by Lucas, Naomi
“There is nothing you could do to me,” Cerberus said, staring at the fire, “that hasn’t already been done.”
“Cyane has sworn fealty to you, has she not?”
A delicious shiver shot through Cerberus. “Yes.”
He pictured her kneeling at his feet, either in vestal white or naked and vulnerable, waiting for his command. The delicious vision couldn’t linger as Hades filled Cerberus’ eyes with a darker image of himself.
“I suppose she loves you? As much as a mortal could love another?” Hades asked.
Cerberus looked Hades in the eye. “I wouldn’t assume.”
“But she cares?” Hades smiled. “She sought you out relentlessly during the Day of Deviance, only to find you gone. Her eyes roved the guests when she should have been paying attention to me, minding her own mortality.”
A thread of regret spiked through Cerberus. He’d left her to face Hades alone, even if his intentions were for her protection. His hounds or not, Cerberus should’ve been by her side. Even if it angered Hades and brought Melinoe closer.
Hades must’ve seen the regret on Cerberus’s face because he continued. “The loyalty of mortals is fickle, and the value of her fealty has yet to be seen. For now, she has the love and affection of a long-lost friend to keep her attention. But I may be lenient on your punishment, if you ensure I get all I yet want.”
“A godly child,” Cerberus gritted. Hades’s opinions in regards to Cyane’s affections mattered less than dirt to Cerberus.
“My wife’s acceptance into her bed.”
“One in the same.”
Hades shrugged. “You are still loyal to me, are you not?”
Was he? He knew the answer before he finished asking himself. He sat back and trailed his eyes over Hades’s dark, familiar body. Hades’s scent was better known to Cerberus than that of his father, better than even his own scent. Hades would always be more than a lord to Cerberus, more than a friend.
“Yes, I am eternally loyal,” Cerberus said, feeling the terrible truth of that statement settle over him.
An almost imperceptible softness fell over Hades's features; something only Cerberus would ever see, something he knew Hades had no idea he gave away.
Hades loved his hound as much as Cerberus loved his lord.
“Then you will attend me tonight, my brother.” Hades closed his eyes and settled in his chair. “You and Cyane.”
Cyane lay in the grass next to Persephone, the goddess’s laughter a sweet song in her ears. Persephone had taken them to a garden somewhere deep within the castle. A secret place that shouldn’t exist in the Underworld. Flowers grew here that Cyane had never seen or heard of before, they had been created for this place and this place alone. They stole away the smell of Tartarus and replaced it with floral musk and a little bit of spice. It suited the ever-present gloom.
Cyane adored the flowers because they showed her Persephone as she was now but still as herself back before her abduction, mixed together to give a little life in the one place where there shouldn’t be.
Sorrow had all but vanished from Cyane’s veins, and the result was almost too much for her to bear. She’d never experienced more jubilance and mirth. Knowing Persephone was alive and well, and just as happy, if not a little more bitter, a little more grown up, was the greatest gift of all.
They both were now, having grown up since they were last together.
But there was something missing in Cyane’s heart, something that made her rise up on her elbows, again and again, to peer around the garden and its high walls. There was no roof here, and she figured this was a courtyard of some sorts because along the sides, the needle-like points of the castle’s design could be seen reaching the faraway cavern ceiling.
Her eyes scanned the garden. Again. She was searching for Cerberus. She was desperate to be with him again but also...nervous. He hadn’t stopped her from walking away, and now she had unexpectedly returned. She had no idea where they stood. Doubt and paranoia filled her the longer she dwelled on it, the longer he stayed away.
Persephone pressed a flower to Cyane’s nose. Cyane smiled as she breathed in the new scent her goddess was proud of.
Persephone gave Cyane meaning, she fulfilled everything she thought she had been searching for. A friend, family, a way to contribute to something larger than herself. But Cerberus… He gave her love, darkness, and obsession.
Persephone was Cyane’s goddess.
