by Vivian Wood
“There’s more than one way to punish a woman,” he says. Or at least I think he says it. It could be my own brain finally losing its grip on reality. “More than this, Persephone.”
I brace for another spanking, but instead I hear a sound I can’t immediately place.
Clothes… hitting the floor.
I’m not wearing any more clothes.
I’m bent over the edge of the bed, panting and quaking and only upright by the grace of Hades himself.
Those have to be his clothes.
I’ve had too much to turn my head, though I want to see him.
I want to see him, but I don’t need to see him. All I need to do is feel him. He touches me, making the first contact. The air around us ignites. He slides his palms down my back, traces a path down my spine. Then he braces them against my hips.
“I’m going to hold you still while I take you.” Like he’s commenting on the weather. “You weren’t hoping for someone to kiss you and wipe away your tears, were you?”
I shake my head. I wish he would just do it. I wish he would take us to the other side of whatever this is. Maybe that’s crazy. Maybe it’s not something I should ever want, and it makes me just as bad as he is. But I’ve never killed anyone. I’ve only begged a killer to do depraved things to my body. I don’t know what that makes me, and right now, I don’t care.
“Good.”
Hades shifts behind me, and I can’t for the life of me figure out what he’s going to do. It doesn’t feel like being fucked, which I’m assuming has something to do with a dick, not—
Not a tongue.
Not a tongue pressing possessively against me.
Licking. Long, broad strokes. My flesh is already swollen and wanting, and his tongue on it sets me on fire as much as his hands do, spreading me even wider. I didn’t think it was possible.
It’s possible.
He licks and nips in endless strokes that push wave after wave of pleasure over me. Pleasure so intense it aches and stings. A pleasure to meet the pain of his hand on my ass before. I hate him for it. I need him for it. Hate and need hold each other with a tight grip. They show no signs of letting go.
How can he be the one to do this to me? How can I want it so much? The questions loop around and around until they finally drown themselves in pleasure. In pleasure, there are no questions. There are only answers. And the answer is an earth-shattering orgasm that has me bucking against the tie around my wrist. I would be rocking into the side of the bed, only Hades’ hands on my waist pin me in place. Just like he promised.
He pushes his tongue inside me, farther than I thought it could go, then pulls back. I howl against the bedding. It’s awful. It’s awful. He’s awful for stopping. I wanted more, and he could have given it to me.
But he was only preparing me for what’s to come.
Which is the thickness of him pressing harshly against my opening. Which is his hands pressing tight against my hips, tight enough to bruise. Which is say goodbye, sweetheart. I don’t get the words to wish the old me farewell before he takes me with one single, relentless thrust.
It tears through me, pain screaming between my legs—or maybe that’s me screaming. He’s torn something, he’s hurt something, and I know that intellectually that’s what’s supposed to happen; that’s what I asked him to do. But I didn’t know it would feel like this. I didn’t know he would feel so huge. There’s not enough room. He can’t fit, but he makes himself fit. He’s stretching me too far. I’ll never be able to take it all.
But I don’t have a choice.
I don’t want a choice.
He pulls out and drives back inside, inch by inch, and I feel everything. Every ridge, every iron millimeter. My body convulses around him in something like an orgasm, only wretched and tear-filled and bad. It’s bad to have this happen to me.
And it’s so, so good.
I don’t know that at first; all I feel is the pain. Hades doesn’t stop for an instant. He doesn’t let up for a single moment. He fucks me hard, like he has always owned me. Like this isn’t special, it’s just something he does. It’s not special. It’s the end of the world.
Thank God, it’s the end of the world.
Blood and pleasure mix around him, and slowly, gradually, I become aware that it doesn’t feel quite so sharp and cutting anymore. He might fit. He does fit. It’s a near thing. He takes up all the available space. He fills me to the hilt, but I’m handling it. I’m managing it.
I’m more than managing it.
