He’s become my Clea here and I’m suddenly very grateful for him.
“Goodnight,” he says.
“Goodnight.”
After Max leaves, I fall fast asleep, still dressed in my shadow gown.
It’s my growling stomach that pulls me awake some hours later.
The only thing I’ve eaten as of late were the sweet cakes and they were barely the size of an acorn.
After peeling off my dress, I pull on a pair of black leggings and an oversized sweater and make my way to the house kitchen.
It takes me a couple of wrong turns before I finally spot the arched doorway I’m looking for.
My internal clock tells me it’s close to dawn, so I expect to find the kitchen empty.
Instead, I find Haven at the worktable cutting into a pepper. A pot is already steaming on the stovetop behind him. Cooked chicken is chopped up next to him.
He looks up at me and betrays no shock or annoyance.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he says and goes back to his chopping.
Slightly on guard, I say, “I was hungry.”
He sets a pan on the stove and tosses in a pat of butter. “I’m making a chicken and rice bowl. Would you like one?”
I don’t know what to say to that so I just stand there and stare at him dumbly for far too long.
“I’ll be nice,” he promises and his promise to Nereus echoes in my head. This must be part of the game. But since I’m starving and he’s offering, I see no sense in turning it down.
“Yes, please.”
He tosses the peppers and chopped onion into the pan and the butter sizzles. Next, he puts a new pot on the stove beside the other and pours in so many different sauces and spices, I think he might be creating a potion and not a condiment.
I pull out one of the stools at the table and watch him as he works.
He moves in the kitchen like he knows exactly what he’s doing. There’s no measuring here, no hesitation, as he throws things together. Soon the kitchen is full of so many good aromas, my stomach tries gnawing its way out of my body.
When all the burners are off, Haven sets two bowls in front of me. He throws in a few scoops of brown rice in each bowl, then tops it with a heaping helping of the chicken and pepper and onion mixture. Lastly, he drizzles a dark amber sauce over top of it.
He hands me a fork.
I take it.
He grabs his bowl and disappears into the staff’s dining room. “Come on, Hearthtender,” he calls. “Don’t make me eat alone.”
I scoop up the bowl and follow him.
The staff’s dining room is all windows from one corner to the other. We’re facing the southern edge of the Dark Wood. Here the trees still have their leaves. I still haven’t figured out what that was in the Wood or how I might do it again.
Haven lights a lantern that hangs from a wrought iron hook in the ceiling. The wick catches easily and golden light spills in a circle around the room.
There are four tables here, with benches instead of chairs. I climb over a bench and settle in. Haven sits across from me. I wait until he takes a bit before trying my own. Just in case he had a thought to poison me.
Though that would be an ill-conceived plan. For one, he’d have had no way of knowing I was going to show up in the kitchen. And two, while mortal laws don’t exist here in Olympus, Haven would likely still be punished for my death one way or another.
With the coast clear, I scoop up chicken and rice and a colorful cluster of peppers and onions. When I bite into it, flavor explodes in my mouth. There’s the richness of the butter and spice of the chicken. And whatever sauce he made, it’s sweet and tangy. I taste honey and salt and wine maybe? I don’t know, but I love it. I love everything about it.
We eat in silence. I have no room for words on account of the fork going in and out of my mouth.
Sometime later, my bowl empty, I finally take in a full breath and look up. Haven is watching me.
“What?” I say.
“Did you like it?”
“I loved it.”
He folds his arms on the table. There’s no bashful pride on his face. He knew it was good. He’s not surprised by my adoration. Of course, everyone adores Haven for everything he does. Except his older brother apparently.
His eyes—one amber, one bleached nearly white—pin me in place.
The hair lifts on the back of my neck.
How does he do that? How does he make me feel electrified with nothing but a look? Why do I not want to leave now that our food is done?
I want to keep him here. I want this intimate bubble to stay just a bit longer.
But the only thing that comes out of my mouth is, “What really happened to your eye?”
Immediately I regret it. I think I’ve gone and popped the bubble and that Haven will sneer at me and say something biting in order to get back at me for having the audacity to ask him something personal.
But instead he says, “It was a punishment.”
“For what? Who did it?”
He looks away from me and out the window. A lock of his hair hangs over his forehead like a dark crescent moon. “You sure you want this story, Hearthtender? It’ll break your bright golden heart.”
I prop my chin in the heel of my hand. I’m ready for this story. So damn ready. “Yes,” I say, almost like a challenge.
He turns back to me. “It was Nereus that doled out the punishment. For not seeing what I should have.
“I was charged with caring for my mother. She’d been ill for some time. It’s hard for a mortal to birth descendants and she birthed seven. Nereus tasked me with watching over her and I didn’t.” There’s a pained look on his face as he admits, “I was in the mortal realm instead. Getting drunk on mortal wine.”
I sense where this story is going. “What happened?”
“She threw herself off of a cliff on Mount Ida.”
“Oh gods.” My chest tightens at the thought and my heart aches at the guilt he must have felt, and still harbors to this day.
I hadn’t expected to feel sorry for Haven and I don’t know what to do with it.
