Six Months with Cerberus

by Lucas, Naomi

  He had saved her again.

  She was beginning to think he would always save her. A terrible, painfully buried part of her desperately wanted that to be true. But also didn’t want it to be, because feared this growing dependence. It made her feel weak and disoriented.

  She could blame the parents that had given her up, the ones she desperately wanted to meet, to confront—but that was weak, too.

  Was it weak to allow someone control for a while? Even if it was her choice? Her tears threatened to return with her confusion.

  She'd heard the exchange between Cerberus and Hades, even through the horrible chaos of noise happening around her. It reminded her that Cerberus wasn’t a man, or not only a man, but an indescribable creature as well. Although it had been days since she’d been forced to glimpse his true form, it still lingered in the back of her mind, reminding her who she was willing to give up her control to.

  Cerberus pulled and rubbed at the lock of her hair, his focus solely on the strands he held. “Yes,” he said, low and grave. Like the request haunted him.

  She knew what he wanted.

  Her belly heated. She shifted back and forth on her feet as that heat pulled down between her legs, making her sex knot.

  With a shiver, Cyane reached up and ran her fingers through her hair, pulling the strands from his grasp. The bed was right there… Would she survive taking a man like him into her?

  This place was beyond her world, and strangely, death didn’t feel as terrible here. Even though she’d seen those in the ballroom killed, had they really died?

  She wrenched her eyes shut. What is wrong with me? Dozens of beings had just been slaughtered. She was in over her head, and she was just assuming that Cerberus was even interested in her?

  But if he wanted a gift from her, she would gladly give it. Thanking him was the least she could do. “Unsheath your sword,” she said softly.

  He took out his weapon and held it vertically between them.

  She pulled the strands of hair he’d been playing with taut, much like she’d done earlier, and lifted it to the blade. His eyes sparked a deep red as she pressed her hair against the edge. Cyane held the cut locks between her own fingers as he lowered and sheathed his blade.

  She handed it to him and held her breath, wondering why he wanted something from her to begin with and what he planned to do with it now. He turned and went to the table.

  She followed him to see what he was doing.

  Cerberus laid her hair upon the table’s surface and made short work of taking off his gloves. Long, white fingers, the same pale skin that could be seen elsewhere, were revealed. His hands were clear of marks and scars, almost porcelain in appearance despite the strength that seemed to emanate from them.

  There was nothing horrifying nor monstrous about them.

  Just hands. They were just hands.

  I want to see more! A selfish part of her almost snatched her hair back, to hold it hostage until she got her way. But he picked up the strands before she could and wove them around his thumb, much like how Hades had done earlier. Only this time, it didn’t fill her stomach with dread.

  It made her...happy.

  He began to draw his gloves back on.

  “Stop, please.” Cyane reached up and grabbed his fingers. They were icy cold. She gripped them tighter.

  Cerberus’s body went rigid before her eyes. His fingers twitched in her grip.

  He slowly turned back to her.

  “Why do you hide?” she asked before she lost the courage.

  He gripped her hand back. “Cyane…”

  She canted her head and waited for him to say more, but instead, he brought his other hand up to cup hers between them. His gaze moved from her face to look at their joined hands.

  His skin grew warmer, as if her touch alone could bring the dead back to life. His thumb moved, tracing circles over her palm, sparking a tickling shiver deep inside. Then his thumbs trailed upward to do the same with her wrists.

  A soft sound escaped her lips. She didn’t mean for it to happen, she’d barely known what she was up against, but Cerberus’s touch was like rich chocolate or a rollercoaster ride. That made no sense. His thumbs continued to move in circles, oh so lightly, over the sensitive veins of her wrist and doing terrible things to her insides.

  “I hunger, Cyane,” he said, his voice even lower and darker than before. He reached down and gripped her other hand, bringing it between them. “I don’t know why you make me so hungry.”

  Her half-mast eyelids flared at his words. His thumbs slowly moved up the insides of her forearms, heading straight for the weak, sensitive spot of her inner elbow. Before he reached that glorious ticklish spot, he clasped his fingers around her arms, raised them up, and held them away from her body.

  “Let me touch you,” he demanded. “I’ve never had flesh as warm as yours, that turns pink like a rose with a single touch. Are all mortals so warm?”

  He watched her, his eyes blazing dangerously and…familiar?

  Why were they familiar?

  She blushed. “Will you hurt me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  His fingers started up their circles again, making her skin prickle with goosebumps. Cyane swallowed.

  Give in. Give in and fall to your knees. Give in and worship him like the god he is. What was wrong with her?

  “Then, I...don't know.”

  His eyes darkened.

  His petting resumed, this time within the crux of her elbows—as if he wouldn’t take no for an answer—and her mind blanked. Her eyelids lowered, her heartbeat hastened. His hands didn’t stay there long, making her shudder, lulling her to give in to the caress he bestowed upon her.

  She’d never been touched like this before. His long fingers and wide palms slid up her arms and over her shoulders, clasping her under the flimsy material of her dress.

  “Now?” he asked.

  Cyane shook her head weakly, a little dizzy, a little tired, and moved forward to rest her brow on his chest.