Cerberus was—and always would be—her God.
Cyane sighed. Not even one of his hounds appeared to steal her breath and impose upon her and Persephone.
Persephone replanted the flower and leaned over Cyane. “What’s wrong? Have I done something?”
Cyane’s face fell. “No! You could do nothing but fill my heart with happiness.”
Persephone smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. Cyane sat up as her friend curled her legs under her and toyed with the grass at her knees. Cyane didn’t want Persephone to be sad, not on her account.
“It’s Hades, is it not?” Persephone whispered before Cyane could reassure her.
Silence fell between them.
Cyane took her Persephone’s hand. “He wishes only to make you happy. I understand that now, after everything. I understand his motivations now and can’t fault him.” She inhaled because it was true. Even if the dark god frightened her still. “If I had his power… I may have done as much, if not more, to make you happy.”
“He loves me,” Persephone whispered.
Cyane squeezed her hand. “He does. Do you love him?”
“It’s complicated. How can I love someone whose purpose is to kill and keep all that I create?”
Cyane licked her lips and reached for Persephone’s other hand, holding them up between them. “When he took you,” she said, the words paining her to say, “did he hurt you?”
“I thought he did, at the time.” Persephone’s eyes met Cyane’s. “I thought when he stole me from my mother and from all I’d known that I’d learned what hurt was. But I was naive and had no idea what I had with him until my mother found me, and Zeus ordered me above again to end Demeter’s terrible winter. I learned what real torment was then. I returned to find you gone and discover how dearly I missed Hades.” A tear appeared in Persephone’s eye.
Cyane frowned, feeling tears rise in her own eyes. “Will you tell me what happened?”
“You don’t know?” Persephone stole her hand away and wiped her cheeks.
“I don’t. I suppose…turning into a spring immortalized me...but left me deaf to all but the mortals who visited my waters.” Those distant memories were hard for Cyane. They were timeless in a way that even the darkness of Tartarus couldn’t compare.
“Zeus, realizing my misery, came to me one night that first spring. He disguised himself as Hades and ruined me for all time for my Lord of the Dead.”
Cyane swallowed thickly. She had no idea what to say to Persephone. Instead, she reached forward and wrapped her dear friend in a hug and held on, held her as if the very same hole that separated them the first time would return at any moment to pull them apart again.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” she whispered.
Persephone pressed her face into Cyane’s hair and cried. “How can I be with Hades when my own father has destroyed me so?”
Sudden, unabashed anger filled Cyane. “Destroy? Zeus could never destroy something so pure.”
Sobs filled Cyane’s ears as she held Persephone to her, wishing she could take all the goddess’s pain away.
She looked up to see Cerberus standing at the edge of the garden, watching them. His helmet was off, and Cyane’s breath hitched. Beside him, farther behind, hidden in the deeper shadows of the castle’s walls, leaned Hades.
Cyane’s gaze snapped back to Cerberus. Her lips pursed and her body heated, overcome by the predatory gleam in his eyes. It was aimed at her, smoldering and hot, flaming her from the inside out. There was a splash of blood on his fa
ce, smudged across his mouth, and it reminded her of the animal he truly was.
She should be afraid, but all she wanted to do was crawl to him, press her brow to his boots, and pray she still was and always would be his. His eyes sparkled, diabolically demonic in the gloom, and to her strange relief, the want was clear in his gaze. But with a godly sniffle, Cyane was reminded that Persephone was the one in her arms.
Stiffness surged through her spine. She buried her fingers into Persephone’s fallen hair, gripping her hard. Her own tears dried up as she held her friend, staring at the men who stared back at her. Hades’s eyes were filled with warning until they moved to Persephone where they softened with longing and hunger. A hunger Cyane clearly recognized, having seen the same in Cerberus’s gaze many times before.
Hades’s words came back to her.
