by elda lore
HADES
elda lore
L.B. Dunbar writing as
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
© 2016 Laura Dunbar
Cover Design – Amy Queau, QDesigns
Edit – Kiezha Ferrell, Librum Artis Editorial Services
Contents
Dedication
Fall – The River
Hell
The Dress
Ransom
Darkness
Level One – Pride
Vanity
Time
Lazy
Level Two – Sloth
Escape
Soul
Level Three – Greed
Generosity
Interlude – Demi
Level Four – Anger
Level Five – Envy
Consumed
Winter – Heaven
Level Six - Gluttony
Midnight
Loss
Level Seven – Lust
Love
The End Is Near
Spring – Land
Hope
Curses
Temperance
Invisibility
Revelation
Charity
Fair
Hades Emporium
Confrontation
The End is Missing
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Connect with elda lore
What’s next for the Modern Descendants?
Contemporary Romance by L.B. Dunbar
About the Author
"AND WHEN LOVE SPEAKS, THE VOICE OF ALL THE GODS MAKES HEAVEN DROWSY WITH THE HARMONY."
Love’s Labours Lost, Shakespeare
FALL
The River
[Persephone]
“Jump in, Persephone!”
The scream hurled out of me long before my body hit the ice-cold river below. Anticipating the shock, my mouth released a noise somewhere between horror and laughter. The first bite of the river was so sharp, my breath caught in my throat. I instantly opened my eyes to a sea of darkness. Knowing I wasn’t upside down, I pushed toward the thin shimmer of light and broke the surface. Swimming in the river bordering our property late at night wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but the late summer heat was oppressive to us. “Us” being my cousin, Veva; my guy friend, Swanson; and me, Persephone Grace Fields.
I spun in circles, sweeping my outstretched arms through the river, letting the brisk shards of ice water nip at my overheated skin. Even the night air hung heavy and hot for late September. Swanson and Veva tread water a few feet away, near the steep embankment edging the river. Swanson Grant was the teaser in our group; lighthearted and easy going, it never bothered him his two best friends were girls. Veva, on the other hand, with her chestnut hair and turquoise eyes, was a striking beauty of curves and curses. She could turn a tease to a tempest in a heartbeat then return to a smile in seconds. Their laughter cut through the night noises of chirping cicadas and rustling leaves. To the east was my family’s property, to the west stood an imposing forest that my mother didn’t like us to play near when we were children. For all intents and purposes, we were practically skinny dipping, as our sheer undergarments hinted at what lay beneath and it felt a little naughtier since we were no longer children. At twenty-one, a late night swim with my two best friends didn’t seem dangerous. A bit risky maybe, but we were too familiar with this section for any real concern.
However, as I made my way back to my friends, I had the strangest sensation of someone watching us. No, me. My skin prickled and my laughter faltered as I peeked over my shoulder toward the forest side of the river. Suddenly hyperaware of all that could be seen through my wet bra and underwear, I lowered back into the cold stream, swimming slowly toward Veva and Swanson, when the pull to look again stopped me. I froze. My back hunched. My head tilted to listen. The hairs on my neck were suddenly dry and tickling. I scanned the tree-line again.
My mother warned about the evils that lurked within the forest. As a child, I took it as a means to frighten Veva and me, making certain we steered far from the temptation to cross the river for the woods. As a result, when I grew older, I never believed her tales, although I’d heard rumors of a youth who wandered among the trees on the darkest of nights. There was even one story of how a group of local kids caught the creature. I always felt a bit sorry for this strange being. If he wished to roam the dark forest, let him be. A tingling awareness of being observed stopped my rambling thoughts.
