Page 42 of Where Darkness Bloomed
“You think I would send you to the Fields of Punishment?” The words scraped from his throat, roughened not with fury, but something heavier.
She couldn’t answer. Her strength had unraveled, thread by trembling thread. She clung to what little composure remained, but it wasn’t enough. Tears welled, swift and unwelcome, spilling down her cheeks before she could contain them.
His hand rose. Warm and calloused, it cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly beneath her eye, lifting her face to his.
“Look at me,” he murmured.
Her lashes fluttered, damp with tears. Slowly, she obeyed.
He wasright there. So close she could feel the tension still coiled in him. The anger was still there, not gone but tempered, shadowed by something quieter. Deeper. A fragile ache curled inside her, but there was no chance to name it.
His hands settled on her shoulders. Then—carefully—he stepped in, pressing her back against the column, pinning her gently. His head dipped, and his mouth found hers.
It was almost frightening. A clash of breath and heat and restraint. His mouth was warm, lips moving against hers with purpose that made her pulse stutter—no force, only tension so finely drawn it ached.
One of his hands braced against the marble column behind her. The other slid to her waist, holding her firmly in place. He deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing lightly at the seam of her lips, and a soft sound escaped her. A sharp trill shot through her, warm and breathless.
Her hands rose without thought, palms settling against the hard plane of his abdomen. The fabric was warm beneath her touch, stretched over ridged muscles. Her fingers curled, lips parting beneath his.
A rough sound left him, rising from deep in his chest. His hand at her waist tightened, drawing her closer—
Crack.
The marble behind her shivered, the stone fracturing beneath his hand.
And then, abruptly, he drew away.
The absence was a blow, nearly as startling as his kiss. Kore stood motionless, breath shallow, hands still hovering in the empty space between them. Slowly, her fingers drifted to her lips, still warm and tingling.
A few steps away, Hades stood with his back to her, shoulders rigid, a hand dragging through his dark hair. When he turned, his eyes were storm-dark.
“There are many things to fear in the Underworld,” he said roughly. “But you need not fear me.”
A promise. A warning.
Firelight spilled across his back, casting him in gold and shadow as he turned to go. He paused at the threshold. “There is water to bathe. Rest.”
Then he was gone.
Kore didn’t move. She remained pressed against the cracked column. The echo of his lips still burned on hers, her heart beating in her chest like a war drum.
Slowly, she slid to the floor. Her arms wrapped tightly around herself, as if to keep the blooming ache from spilling out.
With a slow breath, she closed her eyes. And into the silence, she whispered a name that no longer felt entirely like a lie.
“Persephone.”
Chapter 19
Sunlight broke the horizon, dawning over a sea of Greek tents.
Inside his tent, Achilles sat on a deerskin, the steady glide of a whetstone filling the quiet. Sparks flared along the blade, then died.
The tent flap stirred, Eudorus appearing. “Agamemnon’s army moves. Your orders?”
Achilles did not look up. “Eat. Sharpen blades. Pray, if you think it helps.”
“We will not join the others today?”
