She cleared her throat, trying to ignore her treacherous body. “There was poison?”
“Ah yes, Chimera. Do you feel better?” She nodded, the blanket pulled high to her chin. “I took care of that first, it has to be drawn out slowly. It is a particularly nasty poison. Tell me, what shape did this one appear in?”
“A lion and a goat,” she replied with a shudder, remembering the hungry eyes of the goat.
He made a murmur as he wet the cloth again and she let out a gasp as he pulled the blanket suddenly off her right thigh, exposing a pale leg. She fought him for the edge of the cover, but let go with a horrified gasp when she saw the chunks of flesh and muscle missing from her thigh. Hades continued undeterred and began to rub at the wound centered high on her leg, and her pulse quickened as the cloth seemed to graze close to the apex of her thighs. Her gaze shot to his face, but he seemed oblivious to the effect he was having on her. She suddenly remembered the words of the demon -- Almost as sweet as you. The scars that covered his back, had that demon gifted him those?
“Hades,” she began slowly, “did you know that creature?” His hand paused above her leg for a moment and then he merely began to clean the blood from her lower leg. Would he not answer her, she wondered?
“Eurynomos and I are acquainted,” he replied slowly, as though considering his words carefully. “He found me once long ago, when I too was wandering in the darkness. He has a way of finding lost souls.” She was silent for a moment, keeping in mind his words. When had he been lost? He seemed so invincible. His fingers ran down her leg, touching her wound carefully, and she gave a shiver. He smiled at her and moved to her other side to begin the careful administrations there. Gods, she did not know if she could stand it, she thought, biting her lip. The pain and the pleasure were a dizzying combination.
“Why were you lost?” she bit out. She wanted to know -- needed to know.
“I had… suffered a defeat and sacrificed more than I could afford to lose.”
She longed to ask more but she knew he would not explain beyond his enigmatic answer. “How did you escape? Did you fight him? It must have been terrible,” she finished with a shiver, her wide eyes staring into his. “The pain from it - I can only imagine.”
He looked at her now, his face close, a dark lock of hair almost obscuring his eyes. “Yes, the pain was unendurable. He tore at my flesh, devoured my organs day after day, night after night. It was agony and he ate my eyes last so I could always watch him.” He paused, his eyes flashing with anger. “And I rejoiced in it. Every bite, every rip of my tissue was succor to my soul. I thanked the Fates that they allowed me to be torn apart, again and again, so that I would never be whole again. I deserved that and more for the things I had done.” She sucked in her breath at his words, her hand partially raised of its own accord to comfort him. She jerked it back down to her side. His gaze followed the motion and his expression became bland again as he continued. “Eventually, Cerberus found me and has been with me ever since.”
“Cerberus, no wonder he is so loyal to you. And then you punished Eurynomos for eating your insides?”
“No, I punished him for touching my dog. Nobody touches my things.”
Placing his hand high on her upper leg, he said “Hold still, so I don’t leave a scar.” He pushed his hands into the bite, and she felt a warmth infuse her flesh as hot white heat poured forth from his hands, tinged with the purple she had seen in the cavern. When she looked down, she gasped. The wound had completely vanished, not even a small scar marred the whiteness of her flesh. Even her mother was not such a skilled healer.
She bent her leg to study it closer and then she turned to him, smiling. “You truly have a talent! How did you perfect such amazing healing arts?”
His mouth lifted at her enthusiasm. “When you live among the dead you learn quickly to heal yourself.” He rubbed her inner arm gently, his calloused fingers trailing over her soft flesh, and she resisted the urge to close her eyes. “What are these,” he murmured.
She looked down to where he touched her and saw the scars on her arm from when the Stymphalian had attacked her in her mother’s temple. It seemed like so long ago now.
“It was a Stymphalian, he grabbed me too roughly I am afraid. The scars do not bother me.”
His fingers grasped her more firmly and once again heat infused her arm. When he removed his hand, only supple flesh remained.
