My Lord Hades

by Beman, Stephannie

  Coronus had overthrown his father, as Zeus was attempting to overthrow his, and the day

  would come when another would rise to overthrow Zeus. It was a vicious cycle.

  In his own defense, Hades’ first attempt at defiance was to protect himself. His second was to protect Leuce. However, this third attempt at rebellion was purely for revenge.

  Hades wound his way along the beach and into the forest stretching the length of the beach.

  He breathed in the fragrance of crushed grass and salty sea.

  Soon, he’d be at peace. No war, no people, no petty gods. He was actually looking forward to his solitary life.

  The soft cascade of the woman’s gentle contralto floated on the breeze, flowing over him, into him, threading its way into his soul, and awakening the Phlegethon daemon inside him. The lilting melody was one he didn’t recognize. A song of shipwrecked lovers.

  He suspected there were a great many things he wouldn’t recognize. The world had changed

  so much in his absence, and yet, not nearly enough.

  Against his better judgment, he let the woman’s voice lure him through the trees to a small northern valley. Careful where he placed his foot, he wove his way through the loam covered path to a small clearing. He told himself he wouldn’t disturb her, and he definitely didn’t want to scare her. He just wanted a look at the woman who could awaken emotions in his heart with the music of her voice.

  He stopped at the edge of the clearing, mesmerized by the dark silhouette beneath the gnarled oak tree. Back to him, her sensual body swayed to a beat only she could hear. Her movements, like the purity of the dulcet tones, wove a magical and passionate atmosphere filled with deep longing.

  He shifted at the first stirs of desire in his heart. It wasn’t just the base desire of a man gone too long without a woman, although he yearned for the wealth of feminine curves revealed by the filmy white dress. But the desire of a Phlegethon to meld mind and soul and magic to his equal, something he could never have with a lesser immortal, and especially not with the newer mortal creatures. What his soul craved could only be had with another Phlegethon daemon.

  Closing his eyes, and taking a firm grasp upon his desire, he reminded himself of the lessons he’d learned so very long ago when he’d been a weak, naïve adolescent who thought himself in love with a nymph named Menthe. A mere kiss had almost lead to her death.

  That thought, more than any other, cemented his resolve. He was an adult now, with his full power, and he knew the passions of his Phlegethon blood could only destroy. He would leave this place and never return. He would never think of the woman again. He would clear his head and prepare his mind and body for the fight tomorrow. He would take a very cold bath.

  However, rather than just flashing away, he opened his eyes to take one last look, and was lost again. Her supple, young body swayed seductively, moving with the fluid grace of a dancer as she twirled and leapt.

  Her crown of lavender tumbled from her head, and the wealth of her sun-kissed hair pour

  down her slender back in a red-gold wave.

  He could almost feel the wealth of her hair against his naked flesh, the flare of her hips in his hands, the press of her luscious body against his, and the warmth of her mouth as he tasted her.

  She would taste like honey, sweet and rich.

  She bent to retrieve her crown, the creamy tops of her firm, full breasts pressed tightly against the white dress, threatening to spill out, before the veil of hair hid them from view.

  What was he thinking! He had to leave now!

  But despite his best intentions, he couldn’t budge. She straightened and set the crown back upon her head. Lifting the hem of her gown, she revealed the length of her pale thigh. She pivoted, beginning a new song about a meadow of flowers, a shepherd, and his maiden dear.

  His breath quickened as the magic of her voice spilled over him, painting a picture of the brazen maiden and the bold shepherd meeting in the mountain meadow for a lover’s tryst.

  She opened her arms, her hair streaming down her back, and embraced the cool night air. She danced with a freedom he’d never known, had never seen in another. She was so full of grace, and joy, and wild abandon. And he desired her like he’d desired no other woman.

  He stepped forward, his blood boiling at the need to claim her. She represented all he needed in a mate, everything he had lost, and everything he could not have back. She could be the balm to the rage in his soul. But what could he offer her?