I discover that I’m murmuring pleas instead of crying, rocking back against his hands, since I can’t move enough to get more of him into me. I’m moving with him. There is no other way to move. He sets the rhythm, he chooses the thrust, and he is in control of everything.
It sets me free.
He’s a vicious lover, never seeming to care what I need. Or maybe he did care, and I got what I was going to get at the beginning. Or maybe he knows me better than I know myself. Because the more he fucks me, the tighter the pleasure winds until finally he’s driving into me so hard I can’t catch my breath, holding me hard enough to bruise, and I come harder than I ever thought possible.
It shouldn’t be possible. It’s blinding, heart-stopping, unearthly. Who’s screaming? Me, or someone else? It doesn’t matter. The spiral twists and releases again. I’m dimly aware of him working harder. Faster. And there’s a deep, final thrust, a noise from somewhere in the back of his throat, and something hot spilling into me.
Opening my eyes seems out of the question.
After a long time, or maybe only a few minutes, Hades works himself out of me. I’m left knock-kneed and panting on the bed. I still don’t open my eyes. I’m not going to open them. The tie slides off my wrists, and he moves on to the bed and rolls one wrist, then the other, making sure I can move them. At some point, he picks me up. Water runs in the bathroom, steam kissing my face. I discover for the first time that there’s a ledge in the shower wide enough for a man to sit on with a woman in his lap.
Soap on a washcloth. His hair, wet in the shower. Blue eyes carved from the sky tracing every available path along my body, wiping away the sweat and the blood and all the evidence that nothing is the same now. His hands in my hair, working in the shampoo and working it back out again. The sweet scent of conditioner.
A towel so soft I could cry, rubbed in gentle circles over every aching inch of me. He wraps another towel around my hair, leaving it on long enough to draw out most of the moisture.
Gathers me into his lap.
Runs a comb through the tangles.
It’s a process, with hair like mine, but he sees it through.
I keep my eyes closed.
If I open them, he’ll disappear—I know it. Or I will discover that all of this has brought me back to where I started. And I don’t want to go back there. I never want to go back. There’s nothing there for me now… now that I have this.
Clothes—another white dress, a nightgown, slipped over my head. The sway of his body on the way back to the bedroom. He peels back the blankets and deposits me between cool sheets. Tugs up the blankets.
A kiss whispers against my forehead. That—that’s a bridge too far for Hades. It must be a hallucination.
Now I do try to open my eyes. I should ask him. I should ask him whether the kiss was real. Whether any of this was real. But I’ve kept them closed too long, and now I’m drifting.
Is he even here?
I try to get my lips to form the words, but they won’t cooperate. My only choice is to sink down into the pillow and drift.
There’s something else I should do. What is it? It seemed so important all this time. Something about a secret passageway and a plan. A way back to my old life. The details are not forthcoming. They don’t seem to matter much anymore. Not enough to convince me to wake up and shake off the blankets. I consider it for what seems like several years, but in the end, I can’t remember what I was considering in the first place.<
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I turn over once, my cheek making contact with the other side of the pillow, and I’m lost to the world.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Persephone
I’m walking the length of an open field, weaving between the flowers, the grass tickling my bare feet. My basket hangs from one hand. Its balance is perfect. I’ve arranged the small weights of the flowers so that the basket swings along with every step, catching the breeze. Summer sun. I’ve always loved the summer sun. It’s warm on my face, on my shoulders. The hem of my dress whispers along my ankles, gauzy and clean. No one watches me.
There’s no rush, is there? There’s never been any rush. I could spend all day crossing this field if I wanted. I have plans to eat an apple once I get to the other side. A bright red apple, sweet and fresh. A perfect globe. Grown for me. I can see for miles. No fences cut me off from the world, but I don’t need a fence. I’m perfectly content to walk back home when I’m finished with my task.
A hand tugs at my shoulder.
