eighteen

Alexei

He couldn't breathe.

Alexei ran all the way to the door, and still couldn't breathe. He leaned his elbows on his knees and bent his head between them, trying not to faint.

The sight of DeVere kneeling at Poppy's feet and kissing her hand had nearly destroyed him. And he had reacted like a brute, like an absolute animal.

He had gone and done it now. She would never forgive him.

There was no hope; not that there had been any before.

He knew quite well what kind of lady Miss Wyatt was, underneath all her brother's brutality and dominance. What kind of a lady she would become. Free of his abuse, she would blossom into a strong, pure woman, who would create gardens and happiness no matter where she was. She was not wont to regard the man who had kidnapped her kindly, even if she had melted in his arms and held him as if he was the most precious human being to ever walk the earth.

She had made it clear that she resented Alexei. She was probably disgusted by him, if truth be told. She was too gentle to outright show her repulsion, but Alexei knew it was there.

And tonight, he had entered the glittering gaming rooms, only to see her standing there, dressed in a cream gown like a bloody debutante, looking innocent and sweet like an angel.

Damn Rania and her gowns.

And then suddenly he saw DeVere dropping to his knees in front of her and he had gone feral. He had fought all morning to dispel the image of Poppy on the floor with DeVere's head on her lap, smoothing away the hair from his brow, her arm supporting his neck as he fought for his life—but he couldn't. It was seared in his mind.

And seeing the viscount kneel in front of her like that…Alexei's heart had given a painful jolt, and fire had flooded his veins. But he had forced himself to stand still at the door, watching, feeling the blood drain from his body as if he were bleeding internally.

But then.

He saw her back sway, and the thought occurred to him that she was about to swoon. Or if not that, then she was so deeply moved by the man's devotion that she…she was melting for him, as she had melted for Alexei.

And then everything had turned black.

He did not remember making the decision to walk to her, to grab the man by the armpit and forcefully lift him to his feet, to drag him away from her.

He did not remember giving his lips permission to say:

"Nobody shall touch you except me."

But now he did remember, and the shame that washed over him was so violent it was drowning him alive.

"I'm sorry," he murmured to no one in particular. Poppy had been left to the care of his guards, thank heavens. Safe. Away from him. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry."

Inside his head, he was a boy again, apologizing for being born.

You are filth, his father's voice in his head was bursting, making his temples throb and his skull splinter. You should never have been born. You are my disgrace. You bring nothing but shame to this house. Shame!

Alexei burst out the door, coatless and hatless, ignoring Wilder's cries that it was snowing—"Don't follow me, Wilder!" he yelled—and ran until his legs gave out.

He fell.

He just lay there, sprawled on the snow, his hair wet with it, the cold seeping into his shirt. He relished the bitter sensation that numbed his limbs to the bone. He let his head fall back, hair splayed on the whiteness of the ice, and the snow kept falling on his lips, his shirt, his fingers. He began to freeze, the cold and the numbness travelling to his heart—although it could do little damage there, since he had none.

You bring nothing but shame.

You should never have been born.

Would it be tonight? Would death finally find him tonight, on this white, icy canvas? He tilted his chin up to the black heavens. No stars tonight; just as well. He would not miss the beautiful, blinking bastards when he froze to death.

Poor Wilder, he will be the one to find me. He'll be so ashamed of my cowardice. He will wish he had never met me. He—

Steps were crunching on the snow by his head and Alexei shut his eyes tighter.

Damn.

"Not yet, Wilder," he tried to say, but his voice was frozen, and the only thing that came out of his chapped lips was a cloud of white smoke. "Come back in an hour or two, I shall be dead by then."

Poppy

"I am not Wilder," Poppy said.

Hade's face was whiter than the snow. He struggled to open his eyes, but there were frozen snowflakes on his eyelashes, gluing them shut. Impulsively, she reached down, the soft silk skirt of her dress billowing on the snow, and wiped them away. Her heart skipped a beat as her cold fingers met his even colder skin, and he flinched as if he had been burned.

‘I don't like to be touched.'

"I'm sorry," she said and Hades' eyes flew open, electric blue against the whiteness of his skin.

Stop swooning every time he looks at you, she berated herself.

"I am a monster," Hades said, his voice low, shattered. His lips were purple and torn to shreds.

He was intentionally freezing himself to death. Was he in pain? Did he intend to numb the pain along with his limbs?

