Bride of Death

by Celina Summers

  “The flower, for all its beauty, cannot compare to you,” he murmured, delighted when her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink. He dragged the flower lightly down her throat, noting the goose pimples that rose upon her skin, and circle her left nipple with it until she shivered with pleasure. Unable to resist, he bent and took the nipple into his mouth. Persephone drew in a shuddering breath as he flicked his tongue against the hardened bud. He dropped the blossom and moved his hand to her other breast and kneaded it gently.

  Just as he was on the cusp of surrendering entirely to his passion, a cool bolt of reason reasserted itself in Hades’ mind.

  Not yet. She is seduced but not yet won.

  He pressed one final kiss onto her breast. Although his lust was begging for fulfillment, he pulled her gown back up. He transferred his mouth to her swollen lips and kissed her gently while he refastened the ribbons. When he ended the kiss, he propped his head on his hand and looked down at her for a moment. Her skin was flushed and her eyes were closed, but a tiny smile of satisfaction hovered around her lips.

  “You are so beautiful,” he murmured. Persephone opened her eyes and returned his stare, innocently unaware of how that look affected him. Hades gritted his teeth and willed his body to ignore its fevered impulse to possess the girl completely.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  Hades laughed. “Nothing is wrong, Persephone. Everything is right. Come — I want to show you something.”

  He rose from the bed and extended a hand. Persephone took it without hesitation and the dark god nearly shouted in triumph.

  She trusts me already! After only a day!

  “Where are we going?” Persephone asked.

  Hades smiled down at her, rejoicing silently in the churning excitement that roiled within him. “Something I think you’ll like to see.”

  It was unusual for Pan to wend his way from the mortal fields and groves that he loved to the golden streets of Olympus, but not so unusual that anyone would take particular notice. Whenever the gods were set against each other around Zeus’ throne, Pan always heard about it and ascended to the heavens to see the fun. This time, however, was a little different.

  This time, he was worried.

  Demeter was raging across the mortal realm in search of her daughter. The daughters of Oceanos, Thetis and Amphitrite, were bound by Zeus’ injunction not to reveal Persephone’s captor. All they could do when confronted by the infuriated goddess was weep and plead ignorance of the captor’s identity. Demeter was naturally suspicious of this excuse and as a result, the crops and flowers and trees of Earth were withering. In her anger, she’d decreed that until she found Persephone, none of her blessings would grace the mortal realm.

  Pan chewed on one finger as he made his way up the curving path to Zeus’ palace. Even the skies overhead reflected the chaos upon Olympus — they were dark and stormy. Lightning crashed across the sky, flickering like serpents’ tongues around the houses of the gods in eerie and unnatural silence. Pan’s expression was grave as he mounted the marble steps of the palace. His hooves clicked delicately, shattering the quiet.

  Zeus had summoned his sister to stand before him.

  As Pan rounded the columns that supported the celestial roof over Zeus’ throne, worry twisted his heart. All the Olympians were there — all save for Hades. Normally, this wouldn’t cause much comment. Hades rarely deigned to obey his brother’s imperious summons.

  This time might be different.

  Zeus sat upon his throne, his thunderbolt in one hand and his aegis draped upon his shoulder. At his left sat Hera, the Queen, who had barely been able to conceal her gloating triumph over her sister the day before, was grim-faced and ominously tight-lipped. Demeter confronted them both, her face pale and set with wrath and the traces of tears streaking her beautiful complexion. The other gods were ranged to either side of the throne, watching with either concern or speculation. Pan slipped into the corner where some of the younger gods stood, including Eros. The young god of love was paler than usual, his big eyes darting occasionally to where his mother watched, cool and complacent, between her husband Hephaestus and her lover Ares.

  “What’s happened so far?” Pan whispered.

  “Demeter has accused Zeus of kidnapping Persephone himself,” Eros murmured, his long wings fluttering a little in agitation.