There. Among the thicket of trees, I vaguely made out the shape of a being. An outline of someone tall and lean. My body twisted to face this intruder. My mouth fell open to scream, but something stopped me. A sense that I wasn’t threatened. My eyes squinted, trying to make out the form. Was it a man? As I didn’t believe in fairy tales or mysterious creatures of the night, it had to be. The size was too large for a woman, too straight-lined to be feminine. The possibility of a hood led me to rule out a bear or other type of animal. Shaking my head at the idea of a bear, I stepped forward in the cool water. It was only waist deep where I stood, and this exposed my wet-bra covered breasts to the potential peeping Tom. I didn’t worry that he would see anything he shouldn’t in the dark of night, despite the thin material clinging to my firm, rounded skin.
My advance seemed to give him permission to step forward. For the briefest moment, he stood clear of the trees that hindered his shape. On the edge of the river stood a figure dressed entirely in black. I was correct that a hood covered his head, and his hands reached to remove the covering. His hair was so dark it blended with the night, but his eyes nearly glowed the span of distance between us. My breath caught at their piercing inquisition.
“Persephone, come on.” Swanson’s call broke the bond between me and the dark figure, who instantly stepped back into the woods, shielding his outline, but his presence still clear to me. He definitely continued to watch me. My skin shivered and I spun back to my friends, sensing the weight of unseen eyes. The need to turn back tugged at me, and my eyes shifted left and right as I slowly trudged to our side of the river. My body felt like it struggled against an undertow, yearning in opposition to the direction I moved. Each step grew slower, heavier, as my feet fought the mucky bottom of the river. I hated touching that gooey substance with my toes, feeling the mud squish between them. My body squirmed at the sensation and the magnetic pull broke. I turned quickly, sensing my observer had vanished. My eyes squinted, searching for his form between the dark trees.
“Come on, Persephone. It’s almost midnight. You know your mom will freak if you aren’t home, and we need time to dry.” Veva’s lyrical voice teased despite her concern. Neighboring farms, her mother and my mother were sisters. Aunt Hera was practically a second mother to me, and nearly as strict as her sister, my mother, Demi.
“She’ll be fine,” Swanson argued. “She never gets in trouble. The princess can do no wrong.” He knew I hated to be teased with that royal title, and yet he loved to taunt me. Swanson’s family connection included working on our farm, monitoring the livestock, particularly hogs. His family had worked with mine for centuries.
Swanson’s tall length allowed him to easily exit the water. He turned to support Veva with an outstretched hand. Veva reached for Swanson and pl
aced her other hand in a scrawny bush protruding over the water’s edge, as if it wished to take a drink. Her fingers caught in the twigs, so although Swanson tugged her upward, Veva’s trapped hand held her back. Releasing Swanson’s hold, she fell toward the river, her body scraping against the harsh bush.
“Veva!” I reached out in a belated attempt to catch her.
“Ouch!” Her cry echoed along the river and I rushed forward to inspect my friend. I noticed sharp scratches against her nearly naked back.
“Oh Vee, your back is all scraped up.” My fingers gingerly traced down her back.
“This is going to hurt,” I prefaced, before cupping water in my hands and rinsing down her shivering spine. Veva growled in response to the cleansing.
“My mother’s going to kill me if she sees these.” Veva made a fruitless attempt to peer over her shoulder at her own back then ignored the sting and reached up for both of Swanson’s outstretched hands. He pulled her effortlessly from the river and I took one last glance behind me. My watcher had disappeared from view, but the impression of him lingered in my mind. He’d haunt the edge of my dreams tonight.
I took the giant step necessary to leverage out of the cold water, bracing my feet on a natural ledge of soil and rock. Pressing my hands on the hard, packed surface, I hoisted myself over the river’s edge. Refreshed, but nearly naked, my body trembled even though the nighttime temperature remained in the eighties. In the deep Midwest, summer held on, but the quiver was more than the air.
