Chapter Fourteen
She was pressed against him, not in sleep or from illness. But because she chose to do so. It was the sweetest torture. Her every curve invited him. Her every breath mixed with his, and her words… She’d spoken them without hesitation.
She loved him. She would stay with him. Her words warmed him, melting the shards of ice from around his ill-used heart.
Her hair surrounded him. Her scent, flowers and earth and woman, tempted him sorely. Everything about her bid him welcome, enticing him to rise against her and make her his.
He could not think… Such feelings overtook his reason and will.
Her lips caressed his forehead, his cheek, the tip of his nose, the corner of his mouth… He breathed raggedly. Her lips were feather light upon his. She teased him, tugging upon his lower lip in earnest.
He gave in with a growl, turning into her kiss, mindless. His mouth parted beneath hers and his tongue invaded the hot wetness of her mouth with dizzying effect. Her hands tightened upon him, willing him to her. He caught her strangled cry with his mouth, his lips sealed to hers.
She wanted him.
His grip on her peplos loosened, but the satin skin of her thigh demanded his touch. She gasped as his palm caressed her flesh, sliding high beneath her tunic. She broke free from their kiss, her hands kneading his shoulders as his fingers gripped her hip.
His lips left hers. This was wrong. This was madness.
Her face was perplexed, startled by these new sensations perhaps? Her eyes were lustrous, sparkling as they regarded him. A joyful smile tugged at her mouth, weakening his resolve. Her hands wound through his hair, pulling him to her, eager for another kiss… He could not deny her. His hands anchored in the thickness of her locks, giving him leverage to greedily deepen his kiss and admit defeat.
For make no mistake about it, she had defeated him.
She whimpered against his mouth, grabbing at his tunic and neck. He pulled her closer to him, fearing he might crush her by doing so. Yet she moved against him frantically, building the fire in his blood. Her lips moved over his….
How he wanted her. And she wanted him, desperately.
His hand slid to her neck, cupping it gently as his thumb grazed her lower lip once more. He was rewarded with her shudder and gasp.
“Please,” she whispered.
She pushed the tunic from his shoulder and ran her hands over his chest, making a soft groaning sound as she did so. He watched, in awe of her uninhibited desire. There was no shame in her sensuality. Her gaze followed the path of her hands, possessed by such a fever of need that he had to appease her. He could not stop his stomach from quivering, contracting, beneath her touch. Or the hot throbbing of his loins. Her lips returned to him, clinging to his ear, nuzzling his neck and the base of his throat. It was hard to breathe, his desire scarcely restrained.
She held such power over him, her lips and hands demanding his response.
“Please,” the word brushed across his lips.
His hands were rough upon her, grabbing her hair and pulling her face to him. His lips clung, his tongue invaded… but it wasn’t enough. He would have all of her. He grasped the shoulders of her tunic, craving the feel of her flesh. He felt the fever of need in her blood, shared it. But her tunic was trapped, pulled tightly beneath them, denying and inflaming him all the more.
Too frenzied to pause, he stood.
She wrapped her legs about him. Out of instinct, he knew, but it was torture. He’d felt desire, faint memories now, but never like this. Nothing in his life compared to this.
He lifted her in his arms, carrying her from the hall as her lips devoured him. His mouth, his cheek, his ear, his shoulder... He trembled, turning into her kiss when her lips sought his. How they reached his chamber, he didn’t know. But they reached his bed quickly. He stooped, set her gently upon the bed, and paused.
The sight of her, her copper hair spread across his furs, was something he would treasure on the dark nights ahead. He swallowed, drinking in each detail. She was a gift. One he’d no right to accept.
His thoughts sobered him, a knot of coldness settling in his stomach. She would leave. He did not doubt it, she was right, he would send her away. He had to…
She was unaware of his stillness. She sat up, tugging the ties of her tunic and letting the linen slip free. He swallowed as the cloth fell, caressing the curves of her body, to pool about her knees on his bed.
He lifted a hand, but caught himself. He fisted his hands, holding his arms to his side.
She moved closer, her eyes fixed upon him as she waited.
The pain was physical, as if his heart would willingly tear itself from his chest. But he would not take what she offered. He must end this, sever this unnatural connection between them. For her own good. He would find the strength to end this, he must.
“Persephone.” His voice was hard, startling her. He bent, lifting her discarded tunic and covering her. “Enough.”
She stared at him, blinking in confusion.
“Forgive me.” He glanced at her and stepped back.
She sank slowly onto the bed, clutching her tunic in bewilderment. She wrapped her arms about her. “Forgive you?”
It was a hard thing not to fall to his knees, not to pull her back to him. Instead he stood, every muscle taut with restraint. “Your words… Your enthusiasm. I’ve no excuse for my behavior.”
She stared up at him.
The look in her eyes tore at him. He’d hurt her too many times. And now, when she’d done nothing but offer him love, he would hurt her again.
“But you…” her voice broke. “You love me. As I love you.”
He swallowed. Was he capable of love? Did she truly believe he could? “I fear you’ve confused lust with love, Persephone.”