  Pan cursed under his breath. “That was stupid. Has anyone asked about…you know…”

  “So far, no one has noticed his absence. It’s fairly usual for him to not attend Zeus’ court,” Eros whispered. “It doesn’t matter really; we’ve been forbidden to tell what we know.”

  “Demeter is not so easily dissuaded,” Pan warned his cousin.

  “I am not so easily found.”

  “Sister, you can search any part of my domain for your daughter,” Zeus said in a stern voice. “I do not have the girl. Why should I conceal my own daughter from you?”

  “For reasons of your own!” the goddess snapped. “You have always wanted to take her from me.”

  Zeus smiled grimly. “For what purpose? To foist one of my bastards upon my wife?”

  Both Hera and Demeter gasped — Demeter because Zeus had called Persephone a bastard and Hera because Zeus had never shown such restraint about his bastards before.

  “You may search, Demeter, but you will not find her in any part of my realm. I know not where Persephone is and would not keep you from her if I did.”

  “You have to know something!” Demeter cried. “Someone must.”

  There was a flash of feathers by Pan’s face. He tried not to laugh as Eros fled from the throne room of the gods, leaving nothing but a brief fragrance of roses and a single feather drifting down to the marble floor. Pan looked up at Aphrodite, Eros’ mother and goddess of love. Her color was heightened and her lovely mouth was curved into a smug little smile.

  Aphrodite is behind all of this. For some reason, she directed Eros to cause this trouble.

  “You may ask,” Zeus said, his voice deepened and his face kind. “If any here know where Persephone is, speak up now.”

  Pan snorted. Thetis and Amphitrite were not present, weeping in their coral reefs for their lost friend and Eros had conveniently fled. Aphrodite could easily claim that as Hades truly loved Persephone, the whole matter fell into her domain and refuse to tell the secrets of any who did her homage.

  And Pan? Well, he didn’t know precisely where Persephone was…

  “Until my daughter is returned to me,” Demeter said, drawing herself to her full height and glaring at her brother, “No flower shall bloom, no grain will bear fruit and no animals will bring forth their young. I will turn my back upon the mortal realm and cause it to wither and die. Your temples will be empty. You will receive no offerings from the mortals who worship you — none of you! Your power will dwindle as the plants and animals and humans die, and I will not ease my punishment until Persephone is restored to me.”

  The goddess turned her back on Zeus and stalked toward the golden doors. Zeus rose from his throne, infuriated, and bellowed, “Demeter! Do not insult me in my own palace!”

  Demeter didn’t pause. She reached the doors and threw them open so hard they shattered the columns beside them. The golden doors tumbled from their hinges and crashed onto the floor. She turned at last, clouds of dust and shattered marble rising around her like a nimbus of light, and looked at her brother. “You can restore Persephone to me, o King of the gods,” she said. “See that you do so or I shall destroy all of humanity in my wrath. Life is my domain. If you do not insure that I get what I want, I’ll consign the entire mortal realm to Hades’ grasp and who will be the mightiest of us then?”

  With that, she pivoted on her slender foot and stormed from the throne room. After she departed, there was a moment of silence among the stunned Olympians. Pan shifted uncomfortably, and the click of his hooves seemed to rouse Zeus from his stunned stupor. “Leave,” he growled in a voice thickened with rage. His flas
hing eyes moved from side to side, as if he were thinking quickly, while the other immortals hastened to obey his command.

  “Except for you, Aphrodite,” he purred in a soft voice. The goddess of love halted, all the pretty color draining from her perfect face. Pan tried to slip out of the throne room undetected.

  “And you, Pan.” The King of the gods’ eyes fastened upon Pan with a small, threatening smile. “I have a very specific job for you to take care of.”

  Pan sighed, his shoulders slumping. As he turned slowly and made his way to face Zeus’ anger, he was aware of only two things:

  First, he needed to warn Hades that his time would be shorter than he thought.

  Second, the next time he ran into his cousin Eros, he was going to beat him into an ichor-dripping pulp.

  “This is what I wanted you to see,” Hades said quietly.