“Why was a Stymphalian hunting you?”
She had been so mesmerized by his touch that it took her a moment to consider what he asked. “I do not know,” she began finally, frowning. “It was rather odd. My mother thought Ares had sent them.”
His thumb absently traced a pattern over the smooth skin of her arm. And she felt it again, that desperate pull towards him, heat seemed to creep up her neck with every stroke of his hand.
“Interesting,” he replied.
Without further discussion, he proceeded to heal each of her wounds, placing his hands over even the smallest mark, and when he was finished her skin seemed to gleam. She studied her arm and looked up at him with a shy expression.
“Could you teach me some time, to heal like you?”
“If you wish.”
They looked at one another, and she felt peaceful for a moment, until a thought popped into her head. “But you are so skilled, why can you not heal the wound on your chest? Have you tried to--?”
He gave an impatient sigh, the brooding expression returning to his face. “I told you, Persephone, nothing can help this injury. That arrow was forged by a God and cursed -- by a God. There is only one cure for this wound and I doubt you want to discuss it right now.” He turned away from her and she grabbed his forearm and his body tightened at her touch. It was the first time she had even initiated touching him and she did not know which of them was more shocked. He slowly turned to face her.
“I should thank you,” she said quietly. “For coming to me when you did. You saved me from a wretched fate.”
“I will always come when you call, Persephone.”
She gasped. “You heard me, in the darkness?” Her hand was still wrapped around his muscular arm and she knew she should release him, but he felt so warm and she was tired of being cold. She regarded her mysterious husband and said in a whisper, “What was the thing that happened, the thing that made your soul ache?”
“Perhaps,” he said, “it was just knowing that I was eternally alone in the darkness.” He picked up her hand and pressed it to his face. “This is a place where nightmares seem to come alive. Evil things lurk in the dark, Persephone, and goodness, the smallest flicker of hope draws them out. And you are light itself. Evil will always find you.”
She shuddered at his words. “But I am not always hopeful,” she said in a small, sad voice. She was tired of denying it, pushing that part of herself down -- the wicked part she refused to acknowledge, but that always lurked in her mind. She needed him to know that she was imperfect. “Sometimes, I feel it inside of me. A darkness that longs to be set free. And I feel I could do anything -- just for a taste of it.”
Her gaze sought his, looking for disappointment or even disgust that the perfect Persephone was flawed. But it was not disapproval she saw in his gaze. Instead, she saw heat flare and burn in his eyes and she felt the answering heat, deep in her core, rise to meet him. He still held her hand to his face and her fingers longed to stroke his firm jaw.
“Well my wife,” he said finally, “the King of Darkness can help you with that.” And he turned her palm towards his face and bit down into the center. She gave a gasp of pleasure as he licked the pulse beating swiftly at her wrist. She would never know who moved first, but suddenly he was on top of her and the blanket was thrown from her body. She lay naked under his fully clothed form and she wanted to cry with the pleasure of it as the silky cloth of his tunic rubbed against her. She could barely think over the heartbeat in her head and she knew she was drunk on arousal, and that if he stopped, she would scream. Sha
meful, her mind cried at her, but oh it felt too good to care. If it was the curse that drove them, she just did not give a damn right now. She rubbed herself against him, pressing herself greedily into him as his teeth tugged at her lower lip. She groaned against his mouth as he thrust his tongue roughly into hers and felt one hand travel to her breast. His mouth left hers and she tried to pull him back, but he resolutely proceeded down her neck, past her shoulders, until he paused right above her pink budded nipple, and thought fled when he bent his head. She arched off the bed as she felt his hot tongue lapping at her, but he pushed her back down as her head thrashed madly on the pillow. Tangling her hands in his hair, she watched his dark head through narrowed eyes and the sight was unbearably erotic.