Her green eyes narrowed and she stood, charging him in a fury. “Lust? I would not deny that my body aches for you. But it is my heart that would have you… join with me… You and no other…” Her voice grew husky as she placed her hand on his chest. “Your heart answers mine…”
He pushed her hand from him, shuddering from her touch and her words. His words were low, hard and biting. “What do you know of love?”
She moved closer. “I know of no one who feels as strongly for another as I feel for you, Hades. What else could it be?”
He had no answer for her. Because he wanted it to be true. He scowled.
Her words were angry. “Tell me why it is your smile and your voice that I listen for, for the sound of it is sweeter than anything else. Tell me why my mind and body ease from your scent… your touch. Tell me why my body aches and warms in places I’d not known existed until I felt the brush of your lips…”
“Stop!” He held up his hand. He could not listen. He could not breathe.
She stepped closer, her eyes aflame. “Why?”
He fell silent. He tore his gaze from her, searching for some distraction. Her fingers released her tunic and exposed her fully to him. He could feel the heat of her, for her curves nearly brushed against him. He swallowed, damning the longing that curled his fingers.
Sadness tinged her voice when she spoke. “You are not mine, I know that. But I would make you mine. In my heart, my soul, we are joined.”
“I cannot give you what you want,” he whispered, hating the desperation that colored every word.
She touched his cheek, shaking her head and moving one step closer. “I want you, Hades. Whatever you would give to me, I will take.”
He was lost then, he knew it. As did she. Her breasts throbbed in time with her rapid pulse, grazing his chest rhythmically. He felt his response. As did she.
He denied himself no longer, grabbing her to him, frantic in his need. His nose trailed down her neck and across her shoulder, inhaling deeply. Her body pressed against him, breast to chest, mouth to mouth. It was heady and hot, tender and right. She shook, a soft groan escaping her. She felt it too, this craving. A hunger he roused within her.
He rested, propped on one elbow, to watch. The vision, his hand upon her so, made him hunger for more. He caressed her side, his fingers trailing across her collar bone to cup her breast. She filled his hand and drove him mad with wanting. His thumb grazed her nipple, plucking it gently between forefinger and thumb until it pebbled hard from his touch. His lips followed, licking and nipping until she was writhing beneath him. The taste of her, the feel of her… how could he feel such tenderness and such crippling hunger for this woman?
Never had he felt so engorged with heat. His need bordered pain. When she parted her legs, he did not hesitate.
She wrapped her arms about him, kissing him deeply. His eyes sought hers, her hand found his. She stared up at him. He moved, pressing the throbbing tip of himself against her. Her heat startled him, warming him as he entered her. He did not stifle the groan that ripped from his throat as he breached her untried flesh. When it was done, he stilled, finding some thread of control to cling to. She was hot, her muscles cradling and clenching about him.
He stared down at her, knowing… and accepting that she had changed him forever. She was his, his and only his… No, she was his now, he cautioned himself. He did not care for the rage that swept through him at such a thought. Or the pain that swiftly followed.
“Hades.” Her hands cupped his face, smiling up at him. “Now you have all of me.” Her words inflamed him.
“Do I?” his words were strangled. His body demanded more. Was it only his body that demanded more? His heart ached…
He kissed her, ashamed of his selfishness, exhilarated by her love. He moved, unable to fully leave her before sliding deep once more. She gasped, but did not look away.
He groaned, the spasm of pleasure on her face affecting him to his core. She moved beneath him, each stroke deeper than the last. He gritted his teeth against the sharpening of his pleasure. She clung to him, her breathing labored. Her hands slid, holding tightly to his hips, and the fire in his blood roared. His rhythm changed, unleashed by the feel of her quivering about him. Each thrust was primal, hard and fast. He pushed into her, deeply, reveling into her every shudder.
Her cries grew ragged, breathless and raw. He watched her body flush, watched her nipples peak tightly and her body stiffen about him. Deep inside of her he felt her climax, her long, slow contractions driving him harder. She cried out. Her nails pierced his skin, clawing his back. He could not stifle the throaty groan that ripped from him as his release, wave upon wave, followed hers.
Such passion was new to him, giving him both exquisite satisfaction and bone wrenching grief. He rested his head upon her chest, fighting panic. He’d held her at bay for a reason. Releasing her without this intimacy would have been painful enough. But now… he swallowed, closing his eyes. He drew in long, slow deep breaths, listening to the rapid thrum of her heart. Her soft skin beneath him, the light press of her hands upon his back eased him.
He would not think of the days ahead.
He would savor what magic they’d shared. He lay, propped on top of her, with no desire to leave her. In the seconds afterward, his chest grew heavy and languid. He savored the sound of her heart, the rhythm of her breathing. Her hands moved slowly, tracing his back with her fingertips. The feel of her hands on him eased him all the more.
But how did she fare? Panic rose within him, but he forced himself to move, rising above her on his elbows.
She smiled, rosy and delighted. “Oh, Hades. That was… that was just as I knew it would be.”
He could do nothing but smile back, albeit reluctantly. “Was it?”
She shook her head quickly. “No, not at all. How could I have imagined such… such…” She laughed, cupping his face. “Kiss me.”