“Mmm, no.” I shake it off, turning my head to smile at whoever is there. One of the companions my mother hires from the city when she thinks I’m too lonely, maybe. A girl, a young woman. Always a woman. She’ll walk with me as long as I want. She’ll keep me in sight. It doesn’t bother me. “I’m not finished yet.”
A drop of water hits the sky and makes the blue ripple all through fluffy white clouds. That shouldn’t be happening, probably. I’ve never seen the sky do that before.
This time, the hand on my shoulder is rougher. More demanding.
“Stop.” I brush it away and spin around to confront whoever is there.
The field is empty.
It’s not just empty here; it’s empty as far as I can see. There is no house. There are no trees. There aren’t any flowers.
They grab my shoulder again and shake.
“Stop!” I shout, whirling around. They were behind me. There has to be someone there, digging their fingers into my dress and yanking, harder and harder. “What do you want? What do you want?”
The dream shifts, and then I’m standing in front of the New York Public Library. The lions watch me with judgment on their stone faces. “You don’t belong here,” one of them says. The other nods his agreement.
The fabric of my dress seems to pull me up toward the sky and beyond, outside the atmosphere and into the blackness of space. My vision shuts down. It’s too dark. I fumble for the covers and pull them up against my shoulder. Pull them tight. I’m tired. I’m too tired to understand what’s happening, one foot firmly planted in this dream world.
“Persephone. Persephone, it’s time to go.”
The voice registers one word at a time, all of them distorted at first and finally clear. My eyes are tiny sandbags. I force one open then the other. Lillian hovers above me, face almost invisible in the dark.
What is she doing here?
She shakes me again, as if my open eyes aren’t a sign of being awake. “Persephone, get up. We have to go. He’s waiting.”
It must be Hades. There can be no other explanation. I’m so exhausted that I don’t open my mouth to ask. No one else would make her worry like this. He hasn’t been in the habit of waking me up at night, but maybe he needs more from me. I need more from him. It beats in me like my own heart, an echoed beat a moment out of time so I can always, always hear it.
I make a sound that’s meant to be “okay” but is more of an acquiescent mumble. It’s the middle of the night. Which night, I don’t know. I could have been sleeping for a full day. Two days, even. That’s how tired I am. It takes everything I have to swing my legs to the edge of the bed and wriggle out. Lillian kneels down and lines up a pair of shoes on the floor. Shoes? I should be wearing slippers. There’s no way I’m walking that far. But they’re soft shoes, and comfortable, so I close my eyes and let her tie them up.
“Good,” she murmurs. “Good.” While I’m still sitting on the edge of the bed, she tugs something around my shoulders and helps me get my arms into the holes. A robe, but thicker. Almost a coat. It has a row of buttons down the front, but she doesn’t button them. Instead, she takes my hand and tugs me to standing. “This way,” she coaxes. “He’s waiting. We don’t have much time.”
Hades’ private rooms are dark, but I don’t need to see much to follow Lillian. She keeps her hand on mine, at times curving her arm around my waist. God, I’m tired. I never thought I could be this tired. I never thought I could ever be so at peace here in this mountain prison. It doesn’t seem much like a prison now. I haven’t sorted that out yet. In order to do that, I’ll need several hours curled up in the library. The book doesn’t matter much. It only needs to be a story that will hold my attention while my mind works in the background. No wonder my mother never let me keep many books. She must have known I’d figure out a way to escape earlier on.
I’m still thinking about sitting in the chair and the weight of a hardcover book in my lap when we go out into the hallway. I let out a little laugh. My voice sounds rough, like I’ve been up all night, though I know I’ve been sleeping deeply enough to dream. Is this a dream?
Lillian glances at me. “What is it?”
“His office.” I shake my head and laugh again. “It makes so much sense.”
She presses her lips together but doesn’t say anything else. That’s fine. It’s the middle of the night, after all. Someone had to wake her up in order to come get me. Hades could have fetched me himself, if that’s what he wanted, but who am I to judge what he does? I can’t even pay that close of attention just now. Soon, we’ll be at his office, and then I’ll find out what he wants. Lillian can go back to her bed.
