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Eloise slowly washed his chest and stomach, then wiped his neck. He caught her fingers and brought them to his lips.
The touch was brief, and she mostly felt the warm breath on her skin rather than the kiss, but the contact sent tingles up and down her body.
“Thank you for helping me,” he croaked.
Eloise let out a noise between a chuckle and a snort. “I couldn’t leave you to die, could I? Though it does not seem like you have grave injuries, you could have had. I suppose I could have let you die and then just ran off,” she mumbled while washing him.
He had little nicks here and there, and she poured some brandy on the cloth before pressing it against his skin. He hissed.
Done with the top part of him, Eloise steeled herself for the next part.
“I am done,” Eloise said. “But now I need to take off your breeches. They are bloody, and I hope it’s not your blood, but it could be another wound.”
“You just can’t wait, can you?” he said with a crooked smile.
For a moment, Eloise froze. She wasn’t certain she had ever seen him smile before, and it was glorious. He had a dimple in his left cheek, and his eyes twinkled with merriment. He was truly beautiful like that. She almost forgot about the deep scar on his cheek.
She slowly reached for his breeches, and he closed his huge hand over hers. “I’ll do it myself,” he croaked.
“You’re so drunk, can barely move. Let me.”
Hades smirked. “Trust me, it is better if I do it myself.”
“You won’t be able to finish. You’re too weak. Just… trustme.”
She looked up at him, and something seemed to melt in his eyes. His features softened. He took her hands and guided them away from his body. Then he slowly started undoing the buttons on his breeches.
“When I was little,” he said as one button popped out of its place. “I was mistreated by my… the man who fathered me. He was… cruel to me. Cruel to my mother.”
Eloise settled comfortably at the foot of his chair, knowing full well he’d need her help after he was done undoing the buttons and also curious to hear his story.
“I thought it was the worst that could ever happen to me, but it wasn’t. After my mother died… after he’d killed her, he sold me—or gave me, I am not certain—to a brothel. And there… it was a lot worse there than at his home. The men there did not just abuse me, they… they made sure I was aroused. They touched, caressed, and petted me.” He cleared his throat. “I started loathing human touch back then. They touched me to take something from me, a part of myself. And inducing arousal was ensuring they had control over me.”
Eloise cleared her throat. “That’s why you don’t allow anybody to touch you.”
Hades nodded. “Yes. I was finally able to take the control back. I made them all pay. But now my touch is tainted too. I have a violent past, Eloise. Horrible to contemplate.” He finished undoing the buttons, and his hands fell back.
Now was the hard part, undressing the man who loathed to be touched.
“Tell me,” Eloise prompted, hoping that he’d be distracted enough that her touch would not evoke those terrible memories of the people who’d used him so dreadfully.
“This hell is built on the blood of my enemies. That is why it is called Hades. Because I went through eight circles of hell to get here.”
“Surely, there’s something good in your past.” Eloise slowly tugged on his boots first, taking them off one by one.
“Yes, Ava. And even she is gone. When I escaped—when I cut my face and escaped the brothel—an old gypsy woman found me. She saved me and set me on the right path. She could see the future. And she told me that as long as I did not let myself love, everything would prosper. But the moment love was in my heart, only carnage would follow. And only death of my true love would bring the end to all suffering.” Hades closed his eyes, barely paying attention to Eloise’s ministrations.
She successfully tugged off his breeches, leaving him in stockings and smalls. She didn’t see any other wounds except for bruises and small cuts. She took a wet cloth and carefully wiped the blood off his legs.
“I do not believe in curses and prophecies,” she said as she worked.
“Neither did I,” he mumbled.
“Well, all done, Mr. Scoundrel,” she said with a slight smile. She used his moniker on purpose; she wanted to see him smile again.
But he just turned to his side and took her hand in his. “It’s Keyon,” he said.
Eloise blinked. “What’s Keyon?”