He laughed too, all too eager to kiss her. And though he’d meant to give her a chaste kiss, it quickly gave way to more. His body was not done with her. And so he kissed her, and reveled in the catch of her breath and the silk of her skin beneath him.
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The fire burned low in the grate, casting leading shadows onto the ground. Erysichthon stared straight ahead, unable to make out the flames or the contents of the room. His eyes clouded and burned. He would move, he would leave this room with its smells of sickness and wasting. Yet, he could not. He’d not the strength to move. So he stared, unseeing, into the dying fire.
He would starve. There was no hope for it.
Ione had gone, her eyes alight with renewed hope. She loved him still… She would do as he asked. She worried over him, but believed that Persephone might help him gain favor with Olympus once more. He held on to no such hope, but had not said as much to her. He’d been too hungry, too desperate to fill his own stomach.
Yet she had been gone too long. No message had come, no news as to her whereabouts. He’d sent his men, those few that remained, to find her. But she’d vanished.
Had she spoken the truth? Had Poseidon wearied of coming to her aid?
Did it matter?
He sighed, the slight motion forcing pure agony through his entire body.
“My lord,” Kadmos spoke, his words startling Erysichthon. It would be all too easy for one of his enemies to defeat him now. If he cared.
Erysichthon stared in the direction of the man’s voice. He blinked, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to focus. Kadmos, a large dark figure, bobbed then faded before Erysichthon. He sighed, blinking again and again. “Did you bring it?”
Kadmos’ voice was low. “I did, but…”
“Give it to me.” He reached out, taking the metal handle with an unsteady hand. “You do me honor by staying with me, Kadmos. You and Barak are the best of men. Go now, and do not return. I command it.”
Barak’s voice boomed, “We will stay with you.”
He shook his head. “You will do as I demand. Find Ione. Keep her safe. She will need looking after.”
There was silence then, one he hoped meant their acquiescence.
“Go,” he murmured. “Go and do my bidding this last time.”
He blinked, his vision clearing long enough to see their dark shapes moving further from him. He had no hope of seeing her again, but he would give her all he had. Kadmos and Barak were all that remained of his vast court. How quickly his people had turned from him. Did they think he’d meant to leave his men untended on the battlefield? His hate knew no bounds. Those men, loyal to him, had been left to rot. None had funeral rites, none given passage to the Underworld. Because of Hades… Because of Demeter. He was no less a victim than those who fell to the Persians.
But no more.
He sat, gripping the knife’s handle, willing the strength to do what must be done.
The fire snapped, echoing in the empty hall. His stomach growled, forcing him to his knees as the pain rolled over him again and again.
“I curse you, Goddess,” he hissed to the empty room. “I curse you to an eternity of suffering.” He sat heavily, too weary to try to stand. “As you have cursed me.”
Demeter… It was her fault. She’d done this to him, made him too weak to search for Persephone. She’d crippled him so. He could not take more than a few steps before his own bile rose up to choke him. Such spasms made him retch violently or his bowels empty uncontrollably. He could not seek revenge. Not in this body.
But without it.
He smiled, taking the handle in both hands.
Cutting his leg was easy. He no longer feared pain. He knew what he must do; Demeter had told him as much. She would see him die at his own hand, feasting on his own flesh. He saw no reason to delay such an end. The strip of flesh he sliced fro
m his thigh felt no different from any other cut of meat. True it was not braised in onions, or charred on a spit over a fire to roast. But it was meat nonetheless. Meat that his body craved above all things.
He blinked, but his vision did not clear.
Perhaps it was easier this way. Not seeing it, not knowing what he bit into. But once his teeth tore into the flesh, he did not care. The taste was too much, more potent and delicious than any meal he’d partaken. He gobbled it down, cutting more, larger and deeper than the first.
He felt the warmth of his own blood pooling on the floor beneath him. A chill touched him.
“You will never rest easy, Demeter. For my death frees me from your curse. But you…” He swayed, feeling lightheaded as he hacked into his other leg. “You will never be free of me.”
He rested, listing to his side and propping himself upon his elbow. He ate quickly, his hunger consuming him anew.
But he did not have the strength to cut again, his arms were too heavy. His lungs seemed to shrink, drawing in a breath too shallow. He gasped, but could draw nothing in.
“I will never give her up. Never. Persephone is mine…” He cried out, emptying his lungs. He fell back, fighting. His heart thrashed, pumping erratically, searching escape from his chest. He could not lift his hands, he could only lie still. His breath was gone, his eyes feeling tight, his skin heavy. Panic rose, fear gripped him. And the cold… If he’d had the strength, he would shiver. He could not escape… He lay, feeling the darkness pressing more heavily upon him.
And then there was nothing.
The room was quiet, save the crackling of the fire.
How much time passed, how long it took for the spirit to separate from his flesh, he did not know. Gone was the weakness. Gone was the hunger.
He stood, fluid and quick, to stare into the lifeless eyes of his own body. Blood covered the floor, spilled from the gaping holes he’d carved into his legs. He shook his head, the sensation light and insubstantial. He stared at his hands as he stretched his fingers toward the firelight.
For the Love of Hades (The Loves of Olympus) Page 17