‘I do not easily forget nor do I easily forgive, Cyane. I gave you a new life for one purpose, and one purpose only—to ensure I have an heir.’
She cupped Persephone’s cheeks when her friend’s sobs ebbed. She understood Hades’s motivations now, but she still didn’t like him, and hate for the God of the Dead could easily return. She hated that the words she was going to say to Persephone were the same words Hades expected Cyane would say. It made her feel villainous, even if they were what Cyane truly believed.
Cyane wiped Persephone’s tears away with the pads of her thumbs. “Hades does not feel that way about you,” she said gently, keeping her eyes level with Persephone’s. “He does not think you’re tarnished nor ruined. I see the way he looks at you, like—” She was about the say the way Cerberus looked at her, but caught herself. “Like he’ll go to the ends of the universe and back to prove his love,” Cyane choked. “He’d commit any evil, any terrible act, if the outcome put a smile on your face.”
Persephone sniffled. Oh, how beautiful she was, even when flushed with tears. “How can you be so sure?”
“Hades would not go to such great lengths of bringing me here if he didn’t care deeply for you. He told me himself,” Cyane glanced behind Persephone and quickly looked back. “He detests me for fighting him, for...giving your belt to Hermes and Demeter, which…” It hurt her to say, knowing now all that had happened to her friend. “Which led to them finding you.” Tears spilled from her own eyes. “I’m so sorry, so, so sorry.”
Persephone cupped Cyane’s face back. “Don’t. You only tried to help me. You didn’t know. I love you. Don’t be sad on my part, not anymore. You’ve been sad, so sad for too long. I may not have know where you’ve been, but I have felt your agony.”
Cyane pulled away and wiped her eyes, nodding. “I wish I could’ve protected you. It was my glory, my duty, and I failed.”
Persephone laughed lightly, wiping her own tears. “Then protect me now. You’re here now and that’s all that matters. I haven’t had a friend in so very long, not since you.”
Cyane shook, excited, honored, and hurting all at once. “Hades wants you to return to his bed,” she admitted. She couldn’t keep this from her goddess, not after everything. Not after the honor and forgiveness Persephone bestowed on her.
Persephone’s laughter died, her expression falling. “Do you really think he wants me?”
“Yes. I do.” Cyane grabbed her friend’s hands again. “He could’ve had any goddess give him heir, but he only wants you.”
“Will you…” Persephone’s voice turned grave. “Will you attend me? Make sure… it is really Hades who I lay with and not…someone or something else? I trust no one. No one but you in this.”
Thoughts of Cerberus rose in Cyane’s mind. She inhaled sharply. Zeus had taken the likeness of Hades, Hades bestowed his likeness on Cerberus. She and Persephone shared far more than Cyane could imagine.
Cyane straightened. “Yes.” Conviction filled her. “I’ll attend you.”
Persephone’s shoulders sagged and her smile returned—like the first rays of sunlight after a long and terrible night.
When Cyane looked up, both Cerberus and Hades were gone.
Melinoe listened as Hades and Cerberus left the ballroom, but she didn’t watch their retreat. Her gaze remained on the broken god at her feet.
She knelt at his side and eased one hand over him, fluttering her fingers a hairsbreadth above Hermes’s bloodied chest.
Life clung to him, strong and fervent, riotously robust under his mauled exterior.
She smiled, pleased. She was already surrounded by so many ghosts. The last thing she wanted was another to add to her collection. Melinoe lifted her skirts and straddled Hermes’s chest. He moaned softly as she covered him. He was beautiful, far too beautiful for the likes of her. But he was also alone and abused, and she couldn’t have that. Not when she had the power to see him back to health. Not when she could offer him a place of safety while he slept.
She knew she wouldn’t be able to keep him forever—the God of Crossings could not be caged—but while he recovered, and while his power was weak, she’d be able to enjoy his company. His warmth.
The last time she experienced warmth was when her mother held her when she was a babe.