He lifted his head and smiled at her and then his lips took hers again, his long fingers lifting her jaw to allow him better access. He supped from her like she was the finest ambrosia, and when she gave a tentative touch of her tongue, his body jerked over hers. She stiffened, embarrassed she had done something wrong and she tried to turn her face away, but his hand prevented her movement. He whispered in her ear as he bit down gently on the small lobe, “Do that again.” So, she did, and this time as he tightened over her, she felt the long, thick length of him pressed against her thighs. It seemed he did like it very much indeed. His hand travelled from her breast, to caress her stomach, and then finally to that aching spot between her legs, where he paused. She almost snarled in frustration.
“Does it ache here, Persephone? Do you want me to make it better?” She felt sweat beading her face and she nodded desperately. “Tell me,” he murmured.
“Please,” her voice came out a whimper.
She felt him smile against her lips. “Since you were polite my wife.”
And then he touched her, and the world vanished for a moment as she felt a white-hot energy begin at that small center of herself. For a moment, pure bliss seemed to fill her, but the black tentacles of fear began to surface and wrap around her, making that white-hot pleasure fade. She felt panic press into her mind as his fingers travelled lower to the place that she ached. Wife. Wedding. No, her mind cried, no she could not bear it again.
She grabbed his wrist. “No,” her voice wavered as she pressed her legs tightly together.
He did not seem to comprehend her at first, his hand poised over her exposed lady parts. “No?” he repeated, as though the word confused him.
Her face flamed, he must think her mad. Madder than even he was. He must think her a wanton! Because that is what she thought of herself. She was broken and no matter how hard she tried she could not seem to right herself.
“Do you want me to stop Persephone?” he asked. She nodded and bit her lip that was swollen from his kisses. Kisses she had begged for, Gods -- that she had longed for. He watched her for a moment and then lowered his hand to touch her. The touch was brief but when he withdrew his hand it glistened with a golden iridescence. “And yet you are wet with need for me. So, can you explain then why you want to stop? Do not tell me that you did not enjoy it. I have the proof on my hands.” He brought his fingers into his mouth tasting her honeyed nectar. A gentle curve appeared at the corner of his lips.
She blushed furiously at the obvious sight of her arousal and she turned her head from the view. “I--I do not like it. I do not wish to be touched by anyone. You or anyone else. I am sorry, I should not have touched you.”
He stood up and she wanted to cry with exasperation and unfulfilled desire as he pulled the blanket back over her body. “Anyone else?” he queried staring at her intently for a moment. “Oh, Persephone, you little liar,” he said quietly. “You long to be touched so badly you almost orgasmed with one touch. Sometime soon you will have to trust me with the necessity for the truth. Time is running out for both of us.”
He bent and extinguished the candles next to her bed. “Goodnight, sweet wife. If you leave this room again, I will not be responsible for the things that I may do to you.”
And then she was alone in the darkness, aching fiercely between her legs and wishing to the Gods she had let him finish what they had started.
Hades quietly slipped from Persephone’s room. He had stood watching her for several moments from the shadows as she had shifted her legs uncomfortably. Her hand had travelled several times close to the delicious apex of her thighs, but each time she jerked it back almost angrily. Would this goddess not even allow herself pleasure in the privacy of her room? He had watched like a voyeur, his cock aching furiously, and when he could withstand no more, he turned and left. She had been undeniably and feverishly aroused, as much as he had been. And yet, still she had stopped him. His chest pulsed at him with rage and wept hot blood at his infecundity. How much more of this could they both endure?
He made his way outside, into the quiet darkness, and he closed his eyes for a moment. The sounds of the river echoed loudly through the Underworld. Persephone had been different tonight, her usual fire abated after the torment of today. He would rather she berate and chastise him than to see her spirit diminish. She feared the darkness and Hades could not allow for sorrow to touch his wife. He walked to the edge of the river, and bending down, lifted his hands above the rapidly churning water. A golden light bubbled up from the murky depths.
