Page 78 of Where Darkness Bloomed
But knowing was not the same as standing beneath the weight of a powerful god’s gaze.
Across the chamber, Hades stood watching her. Lamplight played across his face, sharpening its chiseled planes with fierce regality.
Without haste, he reached for the pin at his shoulder. The himation slid free, folding soundlessly to the floor. Beneath, he wore a dark tunic, simple and finely woven, fastened at the waist with a belt etched in gleaming gold.
His fingers moved to the clasp. The belt fell away.
She watched, her breath trapped high in her chest. He didn’t move closer—only watched her with steady, masculine composure, as if he could feel the tremor in her stillness.
“You tremble,” he said, voice low.
“I am cold,” she answered, though her skin burned from within.
He didn’t press her. Only turned his eyes toward the brazier.
With a glance, flames roared to life. A wash of warmth unfurled through the bedchamber, shadows curling along the walls like silk ribbons. A restrained display of power so sudden, it startled her. She flinched.
He saw. The distance between them dissolved under his steps. He moved like nightfall descending, unrushed and inevitable.
Kore forced herself to stillness, to breathe through the tightness in her chest, watching him draw closer.
“I—” Her voice caught, brittle. She swallowed, then tried again. “I have never—”
The words crumbled, a flush rising in her cheeks.
He stopped before her, and his presence folded around her like dusk settling over the earth. He smelled of myrrh, cedar, and something dark and elemental, like fire just before it sparks.
But his eyes were softer than she’d ever seen them. Burning not with a consuming fire, but warm embers. He made no move to touch her.
“I know.” His voice caressed her skin, low and sure. “You are afraid.”
Not a question, nor pity. It was power—gently wielded. Truth without judgment, without shame.
But she felt it all the same. She bit her lip, willing herself to calm dignity, to strength. Her fingers knotted into the fabric of her gown.
He glanced down. Then, with the patience of mountains, his broad hands covered hers. With quiet insistence, his fingers coaxed her to loosen, to yield.
“Persephone.”
Her name was an invocation on his lips, spoken like a rite. It slipped down her spine like spiced wine, warm and potent.
“You have no need to fear,” he said. The words were low, a promise shaped in the hush between them. “Not with me. I will not hurt you, I swear it.”
His thumb brushed a slow circle against her wrist. A single point of contact, gentle but relentless.
“I do not know what to do,” she finally whispered.
He stilled.
The firelight touched his face, all gold and shadow. Eyes dark as obsidian, fathomless as the deep places of the earth, held her fast. When he spoke, his voice was rougher.
“Then let me bear that burden.”
He took her hand, drawing her with him toward the bed. She followed, heart hammering against her ribs, pulse loud in her ears.
At the edge of the bed, he sat and drew her forward until she stood between his knees. One hand came to rest against the back of her thigh, the heat of his palm seeping through the fabric.
For a moment, he held her there, his thumb stroking a slow rhythm. Then his hands slid upward, moving reverently along her arms. At her shoulder, his fingers found the diamond pin. A gentle tug, and the pin slipped free.