"You did act like one," Poppy said, settling herself on the snow beside him. The cold gripped her, more painful than comforting. "Like…"

"Like your brother," Hades said, blinking rapidly.

No one is a monster quite as vile as he, Poppy thought, and was immediately seized by remorse. But she did not apologize for the thought, not even internally. Maybe that was progress. Or maybe she was sinking lower into sin. Who could tell anymore?

But it did feel good to admit her brother's evil nature, even to herself.

Even in the shame of it.

"I've come to get you," she said out loud. "Come inside, my lord; the night is vicious."

"Are you here because you pity me?"

"No, of course not," she replied quickly, startled by the vulnerability of his question. "Well, a little," she amended.

"You pity me," he repeated.

"A little, as I said."

"I worship you."

He tried to sit up, bracing a shaking arm on the snow, but his limbs did not seem to obey him, and he fell back. His eyes had taken on a distant, unfocused look, as if he were inebriated, but Poppy knew he wasn't; he was just too frozen to be fully alert. Real fear seized her. He was about to become unconscious, and she would not be able to move him all by herself. He had run far away enough that it would be too late to go back for Wilder. By the time they came back, he would be beyond saving.

Poppy took off her muff and cloak and placed them on him. He did not move when her fingers brushed his chest; he did not feel it.

"What is happening to me?" he murmured, looking up at the gray sky.

The clouds were thick, white and full of snow, and the sky had the brilliance of mid-afternoon, even though it was closer to dawn than to midnight.

"How should I know," Poppy answered, "if you don't?"

Hades didn't reply. His breath was coming in shallow gasps, clouding whitely around his pale, full lips. His eyelashes were long and curling, white with snow. His hair had fallen back, exposing his slender neck and the sharpness of his cheekbones, chin jutting out towards the sky, clean-shaven and chiseled.

His body was drenched in snow, his muscles almost sculpted by it, and as he lay there, he looked like a god fallen to earth from the skies.

Poppy's heart jumped in her chest and she swore at it internally. Why couldn't she be sensible for once? Even if he was the world's most beautiful creature, sprawled out in the snow like some ridiculously gorgeous ice sculpture, that did not excuse her heart being an absolute imbecile about him.

"Are you trying to die?" she asked him, even though that was not at all what she had meant to say.

"Sometimes," he replied.

Hot panic flooded Poppy's face, and she forgot all about the cold.

"You can't!" she exclaimed.

She should really start thinking before she spoke. It was just that…she hadn't been allowed to talk in so long, and now that she was, she said whatever thought popped into her head, however imbecilic.

Hades' lips curled in a sneer. "Whyever not?"

Poppy was silent for a bit, thinking of what to say next.

Yes, that's it, think before you speak, you'll get the hang of it soon.

Do not say what is expected of you, or what would incur the least amount of wrath.

What do you want to say?

She almost jumped in surprise. Say what she wanted to say? What a novel idea!

"Why would you want that?" she asked Hades instead, trying not to sound as scared as she felt. Surely she had heard him wrong; he could not possibly have meant it.

"Because I have to tell you something that will break you," he said. "And make you hate me. Even more than you already do."

Then his eyes fluttered closed.

She was seized by an urgency that gave her strength which surely defied human logic. Ignoring his no-touching rule, she grabbed him by the arms and lifted him into a seated position. At first, his body was limp and heavy, and her weak arm hurt like the devil from the effort of pulling his weight, but suddenly he seemed to come alive.

His drooping head snapped up, his eyes looking for hers.

"Come on, help me here," Poppy murmured. "How is it possible that you are so slender yet you weigh two tons?"

"I'm sorry," he said, and made a visible effort to keep himself upright as he sat there in the snow. He gathered his legs to his chest and hugged them, panting into his knees. "I'm sorry I was such an animal to you and DeVere," he went. "There is no excuse. I am sorry."

"Why did you have that reaction to him, my lord? The poor man…"

"I know, I know," Hades shut his eyes tightly. "It was not his fault. But please do not talk so kindly of him, I cannot bear it. He…Did you know the name of the gray cat that keeps following you around like a damn puppy?"

"They all follow me around," Poppy said. Her head was aching from the cold and from his jumping around from subject to subject. "But yes, I know the one your lordship means, I suppose. They have names, you say?"