“My, you’re a sight, Persephone,” drawled the thick timbre of Tripper Grant, Swanson’s older brother, and someone suddenly vying to be a fourth to our threesome friendship. Tripper didn’t have interest in us as children, being three years younger than him. Newly returned to the farm at twenty-four, the arrogantly handsome flirt focused his attention on me. Shielding myself the best I could, one arm crossed over my wet breasts and the other cut across my stomach acting as a fig leaf to cover the area which held Tripper’s stare. I might have looked like Eve struggling out of the garden, the way my hands fumbled to cover me. The innocent intention to hide myself seemed to increase Tripper’s interest, enhancing his focus, making me feel exposed despite my feeble attempts to cover myself. While Tripper’s attention flattered me, it also unnerved me. My body shivered with distrust.
Off in the distance, lightning struck the field, illuminating upward in a crooked, fluorescent purple pitchfork. Moments later, thunder clapped. I bent for my jeans, struggling to slide my damp legs into the still-warm denim.
“Don’t cover yourself on my account,” Tripper’s voice oozed as he approached me.
“She needs to get dressed and get home,” Veva worried, but she had more to concern herself with if Aunt Hera saw those scratches. Still fighting the denim of my jeans, I didn’t bother to button the waist. Another bolt of light shocked the earth. A gentle vibration under foot rocked the ground.
“We need to hurry up. That storm’s travelling fast.” Swanson stood bare-chested, holding his boots in one hand and slinging his T-shirt over his shoulder. I slipped my tank over my head, flipping my long blonde hair out the back to hang loose and wet against the cotton. A giant chill took over my body and I shivered. The eerie sense of being watched returned, but when a thunder clap rustled the trees across the river, the feeling left me. My attention turned toward home and curfew.
Veva yelled again for me to get in Swanson’s truck. She stood in the bed, finishing the final touches of redressing. The red taillights of Swanson’s truck lit the night, along with the next lightning strike.
“Ride with me.” Tripper’s invitation tempted me. I hated to admit I was curious what Tripper’s lips would feel like against mine. His smile hinted at the knowledge he knew how to use his mouth for pleasure. Tripper’s voice triggered the imagination for what passionate sex might feel like: warm, rolling, and crushing. He stood over six feet to my five-four, with a slight wave to his hair that curled under his baseball cap. Scruff covered his jaw at the end of each day, and after two days, the trim effect was distractingly attractive. His chocolate-colored eyes melted my insides when he looked at me in a certain way: deep, mesmerizing, and desiring. I didn’t understand the sensation. I’d never been with a boy, let alone a man, like Tripper Grant. Hell, the only boy I’d kissed was Camryn Harper, on a dare my junior year of high school. He became my boyfriend until we graduated. He never looked at me the way Tripper did, though, like he wished to devour me whole, leaving not a scrap behind.
My already pebbled nipples stood at even greater attention. Sharp points ached against my still-wet bra. My lower regions flittered at his appraising gaze and I rubbed my thighs together. Tripper didn’t miss the movement. He tormented me by dangling my flannel shirt with a come-and-get-it smirk. I don’t know why I brought it with me. The night was too warm but my mother always worried about cold and told me to take it with me, just in case. Just in case of a rare chill after ninety degree days in September. Just in case a wave of artic air decided to descend on our little strip of heaven. Just in case, just in case. Momma overprotected me to the point of suffocation some days, as if she anticipated something awful would happen to me, like freezing on a hot day, or being swallowed by the tempting trees beyond the river.
Still holding out my shirt like a matador, teasing me to rush him, I reached for the flannel. Tripper withdrew it, flung it over his shoulder and stalked to his truck, hopping in the driver seat without so much as a glance back to me. Tripper’s pick-up truck sat next to Swanson’s. I stopped briefly near his own lit taillights as his truck revved to life, realizing he wasn’t going to open the door for me, like a gentleman should. Sauntering between the two trucks, I lingered a moment, like I would ride with the ungentlemanly flirt, then used the tire of Swanson’s truck to hike myself into the bed next to Veva.
“What the hell?” Tripper barked out his open passenger window, slapping his hand on the steering wheel of his new F-10. He dangled my shirt to tease me, and I giggled at his frustration.