  The hidden invitation of the song was not for daemons like him, especially coming from a

  woman like her. She deserved a man who would speak to her, laugh with her, dance with her, and be with her. He could do none of those things without endangering her life. He had nothing to offer her expect a world of sorrow and pain. He would rather will himself out of existence than watch this beautiful woman die, screaming in agony.

  The last thoughts gave him the strength to turn away. He wanted this child of nature to live a long and happy life before Death took her. She would marry a man who loved her, have children, and sing in the dark night without ever having met him.

  Please keep her safe, he prayed to whatever being answered the prayers of gods and daemons. And keep her far, far away from me.

  Chapter 3

  HADES GRABBED the Titan’s massive shoulder and rammed the blade of the sword

  through the man’s heart. The satisfying gush of blood over his gauntlet was dampened by the knowledge that the damage wasn’t permanent and the Titan would heal.

  Shoving the howling Titan from him, Hades tore the whole jagged length of the serrated

  blade from the body. The air behind him shifted. Hades thrust his sword back as he dropped to his knee. The blade met instant resistance, than gave as he shoved his hand against the hilt and screamed his rage.

  A blade glanced weakly off Hades’ armored shoulder and fell to the dirt beside him. The

  Titan fell against his back, skewered on Hades’ sword. Hades rose, shedding the dead weight and jerking the jagged blade from the body. He glanced down at the bleeding Titan.

  The man gasped. Blood bubbled from his mouth. The punctured lung would hurt like hell

  and be a long time healing.

  Hades grinned and scanned the battlefield, searching for his next opponent. No one was left standing. Bodies littered the flat landscape like broken toys strewn across the hearth. Some were trapped beneath boulders thrown by the Hundred-Handed. Others were groaning as their injured bodies began the slow healing process.

  He grunted. If this was any example of the battles they fought for ten years, it was no wonder the Olympian had needed him. He understood the fall of the Titans today, but the weakness of the Olympians appalled him. Notwithstanding the added advantage he’d given them, they’d

  fallen under the force of the Titans.

  “Disgusting isn’t it?”

  Hades turned to the ebony haired goddess dressed in black armor, standing behind him, the sharp tip of her serrated sword pointed at his throat. Damn, he’d made his first mistake of the day! Never let your guard down, especially when the bitch was on the battlefield.

  “So weak and defenseless,” she mocked him. “It amazes me they rule this world.”

  “They must not be all bad. You took their side.”

  She smiled. “I just wanted to shed blood.” The pressure intensified with the twist of the blade. A slender trickle of blood slithered down his throat. “Didn’t give a shit who it belonged to.”

  He flashed to her, grabbing her around the waist, and tossing her like a doll. She spun

  through the air, landing lightly on her toes. He winced at the sheer force of her magic as it poured over him, threatening to crush him. It tasted of violence and bloodlust, like serrated knives slicing into his soul.

  He attacked back, hating her with every cell of his body, and yet in the deepest part of his soul, he was grateful to her. Without her coldness, and her brutali
ty, he wouldn’t have survived in this world or the depths of Tartarus. His particular brand of wild magic sliced her like a thousand broken shards of glass. She bled, but not for long.

  Her next move stopped him cold. She laughed, pulling her magic back like a snake coiling

  around her warrior lean body, ready to strike at the first sign of weakness. She sheathed her sword, put her hand on her slender hip, and looked him up and down.

  “You’re resilient, if nothing else,” she said. “You look no worse for your captivity. Maybe you’re stronger for it.”

  “It took you long enough to get me out, Mother.”

  Her smile died. “I should’ve left you there to rot. A true son of mine would never be caught in such a childish trap. He would have died in the fighting, or at least not allow a woman to be his downfall.”

  He laughed scornfully in her face, knowing to her, any vulnerability was an invitation to attack. Strength and violence were the only things she understood.

  “What woman?” he asked.

  Eris’ eyes narrowed.