  He raised his hands to cup her neck, his thumbs back in action, slipping softly over her throat, fingers brushing the sides of her neck. She swallowed, testing the pressure he exerted. His grip tightened...a little. This was wrong.

  “Worship me, Cyane.” His voice burning a hole through her pleasure before becoming apart of it, stirring her. Even if this was cruelty on his part, as he played with her excitement filled her anyway.

  “Yes.” It came out breathy and weak.

  His hands moved down her neck, his fingers slipped back under the sleeves of her dress. He pushed the sleeves off her shoulders, and the dress fell to a soft pool at her feet.

  His hands returned to her throat. Cerberus didn’t push her back to indulge in her nudity, and because of that, she didn’t feel the need to cover herself. His fingers fanned out to thread through her hair, eventually moving away from her neck entirely to comb her hair.

  Another sound escaped her. He did it again, and when she held in the feel of pleasure, he seemed bothered by it. It didn’t last. He pulled his hands from her hair and cupped her cheeks, rubbed her lips, even her teeth, with his thumbs. Then he went on to pet the shells of her ears, her hairline.

  Heat built up inside her, making her core knot. Cerberus asked her to worship him, and yet she was the one being worshiped.

  Or maybe he really is playing with me.

  But he studied everywhere he touched as if each caress was new to him.

  Her chest tightened.

  He wasn’t playing. Awe filled her. Was he...a virgin? She almost couldn’t believe it. The thought alone was unbelievable. But...was he?

  She stepped back and watched his reaction as his eyes dipped to her body. They moved upon her, and she fought the urge to shield her breasts, her sex, to turn away and hide.

  She’d barely been good enough for a quick tumble with her one of the other foster kids, who’d snuck into her bed one night when their foster parents were drunk and asleep.
How would she fare with a powerful deity?

  She held her hands at her sides, worked to keep her spine straight and confident, fighting the urge to shy away.

  She breathed in and focused on his eyes, which moved slowly over her several times. His bare hand came up and grabbed the hilt of his sword, but other than that, there was no reaction from him.

  Cyane chewed on her tongue, her heartbeat fluttering, steadily increasing.

  “This only makes it worse,” he said.

  She flinched, snapping her arms over her breasts. “I’m sorry. I thought when you slipped my dress off…”

  “That I wanted to see you?”

  Oh god. “Yes.” Like how much she wanted to see him.

  “I would rather feel you, Cyane. I see you, always.”

  Oh fuck. Blasted tears rushed to her eyes, and she swiped them away quickly. He pulled her into his arms before she could turn away, before she could grab her dress and hide. He brushed her tears from where they gathered.

  Realization struck her.

  After everything she’d wanted before, despite everything she’d seen, she’d submit, drop to her knees, and worship him, always.

  Cerberus never had to ask her. Never again.

  What else was there for one to do when one wanted a god?

  And that god wanted her as well.

  The Day of Battles

  Cyane moaned. His hands never stopped roaming her body. They started with her face again, catching her damning tears before they ran back through her hair, drifted over her neck, and whispered once more down her arms.

  A horrible, wet ache grew between her legs. She wasn’t a saint, nor a vestal virgin, but as Cerberus stroked her body, it felt like he was stroking her sex, penetrating her to the core and making her as hungry as he claimed to be.

  Lust had been stolen from her by inept sexual experiences, and she had begun to question if she could sincerely desire. But now she burned with it.

  She wanted him inside her, pounding and erratic, needed the power he had focused solely on her.

  His hands slipped down and cupped her breasts. His fingers circled and toyed with her nipples. She moved as close to his body as she could without interrupting the touch of his hands on her.

  He squeezed her breasts gently. “Do all female mortals have such heavy breasts?”

  “No.”

  “Only fertility goddesses are endowed as such. They do not come to Tartarus. You have been given a gift.”

  Cyane reached up and gripped his arms as his squeezing increased.

  She was suddenly aware of how her nudity faced his fully armored body. It emphasized his power over her. She slid her hands up to his neck, under the metal edge of his helmet, and licked her lips. “Take this off. Let me see you,” she said.

  “If I’m called away to protect the gates, what will protect my neck?”

  “You could put it back on?”

  “You may not like what I look like, Cyane.”

  “I don’t think there is any face that would frighten me away from you. I’ve seen…” She swallowed. Teeth. Drool. Serpents and snouts. “Let me see more?”

  He stared at her for a short while, and she thought he was going to deny her this request. The yearning in her grew at the thought of never seeing him without his armor.

  Cerberus released his hold on her. Cyane inhaled and dropped her arms from his neck to curl them around her chest.

  She was going to see him.

  She was finally going to see what he was… The three-headed hound? The ancient nightmarish monster?

  A simple man?

  Not a skeleton. His hands and the peek of skin around his eyes and brow proved that thought false.

  He bowed his head, gripped the sides of his helmet, and pulled it off. Thick, black, slightly curled hair poured out first, making her reach out to touch it… The locks fell away as he tucked his helmet under his arm and brushed his fingers through the strands to reveal his face.