It took great concentration to force the pulsating orb from its comfortable home, but it finally gave way with a last tug of resistance and Hades could almost hear its reluctant sigh. He levitated the orb of light out of the tides and then bent close to it, feeling its warm light throb against him. Leaning down again, he whispered to the river, telling the Styx he was looking for someone, that he needed her to bring a special friend to him. The water splashed back and forth, greeting him joyously, and it bubbled wildly for a moment when finally, a little fawn stepped out of the waves, jumping with long, wobbly legs to reach the shore. Its rump was covered with fine, lovely white dots and its large brown eyes stared up at Hades adoringly. For a moment, it bowed its head towards him and then it jumped towards his chest. He gave a contented sound as Hades caught him and began to dry him vigorously with his cape. “Hello, little friend,” he greeted. He leaned towards the river and whispered, “Thank you, Styx.” A gentle splash of the river acknowledged his gratitude and the water jumped to caress him softly. Turning back to the fawn he murmured quietly, “Come, I think there is someone who would like to see you.” And then Hades carried both the orb and the little fawn into the castle.
Chapter 9 - The Gift
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Persephone was riding a large white stag through the forest. She could feel the adrenaline rushing through the creature and she knew instinctively it ran from something, that some horrifying terror gave chase behind them and if she turned around, if she dared to look, she would look into the eyes of death. The deer leapt over the treacherous terrain and she feared she would lose her balance and that her body would be crushed beneath his furious hooves. But they could not stop, the unknown terror drove both of them. Stopping would mean certain death. Faster and faster they travelled, the branches pulling at her hair and skin causing deep scratches and welts to form. Her thighs clenched tightly against the stag’s heaving sides and her heart stuttered as it made its way down to a river, the decline dangerously steep. And then it happened. The stag stumbled and she felt herself flying as a sickening snap filled the silence as she soared overhead. When she landed, she heard the crunch of her own neck and the pain took her breath, but oh, she would not die. She would never be allowed that release, but she could watch the things she loved torn away from her, over and over again until there was no part of herself left. She knew before she raised her eyes what she would see, but even so, she gave a cry of despair as she looked at the stag, blood dripping slowly from its soft black nose and mouth, matting the thick white fur of his chest. Its lifeless eyes stared back at her and then strong rough hands went around her throat.
Persephone awoke mid scream, her loose hair wild about her face. She rubbed her arms and l
aid there for a moment as her pulse raced madly. It had felt so real, she could still feel the sorrow at the death of the beautiful stag. How many nights must she pay penance? She crawled out of bed knowing she would not fall asleep again, and as she stepped down, a sheer pink gown flowed to her feet. It was a beautiful dress, outlining the shape of her breasts and clinging tightly to her curves, but the strange thing was that she did not remember changing into it. When she had fallen asleep, she had still been naked under the covers, after Hades had… after they had touched each other. She closed her eyes tightly remembering the sweet pleasure -- she had wanted him beyond reason, beyond sanity. Her heart gave a painful twist at the memory.
She remembered the look in his black eyes, the touch of his lips against her breast and it had felt sinfully good. Even now she longed to pull that lovely gown from her body and imagine his strong hands touching her in every intimate place. She longed for his touch. Persephone actually clung to the chair nearest to her to prevent her wayward feet from stepping towards the door. Oh Gods, but this was intolerable. The curse, it must be growing stronger!
She needed to take her mind from him. She stood suddenly and traced the carvings that were etched into the quartz of the fireplace, her fingers running over the delicate images. Did Hades support Eros because he too was often represented as a monster? Why was he exiled to this world? From a purely unbiased standpoint, he was a beautiful God, and she could only imagine how Aphrodite would like to get her gorgeous claws into him. He would be no outcast at the orgies that filled the halls of Olympus. But maybe he had already lain with the Goddesses on the mountain, she considered reasonably. The thought of the Aphrodite’s lovely pink lips on Hades’ perfectly proportioned ones twisted her belly with an ugly sensation that felt strongly like jealousy, but that surely could not be.
Hades And Persephone: Curse Of The Golden Arrow Page 12