Page 91 of Hades and Persephone: Crown of Souls

He lifts his head to peer into my eyes. I demand, “Show me, Hades.”

His jaw hardens, as though he’s trying and failing to gather control of himself.

I realize then that he’d been trying to distract me. Using my ever-burning hunger to make me forget this new desire to see the other side of him he’s yet to introduce me to.

It won’t work.

I see that realization settle when he looses a sigh, stepping back to put space between us.

Then he steps back again. “Are you certain?”

“Yes.” No hesitation.

“You can look, but do not touch,” he warns again. And then it happens. The transformation.

There are no other words for it.

It’s like something out of a fantasy novel. Inky dark shadows leech from his skin to swirl in the air around him. The vision of him blurs as heshiftsseamlessly into something other.

I realize now that although I may have captured the physical aspects of Hades’ Gods’ Form in the painting that hangs over our bed, I failed to capture themagnitudeof him.

The swirling shadows quicken with a vibration that demands fear, but I only have wonder to offer it. I am entranced, entirely captivated.

He is exquisitely horrific. Where most would see something terrible and frightening, a being of nightmare and devastation, I see something else entirely. It is as though a piece of me comes alive at finally being reconnected with this side of him.

There is a warm oozing of peace where there should be a sharp crackle of fear.

He’s what demons are made of.

No, he’s the inspiration for the devil, I realize. The thing Mama spent a lifetime warning me away from. The creature Dad vowed to protect me from always.

And here I am, in love with him. Mated to him.

My very soul woven into the fabric of his own in a way the stitching will never come undone. Not ever.

“You’re beautiful.” I want to weep with the truth of the words.

“Your idea of beauty is skewed, little goddess.” His rumble is far rougher in this form. As though blasted with gravel and glass.

It strikes at my raw heart. But I think I like the pain.

He stands taller than in his human form. At least eight feet to the tip of the horns that curl from the top of his head. To my five-foot-three, he is truly massive. He’s wider, too. His shoulders having claimed at least another three inches on either side. Muscles ripple under a tight pull of inky rolling shadows, and veins of magma snake across his ebony skin. His eyes are pits of fire. No whites, no iris or pupil. Just fire. Horns adorned with a ribbon of magma and swirling shadow catch the shifting light that spills down from the violet ceiling that rains stars.

I drag my eyes down muscular legs, thick thighs, and feet that could seriously maim. Back up, my gaze drifts slowly before catching on his groin. He’s entirely uncovered, and even though he’s in this form that is so far from human, I can’t help the blush that burns in my cheeks. It’s so hot, it leeches into my neck and chest until the fire of it threatens the whole of me.

I swallow. It’s audible.

He’shuge. Gigantic. Massive. Impossible…

I swallow again even though my tongue is dry.

Then I croak, “Wow.”

“You don’t have to worry about me in this form, Persephone. I can’t touch you.” My eyes snap up to his. I can’t tell exactly where he’s looking with his swirling gaze of flame, but I blush hotter all the same.

“I wasn’t—” I start but cut off. Because Iwas.

Oh, the ways my mother would skin me if she knew the thoughts that whirled in my mind now.

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