“Keep it as a souvenir of what could have been.” The bold taunt surprised even me, but Veva burst into deep laughter.
“That’ll teach you not to be a gentleman,” Veva teased. Did I mention Tripper brooded? He wore it well, but his demeanor didn’t endear me to him. Swanson revved his engine, and at that signal, Tripper took off like ghosts from hell were on his tail. Veva laughed harder as we jolted back against the cab of the truck at the weak attempt by Swanson to catch up with his brother. His truck fishtailed, and we each reached for the edge of the bed, laughing hysterically as our bodies jostled. Seeing Veva’s boots slide to the tailgate in slow motion, I realized I’d left mine behind.
“Wait,” I pounded on the back window to get Swanson’s attention. His head twisted briefly.
“What?” he shouted over the roar of the engine and Luke Bryant belting a ballad.
“I forgot my boots,” I yelled. “Stop the truck.”
“What?” he countered, reaching for the radio dial and lowering the volume.
“My boots,” I said, crawling to the back of the bed. Swanson slowed to a halt and I jumped over the tailgate without giving a second explanation. My mother would kill me if I lost the pricey birthday gift she gave me for my twenty-first birthday. Real cowboy boots were expensive, and these had a turquoise design etched into the light brown leather. I raced for the river edge, ignoring another crackle of light as large as a tree truck and a football field away from me. One boot lay on its side at the top of the subtle dip to the river.
“Shit, shit, shit.” I scrambled, hunched over, searching for the other. A scraggly bush haphazardly here and there on our side of the river provided a break in the otherwise flat terrain.
“Where the hell are you?” Nearly on my knees, I spotted the boot, resting on the water’s edge, upright, like I stepped right out of it and into the river. Shaking my head, I reached downward for the boot perched dangerously close to the embankment edge, when my footing slipped and my
right leg led the rest of my body toward the inky liquid below.
“Triple shit!” I stood with one foot in ice-cold water up to my knee, and the other braced on the embankment in an odd sort of split. I whipped the boot out of the lapping water in anger and was blindsided by something that sent me flat against the water with a force that stung. Hoisted upward, I gasped from shock and for air. A large arm wrapped around my waist and my feet left the river as I kicked backward. Opening my mouth to scream, a meaty hand anticipated the sound and covered half my face. Legs wild, arms thrashing, my body attempted to twist to no avail. The smell of dank river and dirt filled my nostrils. My eyes shifted, but I could see nothing, given both the darkness and my position.
Lightning struck closer to the river bank, illustrating a momentary outline of the river leading into darkness and the flat open field to my left. It looked like a line drawing done in pencil. My heart beat in time with the slap of thunder that followed. As swiftly as the sound came, it ended, leaving an eerie echo matched only by the sharp growl of: “Let her go.” Feral, animalistic, the sound traveled with a reverberating echo over the river.
My full body swung with my captor. Thick, hairy arms lay under my hands and I breathed deep, attempted to still the nauseous sensation in my stomach. My mouth opened to bite and gagged reflexively from the sweat-slick thickness of fingers over my lips. Horror struck at the realization that not only one but two men were going to have their way with me. Kicking outward toward the second man, hoping to make enough contact to startle him, my body jackknifed. The second man used this move to his advantage. With lightning speed, he gripped both feet in one hand and used my elongated legs as a means to drag me and my captor forward. A brief glance showed dark jeans and a zippered hoodie covering his head. No sign of his face, but a voice resonated from within the dark hood.
“I said, let her go.” The voice. Rough and rapid as the river water over deep rocks, it rolled over my body. If I wasn’t already quaking with anger and fear at my entrapment, that tone would have made me tremble. One hand still held both my ankles to his side, but his chest practically rested on mine. My captor released my mouth, stretching his thick hand forward to swat at this other figure like an annoying fly. The movement was so quick in response, I hardly saw the hand that rose and captured the thick one. An onlooker might have thought the two shook hands on an agreement. We were a tangle of hands and legs and wrists.