CHAPTER XXI: A MEMORY BRANDED

CHAPTER XXI – A MEMORY BRANDED

Hades woke alone.

He sat up, heart pounding in his chest. For a moment, he feared Persephone had realized her mistake and fled in the night, but once the surprise of waking by himself ebbed, he was able to focus on her and knew she remained in the Underworld, her presence as warm and right as her body against his.

With that realization, he stretched, falling back against his pillows, hands behind his head, and basked in memories from last night.

Persephone wasn’t the only woman he had slept with, but she was the only one he needed. He had never felt this kind of connection before, and he preferred the intimacy. It made sex with her even better, made all the sensations more intense, the gasps of pleasure more rewarding, the aftermath more tender.

It made him even more determined to ensure their Fate wasn’t unraveled, something that was still a possibility with Sisyphus on the run. At the thought of the escaped mortal, Hades sat up, manifesting a piece of cloth to cover himself. He would find that mortal today and end his beating heart. Nothing, not a mortal and not the Fates, would keep him from the euphoria that was Persephone—his lover, his queen, his goddess.

He stepped out onto the balcony and found Persephone wandering the path in the garden. She wore black, and her creamy skin was ablaze against it. He couldn’t help thinking how at home she looked among the flowers of the Underworld despite her disdain for them. He knew she envied his magic, even if what he created was not real and had no true life. His flowers did not need sun or water. They did not breath in or exhale. They simply existed as the souls did, with no purpose save beauty.

But Persephone, she had the ability to create life. Real life. He could sense it within her, the powerful core of her being, caged by disbelief. There would come a day when flowers would bloom in her presence, when her breath would call the wind, when her tears would turn to storms. She would shake the earth and build kingdoms from the rubble.

And he would stand by and watch—a husband, her king.

He headed down the stairs into the garden just in time to see Persephone step off the black stone path, bare feet touching soil, roses and peonies flourishing around her. The colors brought out the warm tones of her skin—pink skin, with red markings from lovemaking, places where his hold had been tight, and faint purple bruising from his mouth. He took in the sight of his woman ravished by his own hand and felt fire build in the bottom of his stomach.

“Are you well?”

He asked because she had not moved since stepping off the path. She twisted toward him when she heard his voice, as if he had startled her. In the early morning of the Underworld, she looked beautiful—eyes wide, wild, sun-kissed hair, parted lips. Her gaze raked down his body, and his blood surged with lust. His fingers curled, a reminder to stay where he was and not close the distance between them. She had yet to answer his question.

“Persephone?”

Her eyes lifted to his, and she smiled. She seemed peaceful, almost languid.

“I’m well,” she assured.

Hades exhaled, as if those words had given him permission. He knew he feared her regret, but nothing had prepared him for the physical toll of that anxiety—the tightening in his chest and stomach, and the dread that thickened the back of his throat. He approached, cupping the underside of her jaw.

“You are not regretting our night together?”

“No!” Her quick reply banished his anxious thoughts, and as if she knew he needed to hear it again, she added quietly. “No.”

His eyes fell to her lips, and he brushed them with his thumb. “I don’t think I could handle your regret.”

He felt strangely raw admitting what he’d been thinking moments before, and yet after what they’d shared last night, being vulnerable felt right.

He threaded his fingers through her silky hair as he pressed his lips to hers, insatiable as the desire he felt for her returned tenfold, surging through his veins, thicker than his blood, urging him to touch her, to take her, to fuck her. He didn’t feel inclined to play or tease, he gipped her thighs and lifted her off the ground and guided his heavy length to her entrance, bending her backward before thrusting into her. They were close, the energy between them intimate.

For a while, they held each other’s gazes, sharing breath and soft moans, but soon they were breathing harder, buried in each other’s neck, and as Hades moved, he felt Persephone come. Her sex clenched around his own, and she bit into his skin, which elicited a harsh growl from deep in his throat. It made him feel feral, like a beast who wished to claim. His arms tightened, and he pumped harder, dug deeper, until he came, emptying into her.

In the aftermath, Hades remained standing, still inside her, holding Persephone close until their breathing returned to normal. When he helped her to the ground, her fingers bit into his arms. He frowned and scooped her up, cradling her against his chest. As he did, she closed her eyes, and he frowned, wondering what she was thinking. Still, he said nothing and asked nothing, returning to his chambers.

Once inside, she opened her eyes.

“Where are we going?” she asked as he made his way to the bathroom.

“To shower,” he said.

He half expected her to protest, but she didn’t. She let him lower her to her feet in the shower, disrobe her, and wash her. As he worked, passing the washcloth over her calves and between her thighs and over her hips, she braced her hands on his shoulders, shivering as his lips gathered moisture from her skin.