  Persephone looked around her in delight. They were standing at the edge of the loveliest grove of pomegranate trees she’d ever seen. In the mortal realm, pomegranates were smaller trees — more like shrubs that were carefully cultivated in protected, walled gardens behind the houses of humans. Here in the Underworld, the trees towered above her head and the branches were so laden with the red-gold fruit they hung nearly to the ground like willows. Her mouth began to water.

  “This orchard is beautiful,” she murmured. “How did you — I mean, how is it possible for trees to grow…”

  Her voice trailed off in confusion. Hades laughed and she peered up at him shyly. His laughter didn’t feel as forced as it had when she’d first come to the Underworld.

  “Anything can grow here if I desire it, despite the lack of sunlight,” Hades explained, still chuckling. “And I have a good gardener. Ascalaphos! Come meet your queen.”

  The shade of a young man emerged from the clustered branches of the pomegranate trees and hurried to bow before the king of the dead. Persephone looked at him curiously; this was the first shade she’d been close to in the Underworld. He was handsome enough, with brown hair and eyes, but his skin was paler than the mortals she’d watched from her perch on Olympus and his figure was blurred, as if a painter had carelessly let the colors bleed together on a fast-drying fresco. “Dread lord,” he murmured, still bent double.

  “Ascalaphos tends my orchards,” Hades said. “If you ask him for anything, Persephone, he will hasten to obey.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured. The long-dead gardener rose from his bow and smiled at her. After Hades dismissed him, Ascalaphos scurried back into the pomegranate groves. Hades tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and they strolled down the long avenue of the orchard.

  “I like to come here sometimes and think,” he confessed. “My orchards are a beautiful place and it reminds me of the mortal realm.”

  “It does,” she agreed, breathing in the sweet smell of the fruit appreciatively.

  They walked in silence for a time. Occasionally, a cool wind would rustle through the branches of the orchard, bringing with it a heavy breath of fragrance and the sound of leaves brushing against each other. It was the only sound other than voices Persephone had heard in the Underworld, and it helped to maintain the illusion that she was walking on the earth.

  “No one is permitted to come here save myself,” he went on. “And now you, of course. There is no place in the Underworld that is barred to you, Persephone. You are the Queen of this realm. Your will is second only to my own.”

  Persephone ducked her head. For a moment, she felt a little uncomfortable. Hades perceived this, and stopped to look down at her.

  “You aren’t still afraid of me, are you?”

  She smiled, unnerved by his kind tone and concerned eyes. “No, I’m not afraid of you. I’m just wondering about my mother. She must be very worried about me.”

  Hades sighed and looked into the distance. “Yes, she probably is.”

  “Can’t I even send her a message?”

  “If you sent Demeter a message, she would send the court of Olympus into an uproar.” Hades hesitated, then asked, “Do you wish to return to Demeter, Persephone? Do you want to leave me, leave the Underworld and go back to your mother’s house?”

  “If I said yes, what would you do?”

  In a toneless voice, the god replied, “I will deny you nothing, Persephone. If that is what you wish, I will take you back to Olympus. I swore when I first saw you that you would be mine. I know now that I love you more than anything else that exists or has existed. I could no more cause you sorrow than I could end my existence. If you leave me, I will wish for death — I, the god of death and the lord of the depths of Tartarus — would want nothing more than to submit myself to my own dominion. You have only to ask, and I will grant you what you desire, no matter how much pain it may cause me.”

  Persephone was silent for a moment, considering his words carefully. Hades was staring at her, a strange mixture of hope and fear warring in his face. Did she want to go back to Olympus, where she was still considered a child by her mother and an object of prey to the young gods that flocked around her, seeking her hand? Or did she want to stay here, at Hades’ side, and keep that bleak look from his eyes? For a moment, she was confused and didn’t want to think.

  Hades sighed, his eyes shifting past her to the trees moving gently just beyond her. In that instant, she knew. He expected her to want to leave him. He was preparing himself for defeat.

