone, but
Ingrid was all the things Persephone never was. And Henry knew exactly how lucky
he was to have found her.

The weeks passed until finally it was the night of the
ceremony. Ingrid had planned every detail, from her dress to the food to where
the council would sit. They had obliged her at Henry’s request, though he
suspected they would have anyway, considering how pleased they seemed to be at
the prospect that he wouldn’t fade. Regardless, everything was falling into
place. Only three more tests, and she would finally be one of them.

As the council arrived and settled in the throne room, Henry
headed toward Ingrid’s suite. He was on edge, his nerves frayed and his stomach
doing flip-flops, but he did his best to appear as calm and composed as he
normally did. Even if Ingrid did not make the best of impressions on the
council, it didn’t matter what they thought of her. What mattered was that she
pass the tests, and so far she was doing marvelously. Everything would be all
right.

Knocking on her door, he waited, expecting she was putting the
finishing touches on her hair. She wouldn’t be late, after all, not to her own
party. But as the seconds ticked by with no answer, he knocked again.

Silence.

“Ingrid?” he called. Had he perhaps missed her on the way to
the throne room? No, there was only one direct path, and she had no reason to
take another. “Ingrid, I am coming in.”

Opening the door, he didn’t know what he expected. Ingrid
curled up in bed, perhaps, struck down by anxiety. Or her with pins in her
mouth, putting the finishing touches on her hair.

What he did not expect was to see her crumpled on the floor,
lost in the layers of her yellow dress. And bleeding from the head.

He was by her side in an instant, his body numb as he searched
her for signs of life. But as soon as he’d spotted her, he’d known: she was
gone. His best friend was dead.

A scream unlike any other ripped through the halls of Eden
Manor, and it took Henry several moments before he realized it was him. He
cradled her body, trying to will life back into it, but the bubbly girl he’d
loved was lost.

“Brother?” Diana’s voice whispered toward him, and the air
beside him shifted as she appeared. “Oh.
Oh
. Is
she…?”

He nodded, his eyes filled with tears and his throat closed. He
clutched her fragile body to his chest, his fingers tangling in her blood-soaked
hair. This wasn’t an accident. She was in the middle of the suite, far from
anything that could’ve caused so much as a knock on the head, let alone a fatal
injury. And her skull was all but crushed.

“Who did this?” Walter’s voice rumbled behind Henry, but he
didn’t turn toward him. He couldn’t move.

“I don’t know. Perhaps she fell,” said Diana tightly, but even
as she said it, Henry heard the doubt in her voice. Not even she believed
it.

As she set her hand on his shoulder, he shrugged it off. This
was his fault—if he hadn’t let Diana convince him to do this, if he had just
stepped down and faded as he’d wanted, Ingrid would still be alive. She would
grow old, she would have children and she would have a full and satisfying life.
But because she’d had the misfortune of knowing him, she was nothing more than a
lifeless body now.

Calliope knelt beside him, her eyes huge as she clasped her
hands between her knees. “Henry?” she whispered, but he couldn’t bear the pity
in her voice. They were all there now, the entire council watching him, some
horrified and others grimly neutral.

“Leave,” he said thickly. “I will have no more of this.”

He expected a fight, but miraculously they all backed away,
disappearing one by one. And once only he and Diana remained, he looked at her,
her face swimming through his tears.

“Please go,” he whispered, rocking Ingrid’s body back and
forth. Diana touched his cheek, her own eyes red.

“I’m so sorry, Henry. I’ll find another girl—”

“I don’t want another girl.” His voice cracked, and he turned
from her, burying his face in Ingrid’s hair. She grew colder by the second.

“Henry, you must—”

“I will not risk another life,” he said, and she took a deep
breath, releasing it slowly.

“Very well. Then I will have another daughter.”

“No.”

“I’ve been thinking about it anyway, and if you don’t want to
risk another girl’s life—”

“I said no.”

She sniffed. “Those are your choices, Henry. You may either
allow me to select another girl, and we will do our utmost to protect her now
that we know there is a threat, or I will have another child. It is up to
you.”

He shook his head as tears streamed down his cheeks. She didn’t
understand. How could she, when her goal was to keep him in this hell of an
existence? “I wish to fade.”

“I’m sorry, brother, but you gave us a hundred years,” she said
in a gentler voice, placing her hand over his. “We all love you too much to give
up.”

