Ambrosia Lane 1-3: Saranna DeWylde

by Desperate Housewives of Olympus

  Hell yes.

  10

  DEMETER

  Demeter awoke to the sound of a male voice outside her window. Rather than darting to the glass to look outside, she lay quietly in the shadows and listened.

  “Heard melodies are sweet, yet those unheard are sweeter. Therefore, ye soft pipes play on…” His voice faded for a moment. “All breathing human passion far above—,”

  Keats. He was reciting Keats to Persephone. Ode on a Grecian Urn. That had been a favorite of hers. She remembered how the muses had danced when he’d written it; they’d been so bright, so powerful. He’d fed them well and died young. Demeter remembered that too, seeing them ghost around Olympus in their black flowing gowns, their mourning veils and their wails of sorrow.

  To be the object of such devotion to inspire such poetry. She wondered if Hades had whispered poetry to Persephone as well, if his words were sweet with soft touches. Demeter was dying anyway and Persephone’s misery hadn’t saved her. She hated her more for that, but hated herself too.

  “Golden absinthe mist will forget, Hemlock whispers passed to these love stained lips.” He’d begun another poem, this one she didn’t recognize and slipped from the bed and stood in the shadow, peering out into the darkness.

  It was Eros as she’d suspected, but he wasn’t speaking to Persephone. He was outside of her window reciting from memory, looking up at her window. She closed her eyes against the sensation it wrought in her. A strange, bitter hope, fleeting touches of warmth and a sadness so deep she could drown in it. Until she reminded herself he was nothing but a silly godling.

  No, a part of her protested. He was a godling no more, but a god in his own right. Virile and male in every way. He wanted her enough to whisper sweet words outside her temple window where anyone, even her daughter could hear. Demeter knew she should shoo him away, bid him to be quiet and keep such silliness to himself, but she couldn’t. One more verse couldn’t hurt.

  “Folly strings her harp with silver spun tears…”

  Oh, but it did hurt. His words struck home like an Amazon’s spear and pierced all of her soft places. It was folly, all of it and now Demeter would have to pay the piper and the sounds of sorrow would be the only music in her ears.

  “An invitation to Lethe’s hearth, to drift eternal in the black sea. Eyes luminous like twin stars, overfilling their cups of sorrow and wrath.”

  Did he know her so well? How could he have looked inside of her; seen her sorrow and wrath and still want her? It wasn’t possible. What did a virgin know about the secret depths of a woman’s heart, even if he was the God of Love?

  The timber of his voice slid over her in a caress. Her fingers were on the window sill, ready to fling it open and invite him in, but something stayed her hand. Her time was over, did it really matter if she took this one bit of pleasure for herself, this one moment out of time to touch and be touched? Yet still, she didn’t move, she was frozen.

  “Can you hear me, Demeter, or do you sleep still? I don’t need to look into your heart to know what’s there.”

  She pressed her palm to the glass and suddenly, his hand was next to hers on the pane. He stood behind her, her body molded to the contours of his. His breath was warm on her neck and the heat of him infused her. His cock was thick against her backside and it was impossible for Demeter not to tilt her hips against him.

  His arm slid around her waist to anchor her to him while his other hand explored the length of her thigh and the curve of her hip while hitching her gown out of his way. She didn’t speak, she didn’t want to shatter the moment, but so many questions burned on the tip of her tongue.

  Eros moved the arm around her waist, shifted so it was around her hips and then splayed his hand over her mound. He delved into her wet folds, stroked the engorged flesh with measured motions. As if he’d done this a thousand times before to a thousand different women. She knew he hadn’t though. Knew it in the core of her being.

  His lips brushed against the delicate skin of her neck and she twisted in his grasp to face him. Demeter looked into his eyes for a long moment before she moved. It wasn’t as if she were taking this time to decide what she was going to do; she knew what was going to happen between them. It was somehow inevitable.

