Page 48 of Curse the Flame

“No. We’d both survive anyway. The Underworld won’t let its rulers take the easy way out, but that wouldn’t stop me from tryin’ to cushion your fall.”

A lump lodges in my throat. Within the last month or so, Aiden’s gone from a quiet, wary shadow to a man who says stuff like that. Just a quick reference to how he must’ve tried to commit suicide in the time after he arrived in the Other, followed by a quiet pronouncement that made it clear that he… he’s all in. If I told him right now that I wanted to accept the position as his soulmate, I think he would let out a sigh of relief and start planning our gothic wedding down in the Underworld.

But then I would be queen, and I’d never get to leave, and I may be an impulsive romantic at heart, but could I really leave the life I knew for the god of the Underworld fate—and Persephone—says is meant to be my husband?

Then again, all it takes is a look over my shoulder at his sculpted profile and the longing I see in his dark eyes—probably similar to the way I was just looking at the roses—and I start to think what if…

Aiden stalks over to me, moving to my side. He rests both hands on the railing beside mine.

He smiles as our hands brush, the same familiar jolt that happens every time we touch reminding me that we have some kind of fated tie, but the slight curve to his lips doesn’t last. His attention roves over my face before his sharp jaw goes tight, and I know he’s noticed the shadows beneath my eyes.

I didn’t sleep much last night. Now that Aiden’s bed is my bed, Sir leaves the Furies at the gate to guard for him for a few hours every night. In his puppy form, he tries his best to help me out by wedging himself against my stomach, shoving me back against the slumbering Aiden while snoring directly into my ribs, but every time I close my eyes to get some sleep myself, I see Daphne standing inside my apartment with my phone in her hand and angry tears in her green eyes.

Showing that, in the last two-and-a-half months, he’s really gotten to know me, Aiden lifts his hand, cupping my chin. “You’re thinkin’ about home.”

It isn’t a question. Then again, he doesn’t usually ask questions he doesn’t already know the answer to.

I nod.

He doesn’t tell me not to. He never does.

When I think about it, besides how easily he’s managed to worm his way under my skin and into my heart just by giving me as much time as I need, that might be the most dangerous thing about him.

If Aiden demanded that I stay, I could hate him for it. If he locked me inside this palace instead of letting me explore, if he force-fed me pomegranate seeds or any other food from the Underworld, or told me that what I wanted didn’t matter because Persephone once loved Hades, then I would know exactly who—and what—he is.

Instead, he calls me “Blossom”, sleeps next to me while never making a move even when I can sense he wants to, and he does everything to get to know Willow. Not Persephone. Willow.

And then, when I talk about Daphne, my students, or the tiny apartment I used to think of as a temporary place to hide, he listens as though each detail matters simply because it belongs to me and I’m all that matters to him. Me and my happiness.

But what about his?

“What if she thinks I left?” I ask.

“She won’t,” he murmurs softly, stroking the underside of my jaw with his long, slender fingers.

Despite his ability to conjure hellfire—what I call the flames of the Underworld because it amuses the Catholic Aiden for me to think of this place as hell even though Hades and Persephone both don’t appreciate it—he always feels so cold. I have this instinct to warm him up however I can, and I lean into him as I say softly, “You don’t know Daphne.”

“Yes, but I know you, Blossom.”

Blossom. At first, I thought he gave me the nickname because he was afraid to call me Persephone and he didn’t think of me as a woman named Willow. That didn’t last long. It became obvious that it was a pet name chosen just for me, especially when I asked Persephone if it was a name from Hades for her.

No. It was a name from Aiden for me.

Darn it. You wouldn’t expect it from him, but he’s sweet. He’s awkward in his way, too. I don’t know if my attempts to flirt with him make him uncomfortable because he doesn’t like it or because he doesn’t expect it; eventually, I accept it’s because he isn’t used to it and doesn’t think I’d be interested in him no matter what the so-called “magic” in the Other said.

And, when I’m struggling, he knows exactly what to say to put my soul at ease.

His expression remains fixed on my face, jaw tight enough that I can see the muscle shifting beneath his skin even as his touch remains gentle on mine.

“You wouldn’t leave someone you love without explainin’,” he says. “She knows that, too.”

“But she doesn’t know where I am,” I point out. “If I’m safe or I’m hurt… she doesn’t know that I’m happy.”

Whoops. That… uh. That just slipped out, didn’t it?

Aiden’s fingers stop moving. He sucks in a breath, eyes flashing from black to white and back again.

I hold one of my own.