Page 81 of Where Darkness Bloomed
The sight struck deep.
Proof of what had been given. What had been taken.
A clash of emotions surged hotly in his chest—desire, fierce possession, reverence—all tangling.
But it wasn’t the blood that undid him. He wasn’t foolish enough to imagine it as proof of her surrender to him. Not when her claim over him was no less visceral, no less consuming, whether his body bled or not.
It was her.
Persephone was pale and drawn, uncertainty shadowing beautiful features. Her lips parted, brows faintly furrowed.
He reached for her, cradling her face between his broad palms. His thumbs swept gently across her cheeks, guiding her gaze back to him.
“Persephone,” he said, voice rough as stormwinds. “All is well.”
At his silent command, a basin of warm water appeared at the bedside. He leaned past her, retrieving the cloth.
She flinched at the first touch of the cloth, and he stilled for a moment. Then gently, deliberately, he resumed, wiping away the blood and traces of their joining.
When it was done, he cast the cloth aside and drew a blanket over them. He wrapped her against his body, shielding her from the chill, from the world—from everything but him.
His fingers threaded through the damp strands of hair at her temple, stroking slowly. Little by little, the tension bled out of her until she folded into him, warmed by his skin as she lay in the cradle of his arms.
Silence lingered, a delicate pane that neither broke. Her breath slowed, deepened. For a moment, he thought she’d slipped into sleep.
Then a warm droplet struck his chest.
Hades tilted his head, watching as another tear slipped free, catching on her lips. “Is it the pain?” he asked softly, brushing the curve of her ear.
She shook her head fiercely. “No,” she whispered. “I… I—”
Her voice fractured, crumbling on the edge of something too large for words.
“Tell me,” he coaxed, the command hidden in tenderness.
Green, glassy eyes lifted to his. “My name,” she breathed.
And he understood.
Kore.Maiden.
Though it had never been hers in truth, that name—that identity—had been thrust upon her from the moment of her birth. An identity shaped by others.
Now, it was gone. Its loss marked across her skin, stained upon her thighs.
She looked up at him like a soul unmoored, lost in a sea she didn’t yet know how to navigate. And the heat in his chest erupted into an inferno, fierce and protective.
He bent his head until their eyes were level.
“You are not broken,” he vowed, unshakable. “You are not less than you were. Not bound by confines of others, nor less sacred for stepping beyond the name they gave you.”
He touched her cheek.
“And I did not choose you for a night. Or for the hunger in my blood.”
She trembled again and he knew it wasn’t fear that she felt, but the collapse of old lies. A surrender not to him, but to the truth rising between them, clear and bright.
“Let me carry this with you,” he said. “Whatever grief lives in you now, let it pass into me. I will bear it.”