“Nereus can create a window anywhere with the snap of his fingers,” Haven goes on. “But not just anyone can peer into the underworld. He forced me to look at our mother forever wandering, tormented and haunted. And—” he points at his white eye “—I looked too long.”
“That’s awful,” I say, but there are literally no accurate words for just how awful it must have been.
“It’s the least I deserved.”
“That’s not true.”
He turns sideways on the bench and leans into the wall. “That’s kind of you, Hearthtender. But really, the punishment could have been worse for what I’d done.”
I can tell there’s no persuading him otherwise, so I drop it.
But...gods...his brother is even more cruel than I first thought. The lengths of his cruelty makes me sick to my stomach.
“What about you?” Haven asks. The lantern light skims the sharp rise of his cheekbones and highlights the wetness of his lips. “What secrets do you possess?”
I shrug. “I don’t really have any. I’ve lived a very simple life.”
“That can’t be true. No one is simple. And no one is all good.”
There’s a challenge in his gaze.
Suddenly I want to please him with something wicked.
“All right. Fine.” I sit up straighter. I do have a secret. It’s not as heavy as Haven’s. And technically no one got hurt...
“Do you remember when that fire started at the dress shop behind Hestia’s House years and years ago?”
Haven raises his eyebrows at me and says, “Yes,” in a tone of voice that’s both leading and incredulous. Like he knows where this is headed, but is shocked to realize its destination.
“I was trying to light off fireworks in celebration of Clea’s birthday and one got away from me and...well…”
“You burned down the dress shop?”
I wince. “Maybe?”
He laughs. “Anastasha Hearthtender burned down the dress shop!”
“Shhhhh! You’re the only one I’ve ever told!”
He’s grinning at me now like he’s seeing me in a whole new context.
“And here I thought I was just coming to the kitchen because I couldn’t sleep.” He tilts his head, appraising me. “The Fates must have roused me from bed. And what a boon they’ve given me.”
“Stop it,” I say, but I’m laughing too.
In the distance, for the briefest of moments, the sun shines around the mountainside as it rises. For one blinding minute, Haven and I are bathed in golden light.
I’m full of a feeling I’ve never had before.
One I can’t name.
Whatever this is right now, I don’t want it to end.
But just then, the House cook shuffles into the kitchen and calls out, “Hello?”
Haven blinks.
I lurch upright and snatch up my bowl.
Are we even supposed to be here at this hour?
Haven grabs his dish and disappears into the kitchen. “Morning, Rhea,” he says.
I can hear the smile on Rhea’s face when she says, “Morning, Mr. Knightfall. What mischief are you up to?”
I enter the kitchen. Rhea sees me and gives us a sheepish smile. “Well, all right then. No explanation needed.”
“No,” I say. “It wasn’t—”
“I made her a snack is all,” Haven says and sets his bowl in the trough sink. “It was innocent enough, was it not, Ana?”
I like it when he calls me by name.
I’m suddenly liking too many things about him.
“Yes,” I say with a nod. “Extremely innocent.”
“Uh huh,” Rhea says as she ties her apron around her slender midsection. She’s wearing a sleeveless black shirt. Both her arms are covered in colorful tattoos from wrist to shoulder. When Max introduced us on my first day here, he called her Hades’s favorite cook and instead of glowing in the compliment, Rhea just rolled her eyes like it was annoying to have this title. I liked her immediately.
“Now get out of my kitchen,” she says to us and jerks her thumb toward the door. “I have work to do.”
In the hall, Haven says, “I’ll walk you to your room.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t.” But he doesn’t leave my side.
When my insides turn fuzzy with warmth, I remind myself that this is all part of the game. If Haven wants to be nice to me when no one is looking, I’ll go on letting him.
When we reach my door, I lean against it trying to act as casually as a cat. Instead I must look as awkward as a goat. “So...um...thank you. I guess I’ll just—”
Haven saves me from my babbling and says, “You keep surprising me, Hearthtender.”
I lick my lips. “In what way?”
“Almost every way.”
I’m not sure how to take that. Should I be flattered? Offended?
He leans into the door frame angling his body toward mine. There’s barely any light in my hallway at this ungodly hour—only the flickering of the three iron sconces on the wall. It makes the moment feel intimate and safe.
It gives me the impression that whatever happens here and now doesn’t count so I’m free to do whatever I want.
The thought is liberating.
“Do you want to win the trial?” I ask Haven suddenly feeling bold. “Or do you want to win because it’s what’s expected?”
He pulls back surprised. “Why?”
Because I heard the conversation between you and your brother.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Just curious.”
He thinks for a minute. “Yes, I want to win.” He shifts and the light hits his mouth. “What about you, orphan? Do you want to win?”
Because Haven has been truthful with me (I think), I decide I can be too. “What I want is to figure out who I am.”
Somehow, I find myself standing closer to him like my feet have moved of their own accord. My nose is filled with his smell. That smoky spiciness that warms my belly and makes my heart beat fast in my chest.