  She’d savor this moment because nothing would ever be the same after it. A rare thing indeed to stand on the precipice of change and know exactly what it was and to be able to choose accordingly. Irony at its best, because while it seemed Demeter was free to choose, she was not. She could no more deny Eros than she could turn the tide. Demeter could give it a damn good try, but she couldn’t do it alone.

  Eros wanted her and so he would have her there on her bed, but he would leave her empty and needing all the things she told herself she didn’t want. As soon as he’d had what he wanted from her, he’d see everything inside of her whether he wanted to or not. All the things that had kept him chaste—kept him from opening himself to another—they were all there waiting to drown him in acid betrayal.

  She should stop now, tell him to look, to really see before things went any further, but she couldn’t open her mouth, couldn’t deny herself this last pleasure. Demeter felt as though she were stealing his innocence even though he’d offered it to her on a platter.

  Although his touch belied his innocence. His hands on her skin scalded her, burned right though her flesh and seared secret places that were already scarred.

  It was as if he could read her mind when he spoke. “Ah, Demeter. It wasn’t innocence I waited on, but you. It’s always been you.” He took her mouth, but for all his tender words, his kiss was not gentle. It was wild and savage—almost cruel. All of the things Demeter had learned to expect from Love.

  She submitted to him, willing to take his savagery, surrendered to his need. Demeter reached between them and took his cock in her hand; ghosted her thumb across the tip. He arched in to her caress.

  “Do you know how often I’ve touched myself this way, imagining your hands doing this now?”

  “No, tell me,” she invited as she stroked faster.

  He covered her hand gently with his own and stilled her motions. “There’s something I imagined more than this.”

  So eager. Who could blame him? He’d waited centuries for her because he thought she was something special. In that moment, she would have given him anything he asked of her. Not only because she burned for him, but because he’d wanted her. He’d never taken anything from her, never demanded. Eros made her feel so many things all at once when all she’d felt for so long had been fear and rage. He made her ache with melancholy, made her want to be better, even though it was too late.

  Eros led her to the bed.

  Her body tightened in anticipation. He was going to take his pleasure. She wouldn’t deny him that, but she could feel something breaking inside of her because she knew this would be the only time he’d want to touch her this way.

  Demeter dropped her gown to the floor and displayed herself for him. His eyes were sharp like diamonds and they cut into her, but warmed her too. Eros guided her back on the bed and she opened for him.

  But instead of rising above her, he knelt between her thighs like a supplicant. His touch was reverent as he bent his mouth to touch his tongue against her hot flesh. She cried out and he only intensified his caress.

  Demeter realized now her visions had been less like dreams and more like memories—the way his mouth and tongue moved over her and drove her need to a frantic pitch. She clenched her teeth against the pleasure she knew was to come because she knew it would be unlike anything she’d ever felt before. She wanted it and feared it at the same time.

  Eros made a sound of pure male satisfaction as her slit spasmed against his fingers and the bliss she’d been waiting for took her over the edge. Instead of falling and crashing to the earth, Demeter flew. Wave after wave of ecstasy washed over her, spilling through her veins to tingle all of her nerve endings at once.

  Her pleasure manifested, brig
ht blooms of flowers bursting all over the room, vines tangling around the headboard, the windows and dropping down from the ceiling. Grass sprouted from the carpets and berries grew fat and ripe hanging from the sconces.

  She became aware of her physical self slowly. Her nails were still gouging his back, her thighs hurt from how she’d kept them flexed and wide, and she’d bitten into her bottom lip when she’d fought the onslaught of sensation.

  Eros stayed where he was until she relaxed her hands. He pulled away and placed a gentle kiss on the inside of her thigh.

  He was leaving? She bit down on her already bleeding lip again to keep from speaking. This was what she’d expected. It was happening. She’d be lucky if all he did was leave. And then she found herself wrapped in his arms, his hard cock against her thigh, but he made no move to take his own pleasure.

  “I don’t understand,” she said before she could stop herself. If Demeter could have taken the words back, she would have. He didn’t need to explain anything to her and it was probably better if he didn’t.