  “Ah, yes. That woman.” He would rather return to Tartarus than speak of his half-sister

  Leuce to her. He spat on the ground. “Can’t think of her name now. Such is the price of young love.”

  She grunted and ran her pale hands down her armor, using magic to clean the blackened

  surface. “I heard she haunted you.”

  “Yes, she did. But then she was only one among many.”

  She smiled, and that smile sent shivers of fear through him. The woman was pure evil. “I

  knew there was a reason I didn’t have Thanatos kill you at birth. You’re proving yourself worthy to be my son.”

  Ignoring the rare compliment, he gestured toward the small group coming their way.

  “Olympians. It appears some did survive well enough to walk.”

  She sneered. “Probably hid in their palace and waited for us to do their work. Too bad I

  missed them.”

  “Whose side were you on?”

  She smiled again. “My own.”

  She turned away without another word and disappeared. He shook his head. That was his

  mother: cold bitch of the battlefield.

  He wondered if he too could disappear, but it was too late. The large Cyclops with Zeus and Poseidon was shouting his name.

  He waved, forcing a semblance of politeness as he greeted the group, “Zeus, Poseidon—”

  “Hades. Good fight.” Zeus turned to the Cyclops. “Um…Whatever his name wants to give

  you something.”

  Hades grounded his teeth at Zeus’ obvious dislike and rudeness toward the giant man. Hades wasn’t in the mood to be civil, but he wasn’t about to be blatantly rude either.

  Looking at the one eyed giant, wondered if this was Kale. There were several Cyclops in the camp, but Kale was the only Cyclops he’d met so far.

  The Cyclops flashed him a large, pointed-tooth smile. “Ourns,” he rumbled.

  Hades bowed his head. “My friend. Ourns, what can I do for you?”

  “Made Hades a gift, we did.” He opened his large hand. In the middle of his palm, he held a stunning silver helmet. “Hades has no helmet. Hades accepts the helmet, he will?”

  He smiled. “Yes. Hades accepts.” He lifted the surprisingly light helmet from Ourns hand.

  “Thank you, Ourns.”

  The Cyclops grinned, inclined his head and lumbered away, stepping on the bodies of friend and foe. Zeus cringed. Poseidon winced. Hades kept his face impassive at the screams following the giant man.

  Poseidon shivered. “Revolting creatures. I don’t know why you keep them around, brother.

  They should be returned to Tartarus with the rest of the monsters.”

  Hades arched a brow. “Is that how you reward your allies? Imprisonment?”

  Hades didn’t doubt that would be his fate if Poseidon had his chance. He dared them to try it.

  This war would look like a skirmish compared to the fury he’d bring down upon their heads.

  “Of course not,” Zeus answered before Poseidon could even think of a clever lie. “We’re

  gathering at Mount Olympus in one week’s time and I will bestow upon my allies their rewards.

  The Cyclopes have earned their land. And you, your kingdom.”

  “The Titans still need to be rounded up and imprisoned in Tartarus. Would you aid us in this task, Hades?” Poseidon asked.

  Hades smiled at the two gods. “No.”

  He flashed away from the battlefield and to the misty coolness of the seashore before they could protest. Simply looking at the vast blueness offered him a certain peace, centering him, allowing the bloodlust and anger to melt from his heart.

  He loved the volatile moods of the sea, peace and calm one moment, and raging storm the

  next. They had a lot in common. They were changeable creatures, answering to no one,

  expecting nothing and having no expectations. They had few rules, their own codes of conduct that didn’t always make sense to others. They were free.

  Closing his eyes, he lifted his face to the sky, enjoying the warm caress of the sunlight on his skin. He was tired of hatred and anger, vengeance and blood, politics and power struggles. He was so tired of killing and the petty squabbles of gods. He only wished to be free of it all.

  He would receive his reward from Zeus, rule his kingdom, and never to return. He would

  never know the dark despair of the Underworld ever again. He would go on with his immortal life, and maybe one day, he would be at peace with himself.