  Regardless of how it affected him, he would give her what she wanted.

  Emotion blossomed within her, hot and fiery against the chill of the perpetual gloom of Hades’ realm. At his side, she would keep this unhappiness from his handsome face. At his side, she could grow; she could explore herself and the worlds of death he governed.

  At his side, she would be complete. All those long afternoons talking of her destiny, the arguments with her mother over her future — all these things were at an end. Persephone could see her future in this realm at Hades’ side. If she returned home, she would be a child once more. Hades saw her as an adult, as a mature woman he desired and loved. And she liked the feeling, more than liked it. She loved it — she loved him. She looked up at his remote face and happiness suddenly welled up inside her.

  “No,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “I don’t want to return to Olympus. I will stay here, with you. I will rule at your side, as your wife and companion against the loneliness of your world.”

  Hades looked at her in disbelief, the grim light falling from his eyes. Persephone smiled and stepped closer to him, her hands sliding up his chest to curve around his neck. “Weren’t you listening to me, Hades? I want to stay.”

  Suddenly, the dark god seized her, enfolding her slender body in his strong arms and lifting her against his chest. His mouth sought hers, kissing her with unrestrained fervor for the first time. Persephone melted against him, losing herself in the love and passion his kiss promised. Hades pulled away at last, his eyes shining with triumph.

  “If you would stay at my side, beloved, then we must return to the palace,” he said ardently. “I will wed you tonight, Persephone. I will not be parted from you a moment longer.”

  Laughing, Persephone agreed. He kissed her again, fiercely, and the heat in her body rose even higher.

  Hades led Persephone back toward the palace, his heart beating with excitement in his chest. He glanced back over his shoulder in time to see Eros look out from the tangle of branches he’d hidden in. The god of death nodded gratefully to the young god.

  Not even the boundaries of Death had any affect upon the winged god of love.

  Persephone would be his in a matter of hours. Once they were wed, nothing could break them apart.

  Chapter Six

  PAN HURRIED TO THE MOUTH of the cave in Taenarum. He had to get word to Hades as soon as possible. Demeter’s threat had shaken Zeus’ loyalty to the pact between the two brothers. The king of Olympus could not allow the mortal realm to wither and die, so his support for Hades’ claim on Persephone was fading quic
kly.

  Pan moved the great boulder aside and stepped to one side as the chill air of the Underworld rushed out into the night-shrouded valley. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the heavier gloom of the Underworld, he entered the cave and pulled the boulder back across the mouth. It wouldn’t take long for Hades to sense the approach of another immortal to his realm. He would immediately come to meet the intruder — usually to deny them access. Immortals had no business in the world of the dead unless they were already bound there from loyalty to their dark lord.

  Aphrodite had confessed to Zeus that Hades’ love for Persephone was instigated at her command, brought on by annoyance that love had not yet been permitted in the stygian depths of his realm and an equal fear that Persephone would follow in the footsteps of Artemis and Athena, the virgin goddesses. At least she’d admitted the idea was hers and not her son’s. Zeus still hadn’t forgiven the young god’s propensity for making him fall in love with the most ridiculous creatures imaginable.

  The cow, for example. Zeus’ dignity had been shredded by the escapade with the cow.

  Pan hurried down the dark path to the Underworld, his cloven feet breaking small stones free to skitter into the black depths before him. He had to get to his cousin quickly and warn him of the explosion that was about to break over his head.

  “What should I wear?” Persephone asked excitedly, tossing delicate garments aside when they didn’t meet her expectations.

  Styx laughed. “Wear whatever you wish, Persephone; Hades will not care. He will think you beautiful beyond all others regardless of your gown.”

  Persephone laughed too. “I’d rather not take a chance on that. What about this one?”

  Styx surveyed the light green gown critically. “You are a daughter of life, Persephone. It is fitting that you go to your husband in the colors of spring.”

  “I agree!”

  Persephone was laughing as she prepared herself for her wedding. Styx watched her, smiling but uneasy. Something wasn’t right. Something…