“Hades.” She spoke his name, and he stared up at her from the shower floor. “Let me please you.”

Her eyes burned into his, and as she spoke, he rose to his feet. His hand came up and cupped her face, his thumb passing over her lip.

“And how would you please me?” he asked.

Her answer was to wrap her hands around his cock, thumb brushing his sensitive head, and lower to her knees.

“Persephone.” Her name was rough on his tongue, and he wasn’t sure why he said it—as a warning or in prayer. Either way, he didn’t feel completely prepared for her mouth, even knowing the sensations she’d coaxed from him the night before. This was somehow different. This was head given in the daylight, a choice that wasn’t spurred by frustration or given courage by wine. Her mouth was warm, her tongue teasing, her throat deep. He grasped her head and thrust into her until he came, and savored the sight of her licking him clean.

He helped her to her feet again and devoured her mouth until he could no longer taste the salty sweetness of his come.

They finished their shower and started to dress, when Persephone turned to him, holding the red silk of her gown to her chest.

“Do you…have something I can wear?”

He gave her an appreciative looked and answered, “What you have on will be just fine.”

The look she offered was a challenge. “You’d rather I wander your palace naked? In front of Hermes and Charon—”

He’d really rather not spend the day gouging out eyes.

“On second thought…” he said, and teleported to the only place he could to find a dress—Hecate’s cottage. When he arrived, the goddess sat at her table, a suite of cards spread before her. She didn’t look at Hades as she spoke.

“On the bed.”

He turned and found a green peplos waiting. He gathered the fabric and turned to Hecate.

“Have I told you that you’re the best?”

“I will note the date and time,” she said. “And remind you every chance I get.”

Hades chuckled and left, returning to Persephone.

“Will you allow me to dress you?”

She stared at the peplos and then at him. Part of the reason he asked was because he was not sure how often she wore one, and wrapping it might prove difficult, but it was also an excuse to touch her. After a moment, she swallowed and nodded, and Hades thought that just as much as he was reliving the past few hours of his life, she was too.

He set to work, making slow, tedious work of the process, wrapping it around her breasts, over each shoulder. She held the fabric while he pinned, and he pressed kisses to her shoulder, neck, and jaw. As he went in to tie her belt, his mouth descended on hers, and he spent several minutes kissing her, his tongue moving languidly over hers.

Finally, he pulled away, threading his fingers with hers, and led her to the dining room. It was a room he rarely used, save on very rare occasions when he hosted one of the Divine in his realm. Still, it was meant to impress, with diamond-encrusted chandeliers, gold dining chairs, and an ebony banquet table hewn from obsidian sourced from the Underworld.

“Do you actually eat in here?” Persephone asked. He could not place the tone of her voice, but he got the sense that she felt it was just as outrageous as he did. Still, Hades knew what it was to compete with the gods, and while he detested it, he was not above—or below—illustrating his wealth and power.

Hades smiled at her. “Yes, but not often. I usually take my breakfast to go.”

Once they were seated, his staff bustled into the room, bringing trays of fruit, meat, cheese, and bread. Minthe followed. It was impossible for Hades to ignore the distinct tap of her heels against the marble floor. He didn’t look at the nymph as she approached, or as she took up space between him and Persephone. He could feel her judgement and her anger, no doubt having heard how he had carried Persephone to his chambers the night before.

“My lord. You have a full schedule today.”

“Clear the morning.”

“It’s already eleven.” Her voice was tight, betraying her frustration.

He honestly could not care less about the time or his obligations at this very moment. He had just seen months’ worth of agonizing fantasies come to life. This was the morning after, and what a morning it had been already. He was going to enjoy this; he would revel in it as he had reveled in war long ago.

He focused on Persephone, and as he filled his plate, asked, “Are you not hungry, darling?”

“No.” She looked at him sheepishly. “I…usually only drink coffee for breakfast.”

Somehow, that didn’t surprise him. He thought about commenting on the nutrition, how she would need the energy after their night, but decided against it. Instead, he summoned her a cup of coffee.

“Cream? Sugar?”

“Cream,” she answered with a smile that made him want to give her the sun and the moon. “Thank you.”

“What are your plans today?” he asked, popping a piece of cheese into his mouth.

She was silent for a moment, glancing at Minthe with a sullen expression, but as the silence stretched, her eyes widened as she realized he was talking to her. “Oh, I need to write—”

She stopped abruptly.

“Your article?”

He tried to keep the bitterness from leaking into his voice, but it was hard. He could not deny that he felt a slight betrayal at the thought that she would continue writing, even after the night they shared.

“I will be along shortly, Minthe,” he said, dismissing her, but when the nymph hesitated, he spoke firmly. “Leave us.”