  Her lips parted, her eyes widened, and her chest constricted. She stepped back, horrified.

  The memory of the horrendous slaughter from earlier, the unrepentant dealing of death, rushed back to her. How could she forget it so soon?

  “Hades,” she whispered, afraid.

  Cyane backed away from Cerberus, frantically reaching for her dress. Anger cracked his heart. Was he so hideous that regret filled her the moment he revealed himself? He’d never taken his helmet off for anyone, not since Hades had given him a man’s body.

  No one had ever asked him to, nor would he have even if they had. He knew he was made in Hades’s image, but his lord was known for his appeal.

  “Hades?” he said. “I’m not Hades. Liar,” he fumed, watching her tug back on the dress. The one he’d procured for her.

  He strode forward and gripped the dress, tearing it from her body. It vanished back into the darkness.

  One last piece fluttered to the floor to settle at his feet. Whatever it was, it didn’t disappear with Cyane’s dress.

  She shrieked. The sound reminded him of the thousands of souls he’d devoured. It was their final cry before they descended into the abyss of his belly.

  His eyes snapped back to her, and he grabbed her before she could flee. “Look at me,” he ordered.

  Cyane struggled but did as he dictated. He smelled her fear. “Please—Don’t. I don’t want this, not with you!”

  Cerberus glared at her. “Not with Hades or Cerberus? You said there is no face that exists that could frighten you away from me, but that’s not true? Is it?” His hounds emerged from the shadows to bare their teeth and watch. They brought the soft scent of blood, fresh from the ballroom.

  She flinched.

  “Perhaps we should return to the shores of Styx and find out what other lies so easily escape you.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Why?” He narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow. “I should be asking you that, Cyane. Gifts given to you go over your head.”

  “Why do you look like Hades? Are you him?”

  She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her. He fanned his fingers out so he could hold her hair between them. The heat of her panic made him realize how cold he truly was, how desperately he needed her warmth.

  “Is that why you reek of fear?” he asked.

  “Are you him? Is this a trick?”

  His annoyance grew. “No.” He hissed. “I’m not him. No being, no matter how powerful, would pretend to be a lord of one of the three realms. Hubris is the wellspring of war.”

  Cyane grabbed his wrists. “You’re not him.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then why do you look like him! Is that why you hide yourself—so he and you can change places?” Her words spilled out. “How will I ever know you’re you? I don’t understand, make me understand.”

  Cerberus let her go, and she quickly pulled a blanket from the bed and covered herself. The warmth he craved, denied in one simple action.

  “I look like him because he remade me in his image. If you want to know why, you’ll have to ask him yourself. I do not question gifts from my lord.”

  “H-he killed all those guests, they screamed for help, they begged, they clawed the walls. The devil I know above is the liar, and he lied to his guests,” she whispered. “Hades feels like the devil. If I spoke too soon, pulled away too fast, it was because I trusted the man I thought I knew, not…”

  “What am I to you now?”

  Cyane shook her head.

  His mood darkened, and he lifted his helmet to put back on.

  “Wait! Please don’t.” She took a step forward and took his helmet from his hands. He watched as she placed it on the table beside his gloves. “I don’t want your face to be hidden from me anymore.”

  Confusion bled into his anger. The hunger in his gut grew with each passing second. Her nakedness, so clearly visible under the blanket, her vulnerability, even her fear, did not deter this feeling. It made it worse. “You can’t
have it both ways.”

  Her shoulders shook, and she turned to face him, snapping her eyes to his face then away just as quickly. She looked down at his hand where her ring of hair wrapped around his thumb.

  “That”—she pointed at his thumb—“will be how I’ll tell you apart.” Cyane picked up one of his gloves and handed it to him. “Hide it. So only you and I know where you wear my gift.”

  Cerberus stilled, his confusion only building. He took his glove from her hand and pulled it back on anyway.

  “If you really aren’t Hades, then you’ll show me your hand whenever we meet,” she said.

  “I’m not a liar.”

  “But Hades might be?”

  He should hate her for asking him to keep something from his lord, for forcing Cerberus to keep a secret from the one he was most loyal to. But the smell of her trepidation ebbed, and he was willing to do what he must. “You do not realize the gravity of the things you ask of me.”

  Cyane curled her arms back over her chest, her eyes downcast, and nodded.

  Despite her lie, and considering her reaction only reminded him that mortals were known for their deviousness...the ring was the first tribute he’d ever received.

  The feel of her hair pressed tightly between his glove and his skin was right. It was precious to him now.

  He began to understand the obsession that many of the gods had for the lower beings that dwelled on their world. Humans were strange creatures. They dictated so much of what the realms did, and in return, they forgot about the gods that served them...gods who only wanted to be served in return.

  The revelation compelled Cerberus to reach out and explore Cyane further, to lay her out before him and see if she was warm everywhere. To find her imperfections that so clearly told him she was not one of his kind—the very flaws that made her captivating.

  But death, the Underworld, and Hades himself were not easy things for her kind to handle, and he watched as her gaze drifted from his exposed face. She couldn’t keep her eyes on him for more than a moment. It frustrated him, and he worried he may harm her in resentment.