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“Where are we going?”
“To my palace,” he said.
If he could heal her, at least he could regain some sort of power over the situation and she would be safe.
He transported them to his bedchamber, and when he looked down at her, she opened her eyes. For a moment, she seemed unfocused.
“Are you well?” Hades asked, and she met his gaze.
When she nodded, he strolled to his bed and settled her on the edge, kneeling on the floor in front of her.
“What are you doing?”she asked.
He did not answer but reached to peel Hermes’ cloak from about her shoulders. She stilled at his touch, and he thought about telling her to breathe but decided that maybe she was reacting to pain and not his presence. He was not prepared for what the cloak was hiding—her shoulder was torn to the bone.
Nasty gash?Hermes had grossly misrepresented this wound.
Hades sat back on his heels, studying the damage. He would need to clean it before he healed it, or there was a chance infection would set in. Though it was rare for a god to become ill; it was not impossible, and he would not take any chances. Not with her.
He let his gaze wander the length of her, searching for other wounds. The dead who inhabited the Styx were vicious, their claws and teeth sharp, and they shredded their victims. Persephone was lucky to have gotten out of the river with a shoulder wound.
It could have been worse.
His horror was real and painful, like hitting a brick wall. He had crafted his realm to discourage curious exploration, and yet here was Persephone, inquisitive and unfazed.
It was not until Persephone drew an arm over her chest that Hades lifted his gaze to her eyes; he hadn’t realized that he’d been staring. He scolded himself and came to his knees, bracing his hands on either side of her thighs. The movement brought him within an inch of her face. Even having almost drowned in the Styx, she still smelled like vanilla—sweet and warm.
“Which side?” he asked quietly.
She held his gaze for a moment, and he noted how she swallowed before covering his hand with her own and guiding it to her side. Something gathered in the back of his throat, and he wanted desperately to clear it, but couldn’t.
He wasn’t breathing now, either.
He focused instead on her side, sending a wave of power from deep inside his body to his hand, letting the magic soak into her skin.
She moaned and leaned into him, his head resting against her shoulder, and something akin to fire ignited in his stomach.
Fuck.
He took deep breaths through his nose and out his mouth, trying to concentrate on his magic and not his growing erection.
When he was certain she was healed, he moved his head a fraction, their lips level as he spoke.
“Better?”
“Yes,” she whispered, and he noted how her eyes fell to his mouth.
“Your shoulder is next.” He stood and when she started to look, he stopped her with a hand on her cheek.
“No. It’s best if you don’t look.”
It would hurt worse if she did.
Hades stepped into the bathroom and wetted a cloth. He was not gone long, but when he returned, he found Persephone had shifted to her side and lay on his bed with her eyes closed.
He frowned as he watched her.
While he understood why she would be exhausted, he did not like it. It made him worry that perhaps he had taken too long to heal her, or maybe she had been injured worse than he knew?
