Page 16 of Where Darkness Bloomed
Heracles reached for the pins at Hebe’s shoulders. They loosened, one after another. The fabric fell silently, pooling at her feet like moonlight. His head bent, lips tracing her collarbone, then lower.
Another wave of heat surged through Kore. But then it shattered, breaking into icy awareness. She was an intruder.A trespasser to something sacred, private and achingly intimate.
Shame rose swiftly, scalding her cheeks. She turned away abruptly, a faltering step carrying her backward—
Then, a deep voice rippled through the shadows like warm smoke. Unmistakable.
“You should not be here.”
She halted.
That voice was familiar. Known to her in a way that made her stomach tighten with dread, even as her blood sang.
Slowly, she turned. Though the trees cloaked him in darkness, she could see him clearly. As though the night itself parted for him.
Her eyes traced the breadth of his shoulders. The stillness of his stance, like a being carved from deep earth. And his eyes—dark and steady—were fixed on her.
Chapter 7
Hades observed the revelry from the edge of the lawn, his presence unassuming amidst the vibrant chaos. The air pulsed with music and laughter, thick with aromas of roasted meats and crushed flowers.
As the night deepened, the celebration grew wilder, unrulier. The once-graceful flight of Hermes turned slow, careening over the lawn. No doubt from Dionysus’s strongly pressed wine. But he barely noticed.
His gaze foundheragain. The emerald-eyed goddess who had met his eyes with such startling clarity from across the hall. She stood among other young goddesses, her bright laughter rising into the night. There was an ease to her now. The tilt of her lips, brightness in her eyes—that hadn’t been there before.
His attention sharpened when she drifted away from the lawn. At the edge, she paused beneath an olive tree, steadying herself with a hand on the trunk.
The wine,he realized with a flicker of disapproval. Too much of it.
But his interest piqued as she stepped into the shadowed embrace of a laurel grove nearby. He found himself slowly moving, watching at a distance.
Under the swaying branches, she stood still, her face tilted toward the terrace beyond. From where he stood, Hades watched her lovely features shift—curiosity, wonder, then something softer—as Heracles drew his bride into his embrace.
A moment later, her gasp reached him. Soft, but sharp. She spun away, her uneven breaths stirring the stillness.
Hades’s gaze tipped down. Around her bare feet, white blossoms unfurled, pushing through the grass like starlight spilling from the earth. Like the cobalt blooms that still flowered in his grove.
He had not intended to speak. But something in the moment, in her, shifted his course.
“You should not be here,” he said, voice low to keep from frightening her.
The effort was wasted.
She gasped, turning to face him. Recognition flashed in her widened eyes—surprise laced with a flicker of fear. Then she dipped her head, murmuring softly, “My lord.”
Even with her gaze averted, he saw the flush rise. It deepened under his lingering gaze.
He stepped forward, shadows parting around him. “Most,” he said dryly, “would not welcome an audience on their wedding night.”
Her blush bloomed deeper, but she offered no reply. As he closed the distance, his taller frame cast her fully into shadow from the moonlight dappling through the branches. He hesitated for a breath, his hand hovering in the space between them.
Then he touched her. Just a whisper of his fingertips along the curve of her jaw, a command without force, tilting her chin with quiet insistence, coaxing her gaze to his.
“Look at me.”
A breath passed. Then, she obeyed.
Her eyes lifted to his—green, too open, too searching. Emotion stirred within them like ripples in still water: confusion, a twinge of fear, and something else sparking in the depths. Her gaze moved over him, lingering, steady despite her flush. And in that gaze, wavering like a flame newly lit, he saw it.