“I’m hurrying,” I tell her, feeling strange. “I’m hurrying as fast as I can.”
“You’ll have to go a little faster.” She looks around behind her. Behind her? If we’re headed toward Hades, there’s nobody behind her now. “But not for long.”
Exhaustion descends again, making my eyelids feel a thousand times heavier. We turn down one hall then another. The big, circular rotunda at the center of the house is empty. Our footsteps echo against the high ceiling and bounce back down to us. I’m intimately aware of the sound and how it feels hitting my skin. Can a person feel vibrations like that just from footsteps? It’s an interesting question. I bet Lillian doesn’t want to talk about it right now. That’s okay. There will be plenty of time to talk later.
It’s not until we’re going down the wide stairs toward the train platform that I open my eyes all the way, blinking hard to try to clear the sleep from them.
The train idles on the tracks, its massive engine turning over.
That familiar heat in my cheeks comes back full-force, the combination of embarrassment and anticipation. Hades is taking me to the New York Public Library. He must know I want to go there, and he’s taking me there in the middle of the night. I reach up and rub the coin necklace between my fingers. We’ll have to fly or at least drive once we get back to the city. That sends a thrill down to the tips of my toes. My mother relied on the train for everything. We’ve never owned a car. The thought of him behind the wheel.... God, I don’t know much about driving, but I’d like to watch him do it.
Lillian takes one look at the train, hooks her arm through mine, and starts to run.
“What are you doing?”
“The train is leaving!” she shouts. “You have to be on it. Run, Persephone. Now.”
In that moment, the grass prickly and slick under my feet, I snap fully awake. This isn’t some romantic trip across the state line to the library. This is escape.
This is my only chance at freedom.
We run, awkward and stumbling, down the side of the platform. It doesn’t make any sense, but I’m too busy trying to catch my breath to figure anything out. Hades doesn’t ride in a car at the back of the train; he just doesn’t. And I’ve been mistaken about the size of the platform. It narrows, heading back along the tracks, the wood getting more worn as we go
. Up ahead, shadows move in and out of sight. Not shadows—men. They’re loading a train car. A tone sounds, a one-two melody.
“It’s leaving!” Lillian cries. “Go.”
She pushes me forward at the same time the activity ahead increases. They’re loading the last few crates. I keep going until I’m level with the men and then—
Decker runs out, a crate in his arms. He hops up onto the train car and sets it down then jumps back out.
He’s not even looking at me. He looks over my head, back toward the tunnel. His eyes go wide. “No fucking way.”
Something black and metal appears from the waistband of his pants. I have just enough time to turn… to see Conor barreling toward us, coming at top speed. My breath stops short.
“No!”
My shout is drowned out by the gunshot.
The bullet is close. So close. But it doesn’t hit me. It goes past, faster than I can see, and Conor goes down hard. He howls, wounded, angry, the howl becoming a desperate whine. My heart shatters and my ears ring, and everything is coming apart. Where did he get a gun?
“Persephone, now.”
He reaches for my hand and pulls me onto the very last train car. It’s empty aside for the crates. Decker slams the door shut behind us and throws down a simple wooden bar over the door. It’s like something out of the past. It is something out of the past. I’m sure of it.
He bows his head.
He’s... praying.
The train starts forward, slow for only a breathless moment, and then it picks up speed, whisking us out of the mountain. The moment we’re out under the starry skies, Decker rushes to the window.
“Yes.” His voice is full of triumph. “We made it.” He comes back to me and looks me up and down. “We both made it. Yes. You’re out, Persephone, and I killed that fucking dog.” Decker’s eyes shine with a strange light. He looks... unhinged. For the first time since I’ve met him, I’m afraid of him. Which doesn’t make any sense at all. Decker is here to save me. He sits down heavily on one of the crates and rubs his hands over his face. “Sit down, okay? Relax. We’ll be there soon. And then... then it’ll all be over.”