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Sweat slid down the back of her neck as she stared up at the black abyss above them. The ground was gravelly and grey, the small patch of dead grass at her feet the only bit of colour for as far as she could. There was no horizon. Only pure, light-sucking darkness.
She was too afraid to turn around to see what was emitting the small amount of light that she could see by, so she stared at Hades. His crown was barely visible in the shadowy light, she only knew it was there because it had glinted when he caught her, shining gold into her eyes.
In the past, she had never paid attention to his face, his hair was distracting enough, but now she noticed he was all sharp angry-looking angles, dark beard, and fierce, life-less black eyes. His eyes struck her, the darkness swirling inside them halting her thoughts and drawing her in.
She took a step toward him, drowning in his eyes, his minty scent that rolled off him in mind-twisting waves. His eyes were an ocean of darkness and she would gladly fall in, if only to float aimlessly and feel the black waters caress her skin.
It wasn’t that only his eyes were attractive – he was a god; he was made to be fuck-able – but they were so intense that she couldn’t bring herself to look away. It was like when she found Pelops, unable to tear her eyes from his limp, lifeless body, but this time she didn’t want to.
Couldn’t imagine why she would ever want to look away, ever want to leave the small bubble of sophistication and arousal surrounding Hades.
She took another step toward him, reaching to run a finger across the back of his hand.
Then he blinked. And the world grew dark again.
She yanked her hand away from him, spinning and walking away from him while yelling, “What am I doing here?” When he didn’t reply, she turned back to see him watching her intensely, an eyebrow flicking up. “Why am I here? Why bring me to this – this place?” Suddenly she remembered Pelops and mentally smacked herself for forgetting, how could she forget about him? “Where’s Pelops, youmetrokoites—”
“All that incessant noise,” he waved a hand as if he could brush away the memory of it, “I could barely hear my own exceptional thoughts.” Persephone scoffed at his confidence – overconfidence; his huge ego. Hades ignored her and continued, grinning wide, “andkale, you’ll want to hear this loud and clear.”
“Don’t call me that,” she said, recoiling at his words.
“I think you’ll let me call you whatever I want,” his voice drawled, boredom filling the spaces between the words, “because I can give that mortal man life again.” At her sharp inhale Hades slowly made his way closer until their chests touched.
Persephone stood her ground, keeping her feet planted. She wouldn’t cringe away from him – wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of making her skin crawl. But inside, she was. Inside, she was already running away from him, her blood curdling as his body touched her.
As she felt his body heat through their clothing.
Something was wrapping around her body – his hands. He’d gently, but securely, wrapped both arms around her, his intertwined hands resting on her lower back. Just above the curve of her butt.
She wanted to push him away or smack that look off his face for touching her, but if she played the game, she might win. Might win Pelops’ life back. Even if it meant letting Hades touch her, and touching him back.
So she forced her arms to move, to wrap around his neck and into his hair. Holding the back of his neck with one hand while the other idly stroked his scalp, dragging her nails up and down, up and down.
A sense of calm and comfort flushed over her, the anxiety and tension of the day melting from her body so easily she rested her head on his chest. Breathed him in. Listened to his heartbeat.
Hades felt nothing like Pelops.
Pelops, who had the body of a hunter. Who was strong and hard and skilled. Whose hands were rough and calloused against her smooth skin, even after he oiled them.
But Hades was a god. A really sexy, horrible god. And she couldn’t help but wonder what his hands would feel like against her bare skin, in her hair and between her legs. How his lips would feel on hers and the passion that would heat even the coldest corner of the Underworld. His body was warm and soft and strong under cheek, and she felt completely free from harm in his arms.
She shut her eyes and rubbed her hands down the sides of his neck and shoulders, absentmindedly rubbing at the tight knots collecting there.
His hands moved up her back, she relished in the gentle caress as he did, to her shoulders and abruptly shoved her away.
It woke her up. Brought her out of the weird fantasy she’d been imagining, the safety and caressing. The gentleness of his hands as he touched the contours of her body.
Without his intoxicating body heat, the very smell of him, she came to her senses and glared at him, throwing all her anger into that stare. How dare he make her feel that way, a way she didn’t think he was capable of making anyone feel, let alone a woman in love.
Only the gods of love should have been able to bring buried, passionate emotions to the surface for even the most repugnant of people.
Hades must be more powerful than she thought. More powerful than the Olympians, that was clear.
Maybe that’s why they had banished him here, to this…home. If it could be called a home.
10
THE POMEGRANATE