“As you wish, my lord.” Minthe bowed and practically pranced out of the dining room. He almost snapped at her, but stopped himself, thinking, One battle at a time.

“So, you will continue to write about my faults?” he asked, once they were alone.

“I don’t know what I’m going to write this time,” she admitted. “I…”

“You what?” He hadn’t meant to snap, but he could not hide his frustration on this topic, and Persephone narrowed her eyes.

“I hoped I might be able to interview a few of your souls.”

“The ones on your list?” He would never forget that list, would never forget those names, as each one brought a different kind of pain.

“I don’t want to write about the Olympian Gala or The Halcyon Project,” she explained. “All the other newspapers will jump on those stories.”

Of course they would, and she wanted to be unique, wanted to stand out among the crowd. Define herself as she had never been defined before. He knew what she wanted—to be good at something, but not just anything. She wanted to be good at something she chose, because she wasn’t good at the thing she was born to be. He considered saying that aloud, the words were on the tip of his tongue, but he knew they would hurt her so he wiped his mouth and stood to leave, but Persephone followed after him.

“I thought we agreed we wouldn’t leave each other when we’re angry?” Her words halted him. “Didn’t you request that we work through it?”

He faced her, and replied honestly, “It’s just that I’m not particularly excited that my lover is continuing to write about my life.”

“It’s my assignment,” she said defensively. “I can’t just stop.”

“It wouldn’t have been your assignment if you had heeded my request.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, and he couldn’t help letting his gaze fall there, but what she said held his attention more than her breasts. “You never request anything, Hades. Everything is an order. You ordered me not to write about you. You said there would be consequences.”

“And yet,” he said, with as much admiration as possible. “You went through with it anyway.”

She had not been afraid of him. She was a rare breed.

“I should have expected it.” He tipped her head back with a finger. “You are defiant and angry with me.”

“I’m not—”

He cut her off, cupping her face. “Shall I remind you that I can taste lies, darling?” He stared at her lips, brushing them with his thumb, and said in a low voice, “I could spend all day kissing you.”

“No one’s stopping you,” she replied, her lips touching his as she spoke.

He chuckled and did as she wished—kissed her. Drawing his arm around her waist, he lifted her onto the table and stepped between her legs. He worked each nipple through her peplos until they were beaded and hard, while his hands dipped between her thighs to explore her satin flesh. Soon she was calling his name, legs spread wide on the edge of his dining table, her head thrown back, leaving her neck taut and exposed. He kissed her there, sucking the skin until it was purple in color, and when she came, he withdrew his fingers and brought them to his mouth.

Hades groaned. “You taste like you belong to me.”

A smile tipped the corners of her lips, but she lowered her head and looked away.

“Do not be embarrassed,” he said, guiding her chin up so she would meet his gaze. “We will speak as lovers speak.”

Her eyes grew dark. “And how do lovers speak?”

He paused a moment and then answered, “Honestly.”

She gazed at him, her legs still spread as if inviting him. She looked sweet and feverish.

“You want honesty?” she whispered, voice husky, shivering down his spine. “You once said you would erase the memory of Adonis from my skin. You swore it, seared your own name upon my lips. Now I will do the same. I will erase the memory of every woman from your mind.”

Darling, he wanted to say. You are the only woman in my mind. But he kept quiet as she swore her oath, his heart and cock swelling with every single fucking word. She drew her legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass.

“I want you inside me,” she said. “Fuck me, say my name as you come. Dream of me, and only me, for the rest of eternity.”

“Yes,” he hissed, as his hips surged forward. It was everything he’d wanted, a prayer answered by the Fates, and as he gave her exactly what she asked for, he prayed to them and threatened them.

Take her, and I will destroy this world. Take her, and I will destroy you. Take her, and I will end us all.

When they left the dining hall, he did so with a smile on his face, and his thoughts on her article aggravated him less, so he felt like that was some sort of victory. He led Persephone outside, their fingers laced, and called for Thanatos.

The God of Death appeared instantly, his pale features glared against his black robes. When he manifested, his expression was severe, and Hades imagined it was because the god had assumed he was being summoned to discuss Sisyphus. The mortal had weighed heavily on both of their minds.

But then his eyes settled on Persephone and softened.

“My lord, my lady.” He bowed.

“Thanatos, Lady Persephone has a list of souls she’d like to meet. Would you mind escorting her?”

“I would be honored, my lord.”

Hades used their entwined hands to draw her toward him. “I will leave you in Thanatos’ care.”

“Will I see you later?” she asked, and her blatant hope made him smile.

“If you wish.” He brushed his lips over her knuckles, and her cheeks reddened. He chuckled quietly, thinking she had not been so quick to blush when he had lain between her thighs and drank her sweet passion.

Then, he vanished.