When Melinoe sat tall up a short time later, they were in her quarters—a dark place where she honored the old gods—Tartarus, Nyx, and Erebus—and their richly cataclysmic ways. Though they no longer took human form, they understood her like no one else and blessed her often.
Her haven, unlike Cerberus’s, was large and spacious, with room after room, all draped in tapestries depicting her favorite nightmares. They were places she could enter at will and relive the events that had unfolded. Events she could draw a weak power from—enough to keep her starvation at bay.
Placed throughout her quarters were chains and cages. Most were empty—except for one or two that kept the ghosts of the undying that had wronged her greatly.
Melinoe climbed off of Hermes and crawled from her bed, where she had transported Hermes to rest. His godly blood soaked her sheets, but she didn’t mind. Blood was not something that disgusted her—it intrigued her—and she leaned down to sniff the scent of it from Hermes’s groin up to his closed eyes.
Her face fell into bliss, and she inhaled sharply. It wasn’t his blood that pleasured her, but his masculine, living scent.
Melinoe licked her lips and drew up, slipping her dress off her shoulders. She lifted her legs to climb into bed next to Hermes but paused when she spotted a tiny burst of color between the strands of his tousled hair. She drove her nails through his hair and found a tiny poppy from Hypnos’s garden.
Her breath hitched, and her heart thundered as she turned the small flower in her palm. She glanced back at the god languishing in her bed.
A smile stole across her face.
Melinoe pulled Hermes’s lips apart, and he groaned. She stuffed the sleeping flower into his mouth, pushing it down deep into his throat. His throat bobbed weakly.
He will hate me when he awakes.
She kissed his brow anyway. “Sleep well, sweet Hermes. When you awake, you’ll be in good health,” she whispered.
Cerberus knows how to take care of me. She turned her smile upward, thanking him, loving him from afar.
She climbed into bed next to her stolen golden god, now hers for as long as the magical poppy would last. She settled herself comfortably against his side and draped her arm and leg over him.
Melinoe closed her eyes and entered Hermes’s dreams, where she turned them into delicious nightmares.
The Final Dance
Persephone left Cyane in the gardens hours ago. At least Cyane thought it had been that long, but as she watched the distant surreal cavern ceiling of the Underworld, the colors of Tartarus never changed. Not even slightly.
Creatures flew by now and then, cawing and cackling, but they never dived down close enough for her to see what they actually were. She was thankful for that. Their forms...weren’t right.
She waited for Cerberus to come to her, and when he finally did, she still wasn’t prepared.
His helmet was off, but his skin was now clean of blood. His face was stony and unreadable, and his eyes peered down at her, studying her. Heat flooded her body, and she waited for him to speak.
But he stepped back and offered his hand instead. His glove was already off, showing her the ring of hair he still wore on his thumb. She slowly rose up on her elbows and took his hand. It wasn’t what she wanted as he helped her to her feet. She wanted him to kneel at her side and smile (had she ever seen him smile?) and cover her mouth with his own. She wanted immediate reassurance that he still desired her. That, even though he ultimately gave her what she wanted—freedom—that it hadn’t been easy for him to let her go.
Because it hadn’t been easy for her.
Cerberus drew his hand away and clenched it at his side. Cyane noticed.
“Come,” was all he said as he turned and made his way towards the castle’s shadowy passageway.
She watched him walk away, and her chest constricted.
She fell to her knees with a gasp. “Cerberus,” she said, dropping her head and pressing her palms into the ground in submission. “I need—”
Cyane never finished what she was going to say.
Because then he was on her, behind her, pushing her to the grass, throwing her gold dress up over her head. Her chest was pressed upon the grass, but her butt hung in the air, her knees bent at an uncomfortable angle.
She tensed for an attack.
“Don’t you dare, Ciane,” he said low and raspily, his cold breath wafting over her exposed sex. “Don’t ask anything of me this day. I want nothing but to take from you.”