Page 122 of Ungodly Rich

“He’s burned,” she said uselessly.

Ares knelt next to her, rocking back on his heels. He was staring at Hephaestus’s legs.

The left one looked all wrong. It stuck out an odd angle, like a toy that a child had flung into a corner and abandoned there.

Aphrodite had never felt so agonizingly useless. Everything felt wet, and cold, and numb.

For so long, she had cherished her magic, her love spells and shape-shifting, her ability to read into mortals’ desires. It all felt so cheap now, so pathetic. She would have traded every ounce of it in a heartbeat for Apollo’s ability to heal broken bones, or Ares’s strength, or Hermes’s speed. Anything to have prevented this horrific accident.

But shehadn’tprevented it. Hephaestus had tried, by being the only one brave enough to stand up to Zeus. And he hadn’t even used magic or strength. All he’d done was wield his body like a shield, throw it before his mother, whom he had always adored, preventing her injury—and thereby, insuring his own.

He would have done the same thing for Aphrodite, she knew. Even after the heartless way she’d treated him.

To think that Hephaestus, the gentlest soul among them, was the one struck by Zeus’s power. It should have been Ares, or Hera, or Aphrodite.Theydeserved to be punished. Not her kind, gentle husband.

“I’m so sorry,” Aphrodite kept saying over and over, clasping Hephaestus’s hand. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

She was apologizing for all of it: for taking Hephaestus for granted, for waiting so long to open up to him, when he had been there for her all along. Dimly, she was aware of the other gods coming to join her. Hera was shouting that someone needed to find Poseidon and get him to call off the storm; Zeus sent Hermes to fetch Asclepius, the god of medicine, because this sort of injury was beyond Apollo’s abilities. Athena and Ares stood together, staring down at their brother’s crumpled form, their faces drawn and pale.

Aphrodite wasn’t sure what condition Hephaestus would be in, if he even survived. To be hit by the full force of Zeus’s power…

She didn’t know how much time had passed before Asclepius arrived. He was the same as ever, an old man with a white beard and kindly eyes, but those eyes were very alarmed when he took in the sight before him. Someone—Ares, she thought—peeled Aphrodite away from Hephaestus so that Asclepius could kneel at his side. The rain had stopped at last; the sky overhead was a bright, incongruous blue.

Aphrodite scooted away, her Carolina Herrera gown wet and stained with sand. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, tears streaming down her face, mixing with the streaks that the rain had left there. All her emotions felt tangled together: anguish, guilt, regret. Fear. But in the midst of it all, one thing was abundantly clear.

Hephaestus loved her. He always had. She had just been too preoccupied to see it.

“I promise things will change,” she whispered, watching as Asclepius bent over Hephaestus’s broken body. Hera stood nearby, weeping desperately. Zeus’s expression was a flat mask. Whatever anger or regret he felt, he kept hidden.

“I promise,” Aphrodite repeated. She willed her husband to hear her, reaching her mind toward his, though she knew he was far beyond her petty desire magic. “Please, Hephaestus, stay alive. For our son’s sake, if not for me. I promise you, everything will change, now that I know I love you. Please. You just have to stay alive.”

Chapter Forty-Nine

Hades

It had been ages since Hades visited the Ellenes’ apartment in New York.

When the elevator doors opened into the penthouse, he took a curious step forward, holding a lavish arrangement of flowers. It might have been a while, but he knew better than to show up at Hera’s home empty-handed. Especially when Hephaestus was still in critical condition, weeks after the accident on Ismene Island.

Hades had seen it all unfold, of course. He had strolled into the candlelit ballroom at Ismene along with everyone else, dressed in his tuxedo, a blood-red poppy tucked into his pocket. The other gods had cast him a few curious glances, then shrugged and ignored him, consumed by speculation about Ares and Julia, and eventually, Julia’s tardiness.

When Ares had announced that Julia was missing, Hades had quietly twisted his ring, making himself invisible. He had a feeling that the fireworks were about to start.

And what a fireworks display it had turned out to be.

Hades hadn’t anticipated how, exactly, this would play out. He’d only known the prophecy about Julia, a prophecy he intended to use for his own purposes. He could never have guessed that Aphrodite wouldshape-shiftinto Julia and seduce Ares, prompting Julia to run off with a broken heart.

Then Hermes had revealed Hera’s secret, and Zeus had overreacted.

Really, Zeus might have had far more power than any other god, but what good was such power if you couldn’t control it—if you fell prey to your own tantrums like a child and your anger leaked out in vicious thunderbolts to wound your wife, yourson?

Of course, no one could ever have guessed that Hephaestus would step in front of his mother and take the blow meant for her.

Hades certainly had no friends among the other gods. He found Hermes entertaining, and he had a grudging admiration for Poseidon, for carving out territory separate from Zeus and finding happiness, or at least contentment. But Hephaestus had always struck Hades as a different kind of god. The rest of the Olympians, including Hephaestus’s wife, were so consumed with themselves—their bottomless want, their rivalries and jealousies. Hephaestus alone seemed to cast his gaze outward, to worry about others before himself.

He deserved better than what he’d gotten, though Hades was not such a fool as to think that anyone got what they deserved, especially among the gods.

Now, several weeks after the non-wedding, Hades had ventured here into the lion’s den. He knew from quiet observation that Ares was still searching for Julia. If he hadn’t found her yet, he would eventually; Ares wasn’t the type to give up.