He closed his eyes, struggling against the flood of anger and
guilt and sadness inside him. “You will not have a child because of me. Any
daughter you bring into this world will live the life she wants, and you will
not force her to be with me. You owe Persephone that much.”

Diana swallowed, growing still for a fraction of a second. “And
you will allow me to choose another girl not only so we can find you a
companion, but so we can flush out the killer and bring them to justice. You owe
Ingrid that much.”

The knife her words formed burrowed deep within him, becoming
as much a part of him as his very essence. And as she stood and walked away, her
bare feet silent against the thick carpet, he knew she was right. He owed Ingrid
everything—even if it meant losing himself in the process.

* * *

Eleven girls.

That was how many he lost. After Ingrid, it was Charlotte;
after her, Maria. And so on and so forth, as each name and face scarred another
part of him until there was nothing left inside him but guilt and misery.

Some girls made it only a few days. Others, weeks—and the worst
deaths were the ones who made it months, who came so close to the halfway point
that he nearly let himself hope. But no matter how well protected they were, no
matter what security measures he implemented, they always turned up dead. Some
were clearly murder; others were questionable, with no visible signs of struggle
or attack. Diana, Walter and other members of his family were certain they’d
cracked under the pressure of the tests, which had never been meant for mortals.
Henry wasn’t so sure.

After each girl, he tried to fade. And after each girl, another
member of the council convinced him to keep going. Murder after murder, body
after body, he selfishly allowed another girl to risk her life for him in hope
that perhaps this time, they would discover the killer. Perhaps this time, they
would win.

They never did.

“How did it happen this time?”

Henry tensed at the sound of her voice, and he tore his eyes
away from the lifeless body on the bed long enough to look at her. Diana stood
in the doorway, a beacon of calm in the middle of the storm that was his
existence, but even her presence didn’t help rein in his temper.

“Drowned,” said Henry thickly, turning back to the body on the
bed. “I found her floating in the river early this morning.”

He didn’t hear her move toward him, but he felt her hand on his
shoulder. “And we still don’t know…?”

“No.” His voice was sharper than he’d intended, and he forced
himself to soften it. “No witnesses, no footprints, no traces of anything to
indicate she didn’t jump in the river because she wanted to.”

“Maybe she did,” said Diana. “Maybe she panicked. Or maybe it
was an accident.”

“Or maybe somebody did this to her.” He broke away from her,
pacing the length of the room in an attempt to get as far away from the body as
possible. He hadn’t known Bethany nearly as long as he’d known Ingrid, but the
pain still slithered through his body, choking the life out of him. “Eleven
girls in eighty years. Don’t tell me this was an accident.”

She sighed and brushed her fingertips across the girl’s white
cheek. “We were so close with this one, weren’t we?”

“Bethany,” snapped Henry. “Her name was Bethany, and she was
twenty-three years old. Now because of me, she’ll never see twenty-four.”

“She never would have seen it anyway if she’d been the
one.”

Fury rose up inside of him and threatened to bubble over, but
when he looked at her and saw compassion in her eyes, his anger drained
away.

“She should have passed,” he said tightly. “She should have
lived
. I thought—”

“We all did.”

Henry sank into a chair, and she was by his side in an instant,
rubbing his back in a motherly gesture. He tangled his fingers in his hair, his
shoulders hunched with the familiar weight of grief. How much more of this was
he supposed to endure before they finally let him go?

“There’s still time.” The hope in her voice stabbed at him,
more painful than anything else that had happened that morning. “We still have
decades—”

“I’m done.”

His words rang through the room as she stood still next to him,
her breathing suddenly ragged and uneven. In the several seconds it took for her
to respond, he considered taking it back, promising he would try again as he’d
done so many times before, but he couldn’t find it in himself to do so. Too many
had already died, and she knew it. He’d stopped fighting after each death, his
thirst for justice growing stronger with each soul he had to usher through the
Underworld, but this time was different. This time he meant it.

“Henry, please,” she whispered. “There’s twenty years left. You
can’t be done.”

“It won’t make a difference.”

She knelt in front of him and pulled his hands from his face,
forcing him to look at her and see her fear. “You promised me a century, and you
will
give
me a century, do you understand?”

“I won’t let another one die because of me.”

“And I won’t let you fade, not like this. Not if I have
anything to say about it.”

He scowled. “And what will you do? Find another girl who’s
willing? Bring another candidate to the manor every year until one passes? Until
one makes it past
Christmas?
”

“If I have to.” She narrowed her eyes, determination radiating
from her. “There is another option.”