This close to him, I marvel at the feel of him, how he’s commanding the space around us even though it’s just him and me. How he towers over me in a way that should feel imposing but instead feels oddly fucking sexy, like he could defend my honor against any manner of foe.
Not that he would. I’m just having a hard time not noticing the cording of muscle in his arms and the swell of veins in his hands and the broadness of his shoulders and the flat plane of his stomach.
I’m overcome with wanting.
Haven comes closer still. His eyes are heavy and shadowed but still I can feel the full effect of his mismatched irises.
I shiver.
Haven lowers his voice and says, “Can I ask you something?”
The air seems to tremble between us. “Yes.”
“Does your power manifest in your mouth?”
“No. I mean, I don’t—”
He cuts me off by pressing his lips to mine.
I’m shocked at first and stiff as a board.
And then…
His hand comes to the side of my face, his fingers sliding along my jaw. A thrill races down my spine and pools at my core. I’m on fire. From head to toe. Alight with desire and heat and a greediness I’ve never felt before.
I part my mouth for him and his tongue flicks over my lips. I groan into him and he presses into me, his other hand dropping to my hip, fingers digging into my flesh, hungry and possessive.
I feel like my soul is ripped from my body. Like I’m floating. Like I’m made of starlight and primordial dust.
Like I’ve transcended.
My entire body trembles beneath him.
Haven breaks away and breathes out heavily, his forehead pressed against mine. “You drive me mad, Hearthtender.”
I can feel his hardness digging into my hip.
Every hollow of my body is tingling.
I tug at his shirt, breathing in the scent of him.
Living amongst the gods, I know what desire is.
But I’ve never lived inside of it.
Not like this.
I’m mad too. I want to tell Haven that so we can share it, but I’m also afraid of it. I’m afraid of him, I realize.
I’m afraid of this rising tide in my belly, like if I keep kissing him, I might drown in it.
This is a game, I remind myself and I can hear Haven’s promise to his brother echoing in my head.
I want him to know that I’m currently panting against him not because he’s manipulating me with his handsome face and his kissable lips, but because I’m finally giving myself the permission to enjoy the spoils of the game.
“Is this part of it?” I say, my voice reedy.
He kisses me and pulls back and kisses me again. “Part of what?” he says.
“Your plan to triumph over me? To find my weakness?”
He straightens. His expression hardens. “Why would you ask that?”
“I heard you,” I admit.
“Heard what?”
“Your promise to Nereus. To be the cruel, wicked Knightfall you were born to be. To best me.”
He lets me go and staggers back. “Is that what you think?”
“Is it not true?”
His jaw clenches. His amber eye burns through me. “Of course it is, orphan. What else could it be?”
And then he turns and stalks away, leaving me to tremble at my door, everything clenched tight and beating for release.
I think I would have rather drowned if only to keep kissing him.
Chapter 23
I spend the night twisting and turning and dreaming of Haven.
Each time I wake, I go back to sleep determined to dream of anything but him, but it’s like I’m cursed to walk through a land populated with all the different versions of Haven that my brain can’t reconcile.
&
nbsp; In some dreams, he’s cruel and using his power to torment me. In others he’s this new, kinder version, using his clever hands to torment me in a different way.
I finally give up on sleep around mid-morning, furious at myself for giving him so much of my mental energy. I can’t stop replaying the kiss over in my head. I can’t stop from overanalyzing every step that led to it. Had he been planning to kiss me through the entire meal? Was the story of his mother just a way to gain my sympathy?
Everything I thought I knew about Haven has changed.
How is the guy who terrorized me with a delusion of spiders the same guy that made me a midnight snack? How can he be the person who gave me a bracelet to save me from being banished to the mortal realm and the one who cornered me in the bathroom just days ago?
And gods...that kiss.
Without thinking, I bring my fingers to my lips as if I can relive the moment just by touching the place he touched, as if I can conjure his hands on me again.
It was at once nothing like I expected and everything I’d hoped it would be.
I’ve never been kissed before. Not that I’d ever admit that to anyone here. I’m sure descendants of Hades’s House are quite experienced in that regard.
I never would have thought my first kiss would be shared with my mortal enemy. And I certainly would have never thought I’d like it as much as I did. Too bad it’s all part of the game.
I could get used to hating and kissing Haven Knightfall.
Though I was up well before dusk, I’m still late to report to Hades’s Hall for our second gifting ceremony. Punctuality was never big in Hestia’s House. I never had to be anywhere for anything and I’m finding it’s a lot harder to manage my time than I realized.
When I turn the corner and slip into the hall, I expect to sneak in and take a seat in the back. Instead I find Hades, Monstrat, and Nereus staring at me with varying shades of annoyance. The other descendants stand in a line at the foot of the dais. I rush to join the end of the line, next to Haven, who doesn’t even glance my way.
“Apologies, my lord.”
“Is this perpetual inability to be punctual a function of your sex, Ms. Hearthtender? Because none of the other descendants seem to have an issue with it.” Nereus sneers at me and the other descendants laugh. They’re quick to cover it up though when Hades shoots a look at Nereus that I think could raise the dead.
Hades Descendants (The Games of the Gods Book 1) Page 11