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If Hades finds out about this, I’ll never live it down.
After my infuriating encounter, I decided to swing by my neighboring realm for some soul-hunting stress relief instead of returning immediately to Olympus.
And what a happy bit of happenstance. Mystifying. Bewildering. But happy.
Atop the wooded canopy, I cock my head and watch the girl. She reminds me of a butterfly. A rosy little butterfly of mortal essence fluttering and shimmering in my dark void of a realm.
Yes, this will take the edge off my boredom. I might be a heartless monster under a love-free curse, but pleasure and amusement provide a worthy substitute for my humdrum existence—one of a damned heart of stone in my chest and a quiver of endless arrows that don’t fucking work.
For the moment, I’ll observe and see what this glowing little girl is made of. The way she tears through the trees with suchunnatural grace for a human, a mortal rarity…if she dances, the Muses must have blessed her. And the Fair Folk would wish to claim her.
A human in Purgatory. Far worse than any Fae realm. A pity for this glowing butterfly whose blood spills upon the gray ground like poppy petals.
Hmm…I breathe in her scent. While mist and evergreens make up the fragrance of her clothes, her blood is entirely different. She smells like a floral offering given to the dead. One of honor, worthy of remembrance. As if her essence is screaming to be seen, to be wanted, to be desired, to be loved.
So rare for a mortal to wander into Purgatory.
A smirk curves my lips at her talking to herself. Something about saving worms, talking to houseplants, and tea parties with ghosts.
She’s feisty. Her ‘Venus flytrap’ quip spreads my grin. Great Zeus, she has a mouth on her! Nothing like Psyche who was everything soft and tender, patient and faithful.
I take a deep breath and narrow my eyes on her bottom through her dress. She is little but plump. Generous tits, too. She is everything dainty and delicate and flushed red cheeks. Red blood, warm flesh, impassioned emotions, and—
The fuck? I swing my gaze down, certain it must have been a tree branch or a shift in the wind.
My hand damn near shakes when I lower it to adjust myself. Because I already know. Impossible to miss with the blood surging like a long-lost arrow straight to the cursed member.
WHAT IN ALL FLUTTERING FLUTES AND FUCKS?
I’m hard.
Not just hard. My cock is throbbing, fucking raging in my damn breeches. For the first time in a century, the hunger rises in me, sharp and carnal—hot as a heart on fire. Arrows and assholes, I’m so gods-damned hard!
I beat my wings and careen over the canopy. The second the girl snaps her head to me, she stops dead in her tracks.
Whatever else she is, she is still mortal. Moments ago, I’d scented the sweet taste of her fear. But by the gods! Her awe, her horror at my presence is incomparable. Like crushed herbs and flowers, mist and nighttime dew, it’s like her soul is mourning but filled with longing.
She’s in the presence of a deity. And she knows it.
Such a curious contrast to her severe passion and the lightness of how she carries herself.
Once she lifts her chin, her pulse naturally riots. Fitting since it mirrors my damn dick. Her eyes are cerulean jewels, blue-green and mystical—faerie pools seducing me to step in and be drowned. It’s difficult to concentrate with her scent luring me, tempting me.
I make no motion to hide my monstrous form. Unlike Psyche, this little mortal understands how unwise it would be to cross me. Her lips part, and her breath flees in gray, tattered gusts, but she says nothing.
Where mortals of all races and sexes have screamed, pissed themselves, fainted, or run at the macabre gargoyle, where all souls who enter Purgatory kneel before me and kiss the ends of my robe while pleading for forgiveness and rest, where demigods themselves will kneel…this mortal fucking stares!
My cock jumps in my breeches, thickening. Fuck, it’s taking everything I have not to pluck her little body from the ground and fuck her in midair while reaping all her delicious emotions, from terror to pleasure, from horror to ecstasy.
Oh, her eyes register horror. She knows she’s kneeling in the wake of true power and supremacy. But she’s responding more like prey caught in the eye of the perfect predator—prey who wants to be caught, prey who invites me to claim her. Not a weak invitation. No, this is a gold envelope signed withengraved lettering, sealed with scarlet wax and a pretty stamp, and delivered on a gods-damned silver platter!
Bloody Valentine, the rosy butterfly’s gaze haunts me as her eyes sweep across my form likesheis studyingme. Closer now, her well-endowed tits are even more magnificent. Immaculate nipples pebbling through her lacy bodice.
When I lock my black eyes upon hers, she does not wither, nor shrivel or retreat. Instead of bowing in submission and crying for mercy, gods, she’s sizing me up like she wants to devour me. Pastel rose curls flirt with her porcelain cheeks, cheeks that turn pink with a pretty mortal blush.
A mortal once captured me, and I, her. A mortal once loved me, and I, her. And I pleaded her case to Zeus, who made her a goddess. A goddess whose soul disappeared and a curse that left me with a stone-cold heart, icy blood, and broken arrows. Utterly devastated. And nigh-impotent. Until now.
I’ll be damned if I let a mortal girl devastate me again.
