Page 83 of Where Darkness Bloomed
Her dreams had been strange and urgent—soft shadows drifting over her skin, whispering secrets in her ear. Touches that lingered, coaxing her to the edge of pleasure and fear, leaving her breathless in the dark.
Now, she was surrounded by warmth, heavy and solid. It was soothing, beckoning her back into sleep’s oblivion.
Her cheek rested against a sculpted plane of smooth skin. Slowly, drowsily, Persephone opened her eyes.
A thick swell of muscle cradled her head. His bicep.
An arm—corded and heavy—draped low across her bare waist, holding her against the large, naked body wrapped around hers. His forearm rested protectively across her chest, his palm curling with lazy possession against the soft curve of her breast. Claiming, even in sleep.
Awareness struck like a thunderclap.
They had—
A gasp tore from her as she bolted upright, heart pounding.
The shift was instant.
The air crackled, thickening with divine power like a storm about to break. Before she could draw another breath, a streak of glinting black split the dark.
The bident.
It arched through the air, silent in its lethal grace, summoned by instinct—
A hand snapped upward, catching it midflight.
Beside her, Hades had moved, his fist closing around the weapon’s shaftbefore she realized he was awake. With his other arm, he pulled her hard against his side.
The earth thrummed around them in a low, vibrating hum. His power rolled through the chamber with the force of mountains shifting.
Firelight spilled over him, revealing the full breadth of his form—sculpted muscle wrapped in shadows and strength.A warrior of old. Fierce, terrible, and beautiful.
His dark gaze swept the chamber once, sharp and assessing. The brazier flickered softly. Nothing stirred but shadows dancing along the floor. No threat waited. Only silence and the fading echo of her dreams.
His gaze dropped to her. She was still pressed tightly to his side, her chest rising against his ribs. The line of his jaw eased, the muscle unclenching. But he didn’t let her go.
“Forgive me,” Persephone whispered, her voice small, her face hot. “I woke and… I was frightened.”
A beat of silence.
Then he shifted, releasing the bident. It stood beside the bed with a muted hum, its power quieted by his will. When he turned back to her again, the sharp edge in his gaze had softened.
“What frightened you?”
His voice was still roughened with sleep, and Persephone’s heart stumbled, her mouth suddenly dry.
He was too near—his face inches from her, those russet eyes gazing down on her with warmth, intimacy that threatened her composure. His broad palms rested on her thighs, thumbs stroking along her bare skin, slow and steady. A shiver rippled through her.
A blanket loosely draped his lap. The rest of him was bare—firelight gilding his shoulders, the carved lines of his chest, the curve of strong thighs. The sharp cut of his hips vanished beneath the blanket, daring her gaze to linger.
Heat pooled low, a deep, insistent ache blooming. She shifted.
“Persephone.”
His voice was quiet, but commanding. His thumbs deepened their strokes along her thighs, dragging heat to the surface in a knowing touch.
Her head jerked up.
He was watching her. Watching every breath, every shiver as her gaze lingered over him. His eyes were molten now, simmering with dark hunger, patient and devastatingly aware.