Hades nodded, wincing. His fingers were turning blue.

"All of them do," he choked out. "I started naming them after the seven deadly sins, but as you can see, I have far more than seven cats. Anyway, the name of that bastard is Envy."

"Envy."

"Yes. It is the answer to your question. The reason for my inexcusable behavior."

Envy.

What was he envious of? What did he have to be jealous of? A sudden image of DeVere grabbing for her hand, crying and thanking her, flashed through Poppy's mind, and she inhaled sharply.

"Why do you have so many cats?" she asked, desperate to stop thinking of how she had almost fainted at the idea that someone would think her good and precious and worthy of being thanked.

"Because when I was a baby," Hades said, "my father, who is a prince, tried to have me drowned with a litter of kittens."

"I beg your pardon?" She must have heard him wrong.

"‘S true. It's why I can't touch or be touched. By anyone—or anyone. I…I always feel the servant's fingers choking my neck. I find myself in a perpetual noose, so to speak. Talk of being in hell….Anyway, my respected father, the devil take him, tried again when I was four. Well, he gave the order, you understand, he would never get his own hands dirty. It was others that did the almost killing."

"He…what?" Poppy felt lightheaded.

Is this a nightmare? Am I asleep?

Her chest constricted as though someone was twisting a knife in her lungs.

"Once more when I was six," Hades was saying.

Will the nightmare never end?

"It will not," Hades replied.

Damn, I must have said that last one out loud.

Don't swear.

"You are, after all, in the bowels of hell, do not forget it, Wyatt. After that, my mother took me and ran away to England and promptly died, leaving me in that school. I have been rescuing cats ever since."

His mother…She must not have been his father's wife, by the way he spoke. Poppy's stomach tuned. ‘I have been rescuing cats…'

"But you have yet to rescue yourself," she said.

Hades smirked. "Has anyone ever told you that you are too clever for your own good?"

She hung her head. Yes, someone had, in fact.

"And then you created the club," she went on, trying to piece the story together.

"The Underworld first," he said. "Then the Hellion Club within it."

"Oh, you are not fooling anyone, my lord Hades," Poppy said. "The Underworld might be under the world, but it is definitely not beneath it. You are doing so much good in there. Hiding people, saving poor lost souls like…Maybe you could curb the lost fortunes issue somehow, and then the damage the club does shall be diminished greatly. I am certain you will figure it out by the by."

"You make it sound so simple." Hades was running a frozen hand through his snow-wet hair.

"It is," Poppy said, "when you look at it the right way."

"I have never heard you speak like this, Wyatt," he said and she shrugged. "No, don't get defensive now. It seems that this is your true self, after all."

"I know less about myself than you do at the moment," Poppy said.

I can't feel my legs. Did I use to be able to feel my legs?

"I am discovering it again," she went on. "My own self. And I have you and your club to thank. So you see, I speak from experience. You are who I have to thank for finding a measure of freedom. You are a good man, I think, my lord Hades. Well, the kidnapping aside."

Hades suddenly flung his head back and roared a curse to the dark skies.

‘Roared' wasn't even the right word for what he did; he screamed it.

He screamed for almost a full minute, and then he fell abruptly silent. Poppy watched him, his every strange, tortured movement, wondering what new lunacy had overtaken him. It hurt her heart to watch a human being in such torment.

Hades shivered violently, his thin lawn shirt wet through and clinging to him like second skin. Underneath it, she could see the shape of his lean, hard muscles: as she had suspected when she had touched him the other day, during that training session, his body was sculpted like a Greek statue's. And right now, the statue appeared to be about to shatter.

He lay back down, flat on his back on the snow, and maybe now that she was beginning to freeze too, Poppy was losing her mind as well, because at that moment, it seemed like a good idea to imitate him. She lay down beside him. Her long braid, uncoiling from her bun, brushed his black mane as it fanned out on the frosted grass around his face, and their fingers almost touched, but not quite.

"Don't get too comfortable," Hades said in a low, dream-like voice. "I am the only one who is going to freeze tonight."

"Never to be outdone," Poppy murmured. The cold was not so bad, once you relaxed into it, was it? She smiled up at the gray sky, opening her tongue to eat a snowflake. It tasted like winter.

"You need to get up," Hades said, his voice resembling his usual stern tone. Always stiff, that man, even in the silliest of circumstances. "Now, Miss Wyatt."