  Eros ran his fingers through her moss-green hair and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I want you to know this means something me. I know how your brain works. You think this is some culmination of a godling fantasy. So I’ll not take my pleasure with you this time.”

  His words now overfilled the twin cups of sorrow and wrath he’d been able to describe so clearly.

  “Why would you care?”

  “I love you,” he whispered as he trailed his fingers down her spine.

  She stiffened against him. “No, you don’t.”

  “We don’t have to have this conversation now, Demeter. Drink the moment, savor it.”

  “Yes, we do. You think you’re feeling something and it’s not real. Not if you really looked.”

  “Do you think I haven’t? Love isn’t about only the shiny things that are new and pink. In fact, it’s rarely about those innocent things at all. A temple isn’t made solid and enduring by ignoring the cracks in a foundation. Real love, Demeter, isn’t only lighting a candle in the dark. It’s about turning on the damn sun and accepting what’s there, because the rest of it is worth it.”

  “Eros, you’re still young and—,”

  “No. That is not an acceptable argument. My age? The hearts of men run deeper than gods, Demeter. There’s more darkness, more rage, but more of the beautiful things too. I’ve seen it all. More so than you, a goddess who’s shut herself off from the world because she’s afraid.”

  “Get out.” Yes, she was afraid, but what did he know of it? When had he ever been where she was? Never. He didn’t have the right to say these things to her.

  “If that’s what you want. It doesn’t change anything. You’re still hiding and I still love you. I have for a long time. It was never Persephone and I never pretended it was.” He eased himself from the bed and looked at the room. “Has this ever happened with anyone before? This is the life that blooms from love that you feared so much. When you had Persephone, it wasn’t because you loved Zeus. Yet you fear her still. Isn’t that part of the prophecy? Your mother died long before you had her, long before you ever felt love.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because for all of your long years, your heart has never bloomed for another.”

  Demeter wanted to say something, to take away the pain she could see in his eyes, but she didn’t know how, she was so full of despair herself. “You can’t fix me.”

  “No, I can’t.” He nodded. “But you can fix yourself. I love you, Demeter.”

  “Stop saying that!”

  “Not until you believe you deserve it. You don’t have to love me back, I know you don’t.”

  He said that with such acceptance, she couldn’t fathom it. His tone wasn’t hopeless or bereft; it was like he was saying he was simply content to love her. It made no sense.

  “Eros?”

  He was gone.

  She felt his departure like a death. There was a sudden emptiness in the room and all the flowers and berries that had bloomed and ripened now faded before her eyes. They shriveled as they rotted, quickly turning to ash and dust.

  Demeter couldn’t help but see the similarities between herself and those verdant bits of life that had only had a small taste of existence. While she’d always been comfortable without clothes, she suddenly felt naked. Not just bare, but stripped and flayed open. She manifested a gown, but it did nothing to alleviate anything she was feeling.

  There was another bloom, this time in her chest. It was too large to be contained in her body and it spilled forth in a fountain of sadness to streak down her cheeks. They were tears and Demeter realized she was sobbing.

  Her door creaked open. “Mama?”

  She sobbed harder.

  “Oh, Mama. What’s wrong?” Persephone rushed to her side and pulled her into her lap as Demeter had done for her. She stroked her hair and hugged her close.

  Demeter knew then she deserved to die. For all the suffering she’d wrought in the world. It didn’t matter she thought what happened to her had been unfair, it didn’t matter what Zeus had done to her. Persephone deserved so much better than what she’d been given. After all, wouldn’t her lot be the same as Demeter’s when her child came of age?

  All of these long, bitter years a waste.

  Eros was wrong. She didn’t deserve to be loved. She’d never done anything to make herself worthy and her child, her very own flesh and blood who loved her unconditionally had born the brunt of her selfishness. Even after she’d taken away what Persephone had loved most, her daughter was still here holding her in the dark while Demeter grieved for herself.

