Page 41 of Hades and Persephone: Crown of Souls

“They are just so beautiful. They shimmer like stars—” I pause to collect myself and the emotion that collects in my throat. “They are how I imagine a soul might shimmer.”

“They remind me of jellyfish.” Hades laughs low. “The way they plume in the breeze.”

“I can see it,” I agree. “Pure, and lovely.”

“Youare lovely.” There is gravel in his voice now. It draws my gaze from the shimmering strands to the man beside me, except he's not really beside me anymore. He's shifting to hoveraboveme.

My already pointed nipples harden, peaking as though to stretch for him. In his eyes, behind the shadows, I once again see flames.

Bracing his weight on his arms, he does not touch me. Even though I ache for him to. I only just had him and yet, at his nearness, I can feel that gnawing emptiness begin again.

His eyes search mine. “You feel it again, don't you?”

I don't know why, but he seems upset by that. Upset that I would hunger for him.

I can't begin to reason why he would be. It makes little sense. I would think a man with his appetite for affection would be relieved that I share it, but he isn't.

Instead, I sense dread. If anything can wash me in cool uncertainty, it is that.

I shake my head and lie, “No. No, I'm good.”

His jaw pulses. He swallows once, assuming to dislodge the gravel in his throat.

He fails. “You're lying.”

I lift my chin even though I'm lying down. I probably look ridiculous. “I'm not.”

His nostrils flare.

My brows dip.

“I can smell you, little goddess.” When my lips pop open in an O of horror, he continues in that rough dark tone. “Yes. The brand of your arousal is not something I could ever mistake.”

Well. So much for hoping his ability to scent me atop his horse was a one-off situation.

I wish I wasn't as affected as I am, but a blush of shame crawls from my chest into my face. His eyes track it. He does nothing to quell it. To ease it away. To give me relief.

It's my turn to grind my teeth, and with a sniff, I mutter, “That's not fair.”

“What isn't fair, Persephone?” When I try to avoid his eyes, he catches my chin, forcing my gaze to his. “What isn't fair?”

“That you know—that you cansmell—when I'm turned on.”

He raises a single dark brow. “You don't know when I'm turned on?”

I blink. Twice. “No.”

If looks could be dry, the one he gives me now would be exactly that. Dry. Like the Sahara.

“I always want you.”

“Well, then what's the problem with me always wanting you?” Okay, I'm a little touchy, but honestly, it hurts. It hurts that he could be upset that I would want him. It doesn't make sense, especially if he always wants me.

“I have always wanted you. From the moment I saw you in that garden, I have wanted you. I wanted you every day that you were my wife. I longed for you every torturous spring that bled into summer. I lost myself in you every fall and winter. I never wanted for anyone, butyou.”

“I don't—but that's not—I mean—" I stutter.

“Spit it out, little goddess.”

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