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Her head, throbbing mercilessly, was too heavy to lift or move. And the pain…pain meant she still lived. The knowledge filled her with such anguish.
Her face felt hot and sticky, but she had no will to wipe the blood that flowed from her wound. Her hand still clutched the serpent, hanging limp and lifeless. From the weight and girth of it, it was a large serpent. She could not close her hand around the creature...surely it would leave a gaping wound – one that would bleed her heavily.
If she had the strength, she would pull them all from her… And ensure the end of this. She lifted her hand, reaching up slowly, but they were on her.
The serpents wrapped their bodies about her arm, pinning her down. A rain of fangs and venom showered the side of her face and arms. Yet, she made no move to protect herself. It didn’t matter, not really.
She lay still.
“Medusa,” Euryale was sobbing in earnest now. “Please stop.”
“Let us tend your injury,” Stheno cried, too.
“No,” she whispered. “They would bite you…hurt you… I can take no more.” She turned her head, away from them.
She opened her eyes.
He was beautiful.
Her tears and blood blurred his face, but she’d no strength to wipe them away. She drew in breath and raised her trembling hand. The effort was great, for there was none of her that did not hurt. But she reached for him, touching his cheek. “I can take no more.”
###
Her feet had been so cold.
The bones in her ankle had been prominent, fragile. Clearly traceable beneath his seeking fingers.
“You are not dead, Ariston.” Hades voice stirred him from his thoughts. The God sat in his chair, before a roaring fire. “But you are not alive either.”
He cared little for Hades’ words.
Gone was the sun-kissed gold he remembered, the soft lush curves he’d caressed. She was too thin, her curves replaced with sharp angles. Her skin was so pale it was almost translucent. But her pulse had throbbed steadily in her throat, giving him some sense of ease.
Hades cleared his throat. “I would have you stay in my home until this farce is finally over.”
Ariston inclined his head, absently, his mind racing.
She was still his love. In those moments of waking, she had leaned into his touch and sighed in pleasure. Until she’d opened her eyes and discovered he was not a dream.
“If you love me, you will go now. I would have you live. Please. For once they wake, I cannot stop them…” she’d pleaded.
“Wine?” Hades offered, holding a goblet towards him.
Ariston stared at the cup, taking it when Hades pressed it into his hand. “Thank you.”
He had been too long without her. He could not look away from her or hear the warning she’d tried repeatedly to give him. His eyes had feasted on her face, noting the long scar that ran across her forehead and the dozens of small punctures, bites of some sort, dotting her temples and jaw.
The blue of her eyes had not dimmed and the curve of her lips had been too great a temptation to resist. As his lips had found hers, her scent assailed him.
His fingers contracted about the goblet, cracking the stoneware. “She has suffered more than any should suffer,” he ground out.
Hades’ heavy-lidded eyes met his, though his face revealed nothing. “You both have.”
Red eyes.
They’d risen from the dark veils she wore, bobbing and swaying together as they fastened their attention on him. And coldness had seeped into his bones, binding him in place. His feet and legs, his body and arms, his chest grew heavy and prevented him from drawing in breath.
She was weeping beneath him, her sobs pure agony. He’d closed his eyes against her torture. And then, he could not open them.