  “Mama, it’s cold in here. You have to stop. Come on, tell me what’s wrong,” Persephone crooned.

  Demeter felt the light, yet frigid kiss of snowflakes on her skin. She opened her eyes to see big, fat flakes falling from the ceiling as they blanketed the room. She looked outside and realized it was snowing outside too. All of Olympus would be covered in her frozen misery.

  “I’m sorry, Persephone. I’m so sorry.” She hugged her daughter close, wondering if she’d ever forgive her for what she’d done.

  “What are you sorry for?”

  “Taking you away from Hades. Forgive me.”

  Persephone stopped smoothing her mother’s hair for a moment, then continued. “It’s okay, Mama. I know you wanted what was best for me.”

  Demeter sobbed harder.

  “Whatever happened, I love you. It’s okay. But you have to stop. By snowing all over Olympus, you’re going to incite a war. Come on. Let’s make it spring.”

  “I can’t,” she hiccupped.

  “I’ll help you. Think of roses. Bright red roses peeking up out of the snow. It’s unnatural. They’ll love it.”

  Demeter felt her daughter’s power spike and instead of hating her for it, she surrendered her own and let their powers merge and outside, roses covered Olympus.

  “There now, it’s beautiful. Come look!” Persephone said excitedly.

  “No, I don’t think so. I’m tired now.”

  “Are you still sick, Mama?”

  Yes, Demeter was sick, but not only in the way Persephone thought. She was sick, dying. But she was sick at heart too. Demeter sighed heavily. The pain she’d dulled with her rage and her hate came back in a regimented force and she was too tired to put up a defense. She let it take her.

  “Yes, little seedling, I am, but I’ll be okay. Go on now.”

  “Eros left his quiver,” she said quietly.

  “Take it to him, will you? I don’t want to see him again.”

  “He loves you, you know,” she ventured.

  “I know.”

  “Mama,”

  “Persephone!” she snapped.

  “Just one more thing and I’ll leave you alone. I think you could be happy with him. You’ve never been with anyone as long as you’ve had me and I’ll always need you, Mama, but I’ve learned you and I need something else besides e
ach other.”

  This was the first time Persephone had ever contradicted her openly and Demeter was proud of her for it. Maybe the damage she’d done to her beautiful child wouldn’t be eternal.

  “Go back to bed now, seedling.” Persephone wasn’t a seedling any longer, but a long-stemmed rose, lovely and ready to lift her face the sun.

  It was the beginning of the long dark for Demeter.

  11

  HERA

  “Here to finish what you started?” Hades said darkly, without turning to face her. He’d opened another bottle of Stolichnaya and stood tall and brooding over the wet bar.

  “It depends on how many of those you’ve had.” Hera quickly took in his unkempt appearance. Damn if he didn’t wear tortured well. Even wallowing in his misery, he exuded sex. She couldn’t help but lick her lips in anticipation. There was something to be said for the grudge fuck.

  “Drinks or bottles, sweetheart?”

  “If you don’t have a heart, why are you numbing yourself? Habit?”

  “Because I still have a soul. Aphrodite couldn’t help me with that one.” He took another swallow.

  “Aren’t you just the tormented creature? Next thing we know, you’ll be flinging the gates of Tartarus wide so all those you’ve punished can find peace in Elysium,” Hera sneered.

  “What do you want?” he growled. “I thought after yesterday’s little scene you’d realized your mistake.”

  “I told you. I want to make you a king and be your woman. But with all that vodka in you, I don’t think you’re up to either task.”

  “Keep pushing me, Hera. Without a heart, there’s nothing to keep my temper reined.” The expression he wore was hard and unforgiving.

  “Do you want me to be afraid of you? I don’t fear you, Hades. I never have.”

  He spun on his booted heel and crossed the room, backed her against the cold stone of the wall. Hera was breathless and maybe a little nervous of his intent, but whatever he wanted to do to her, she wanted it.