"You first," Poppy said, gathering a fistful of snow and pressing it with her fingers. She could no longer feel her hands, but it looked pretty, the snowflakes glistening in the street lamp's faint light. "I forgot to ask you, have you seduced me yet, Your Highness?"

"Oh, we're back to that, are we?" Hades' voice sounded more worried than annoyed, for some strange reason. "You must be more frozen than I thought. No, I haven't, Poppy. You would remember if I had."

‘Poppy.'

Don't say my name like that. Like you are scolding me.

Don't you dare say it like that, not when you haven't said it ever before.

Hades calling her ‘Poppy' for the first time somehow irritated her so much that blood came rushing back to her frozen limbs with a vengeance. God, it hurt.

"Why are you so arrogant?" she sputtered.

"Why are you so determined to hate me?"

"I don't know," she let her head fall back. "You make is so easy, I suppose." She turned her head to look at him, and the snow cupped her cheek, piercing her with cold. "Come on, my lord, come inside," she told him gently.

"Not yet. I have still some feeling left in my lower legs," he murmured. "I would like it to go away."

"Well, in that case, would you mind telling me this piece of news that shall be so terrible it will ‘break' me, before you die?" Poppy asked.

"Oh," Hades said, and then he said nothing.

She waited.

The snow fell thicker for a moment, then trickled to a stop. There was nothing left but the icy blanket all around them and an empty sky.

"I shall tell you," Hades said finally, when Poppy thought he might have fallen asleep or fainted. "It's not news, but it will be news to you. I have concealed it from you for this long, because I wanted to spare you the pain of it. But you…you are nothing like I thought you would be, and it seems that I am nothing like I thought I was, since you came here."

"I did not come here, you brought me here."

"Yes, I did. It's about that. I…"

He stopped. She waited.

"Tell me," she finally urged, because he seemed to have forgotten how to speak.

"I did not exactly kidnap you, my dear," he said finally, his voice emotionless, bleak. "I made a big show of it, or I would have, if you had reacted like a normal human being, but it was a lie. A…a ruse. The truth is, I came to fetch you."

"Fetch me?"

Something horrible, dark and oily was rolling in the pit of Poppy's stomach. Fear. Terror. And disgust. All of a sudden, she wanted to get up, leave Hades and his club behind, and walk out into the snow until there was nothing left of her or of this evil, soiled world. Nothing but whiteness.

Do not answer, she thought. I do not want to hear any more. Say nothing more.

But he did answer. He licked his lips once, twice, made a small, whimpering, choking sound as if he was desperately fighting within himself not to cry or scream. And spoke.

"I did not kidnap you, Wyatt," Hades said. "I only pretended to, because it seemed kinder. It…it happened in the very gaming room you were standing in a few hours ago, the night before I took you from your home."

"What is your lordship talking about? What happened in that card room?" Poppy couldn't feel her lips.

"I did not kidnap you," he repeated, as if that was the important part. But then he hesitated some more, and terror gripped her, a terror so great that she wished he had kept beating around the bush for a few hours more. Or days. Or eons. "I…I tried to make it look like a kidnapping in order to spare your feelings. In my defense, it would have worked had it been any other, normaller female."

"You—what?"

"I'm sorry. I am sorry."

What on earth was wrong with Hades? Who was this creature, who kept choking out apologies to her as if his heart was being wrenched out of his chest? It wasn't the Slavic prince, that was certain.

"Stop being sorry and tell me!" Poppy hissed.

She heard him turn his head as he lay on the snow to look at her, but she couldn't face him, not yet, not ever.

"I am so sorry," he said again, insufferably. "It's…it's bad."

"Let's hear it." Poppy was bursting with curiosity and dread, but nothing could be worse than this suspense.

Everything around them was white and still.

She imagined glittering, fur-covered ladies spilling out of bright townhouses all over Mayfair, the night echoing with their twinkling laughter. She imagined the gentlemen who supported their elbows, she imagined lips red with wine and feet sore from dancing. All around them, London was bursting with the end of parties and balls—it was the height of the season, after all.

But from down here, on the ground, as she lay on the snow besides Hades, it felt to Poppy that hell was not a pit of fire, as her brother had explained at great length: rather, it was a place of fear, loneliness and freezing cold.

Hades took a shuddering breath, and spoke.

"Your brother lost you to me in a game of cards."