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“I heard I’m needed,” he said, smirking and bowing shallowly to Persephone, a hand outstretched towards her, “by a desperate maiden.” He’d barely bent at the hips, his hair bouncing onto his forehead with the movement.
Persephone eyed his hand in disgust, forcing herself not to bat it away like an unwelcome bug.
When she didn’t say anything he raised his eyes to hers, barely needing to shift his head up. He must have noticed her repulsion because he straightened as they made eye contact, still smirking at her.
He glanced at her feet, at Pelops, his dark eyes flashing. She followed his gaze, but Pelops was gone.
The only thing there were her toes poking out from the lightly billowing folds of herchiton, the skin torn and sticky with her golden blood from tearing on the trees.
“Where is he?” She took a step toward Hades with a fierce look in her eye, grabbing a fistful of his black robe and pulling him toward her. Her fear of the god evaporating as anger heated her face and chest, dread at what he’d done to Pelops just beneath it.
His hand lashed out, gripping her by the wrist and holding her there. Tut-tut-tutting at her like a child, and tapping her nose with a single finger, he tightened the grasp on her wrist until she the bones groaned under the pressure.
A murderous rage washed over her at his patronizing actions. She wanted to tear his head from his shoulders and throw it off the side of the mountain, watch it fly through the air, a golden stream flowing closely behind it.
But she stayed silent.
This would already be hard enough, bad enough making a deal with him, she couldn’t risk bating his wrath and making things any worse for herself. For Pelops.
So she bit her tongue, chewing on it to keep her mouth busy as his eyes sliced over her red face, tangled hair and torn up clothing, his eyes stopping at her bleeding toes.
She started to step back, put any small amount of space between herself and the King of the Dead, but he held her wrist tighter, pain lacing up her arm. She bit down her tongue to stop from crying out, savoring the blood that filled her mouth as a nice distraction.
He winked at her, giving her the distinct feeling that he knew how hard she had to work to not scream out in pain, to stop herself from pummeling her fists against his chest. And then dropped his grip.
She lurched back a few steps, her momentum almost taking her to the ground. She refused to break eye contact, to give him the satisfaction. They stared at each other, neither wanting to look away, to speak first.
If he was going to be a stubborn ass, she would be too.
It was the look in his eyes that made her break her silence, the way they glinted in the light reflecting off the marble as he stared at her.
“Where?” She asked, restraining from yelling at him, from telling him to stop looking at her like she was a meal.
“Here.” Hades gestured wide with his arms, making her narrow her eyes. He was treating her like a fool, as if she wouldn’t notice Pelops’ presence in the room when he had been at her feet seconds before.
She dropped her head and shut her eyes, composing herself, lest she treat the Lord of the Dead the way he deserved. She breathed in deeply and rubbed her face, dragging the stray hairs behind her ears, before opening her eyes.
Persephone staggered back at the sight of her feet standing on dry, dead grass. When she whipped her head back to Hades, the muscles in her neck screaming, his eyes were gleaming with amusement as dark as the world around her.
Suddenly she was breathing too fast, unable to get enough air into her body as everything started to go dark, her vision blacking out.
No, everything was dark. It wasn’t her eyes, it was the world.
The Underworld.
Nowhere on Earth was this dark, this dank and moist and black. Only Hades’ realm was this horrible, this life threatening.
She wobbled on her unsteady feet, the ground reaching up to grab her by the face when Hades’ arms came around her waist. The ground was inches away from her nose, so close she could smell the decay seeping out of the dirt.
Catching her was one thing, but holding her there just above the ground, his strong hands splaying along her middle. It made her insides shriek and cry in despair. She dug her nails into his arms, a silent command to let go of her, at the same moment he quickly brought her back to her feet.
Once her feet were under her again, she widened her stance to help her stay upright, so she could push him away from her. Glaring at him until he took a step back from her. Giving her space.
She could still feel his hands on her body, his fingers digging into soft flesh. Trying to dispel the feeling she shook her body around, letting her arms flail to the sides and her hair twist around. He chuckled at her clear discomfort and she couldn’t help but push him again, smack him in the chest with the sides of her fists, over and over again.
He stood there, letting her wail on him, and this irked her even more than his hands touching her. So she smacked him clean across the face, watching his head snap to the side and his eyes widen in surprise.
When he turned back to her his eyes burned with a rage so fierce her legs felt weak again, wobbling beneath her and her stomach choppy.