  Glancing down at the blood and gore covering his armor, he felt his body revolt and the bile rise in his throat. Dropping the helmet and his bloody sword in the sand, he tore off his gauntlets, and clawed at the blood soaked ties holding his breastplate together. His boots, tunic, and loin cloth followed the rest into the sand.

  Naked, the salty sea air swirling around him, the coolness was heaven compared to the

  sweaty grime of being trapped in battle gear. He ignored the voice of his mother, whose constant instructions reminded him that a warrior always took care of his weapons and armor before himself, and submerged himself in the surf.

  The water washed over him. The echoing waves pulsed through his veins, filling him with a calm that had evaded him for so long. He scrubbed the coarse grains of sand into his skin until it reddened and burned, until his flesh bled and the saltwater stung the cuts, until every inch was cleansed of blood, battle, and vengeance. But he couldn’t cleanse his blackened soul.

  Leaving the water, he strode to the top of the sand dune overlooking a small bay and stared down upon the empty sands where the prosperous fishing village that had once been his sister’s home had rested. There were no nets or fish smoking over the fires, no huts, no boats, and no people. No sign that anyone had ever been here. Only his memories attested to the truth that anyone had lived in this place.

  He could still see the shine of her black hair in the sun as she raced through the sands and played in the surf. He saw her laughing, her black eyes glowing in the firelight. He felt the passion she had for life radiating from her like a candle in the darkness.

  He sighed. Leuce would always be part of him, regardless of where he went or what he did, because she’d taught him the hardest lesson in his life. He could care.

  As he sat on the beach, cleaning the blood from his black armor, and forced back the tears threatening to fall. He wasn’t allowed the act of tears as a child and he wouldn’t cry now. He was a disciplined killer, a cold-hearted warrior! He would not be soft, not when he needed his strength more than ever.

  He could not mourn the woman he cared for, the life he wanted and been denied, the life he desired and would never know, and the woman he now craved and could never have. But he

  could exalt in the vengeance he’d obtained for his sister and her family. Their souls could now rest. He only hoped that they might forgive him his part in th
eir deaths.

  The release of emotion was as cleansing to his soul as the sands had been to his body. He felt light and empty. He felt freed from the past. And for the first time, he felt as if he had a future before him.

  Rising from the rock, Hades drew the dagger from its sheath and grabbed the long strands of his beard, hacking at it, removing centuries’ worth of hair, until the beard was cropped short.

  Done with that, he turned to the task of his head. The hair was coal black and longer than a woman’s so he flipped the length over his shoulder and began to saw at it. It wouldn’t be the cleanest cut, but at least it was a start.

  Magically creating clothes, he dressed in a simple blue tunic, a light cloak of black, and sandals. He left his battle gear sitting on the beach as he ventured into the forest.

  Who are you trying to fool? His inner voice taunted him. Who cares what you look like? It’s not as if you want to impress the Olympian gods, or even the goddesses. No. You want to impress a woman you should leave alone.

  Not so. He argued. I just want to go for a walk. Clear my head…

  Who was he kidding? He could try to delude himself of the truth, but he knew wanted to see the woman again. And he found her beneath a tall weeping willow at the base of the hill.

  He crept closer, until he could hear her singing about forbidden lovers escaping into the night to marry. She stepped over the tree root and stepped out of the shadows and into the light. And what he saw took his breath away.

  She was stunning—not the classical beauty he’d seen in the courts of the gods, but a natural beauty of youthful innocence and joyous spirit. Her almond-shaped eyes, full lips, and the glow of youth softened the strong features of her square jaw. But her beauty went deeper. It was in her soul.

  He sat beneath an apple tree, safely out of her sight, and leaned against the rough bark, content to just watch this child of nature skip through the meadow of flowers, laugh at the wind lifting her hair, kissing her slender neck and delicate earlobes. She smiled at the buzzing bees, the erratic flight of the butterfly, and the whirling flutter of the hummingbirds. She wove through the trees, dancing through the forest, revealing a freedom of spirit he envied.