For the Love of Hades (Loves of Olympus 2)
He smiled as well, appreciating the vivid red that stained her cheeks. “I have managed without such….”
She held up her hand to stop him. She laid her head against his chest, speaking quickly. “I thank you for enduring my need and longing, Hades. Let us speak of it no more. Leave me to think that ours is a unique relationship, one that exceeds all others, one you might enjoy. For the peace we both value so.”
He laughed, but said nothing. She had little to fear. What they shared was unique. A gift he would treasure.
“What of your duties?” she asked. Her hand slid along his arm, her fingers stroking him gently. “Were you unhappy when the realms were divided?”
“With my lot, you mean?” he whispered, relaxing into her touch.
She nodded, slipping one arm about him and burrowing closer.
“No. It was fairly done. Things were different then.” He paused, burying his nose in her hair and breathing deep. “We were of one mind, the Olympians. We knew those under our rule would see us with fearful eyes, the Titans had made certain of that. After all, if we could defeat the Titans, what monsters were we? Drawing lots eased the mortals. If we could decide such matters with calm deliberation, we must be civilized... not violent tyrants.”
She nodded against his chest. “Wisely done.”
“My lot was no different than the rest, to me. It is necessary, helping a soul find its place in the afterlife.”
“You rule justly.”
“Perhaps. I know what mortals say. Some will not speak my name for fear I will send Thanatos to bring them to me before their time. Others fear death and the eternal horrors and suffering my realm holds.”
Persephone tilted her head back to meet his gaze. “I’ve never seen Tartarus, I confess, I hope I never do, but that is how I imagine it to be.”
He searched her eyes, “It does not begin to describe the depths of the abyss… A nightmare.”
“Nightmare?”
“One you cannot wake from. Such a place must exist to hold the blackened souls of the damned. And mark my words, Tartarus is full.” He felt her shiver and pressed her against him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, knowing such actions damned him for the fool he was.
“Was your realm as it is today? When you came to be lord here?”
He shook his head. “It took a great many years… years of work, far from the world above and the life there, and Olympus.”
“You said as much before…” She turned, regarding him with curious green eyes. “Tell me, do you accept blame for Poseidon and… her… your wife’s actions?”
Anger was there, as always. Not at Persephone, but at himself. “I had a hand in it…”
“How?” Her hand pressed along the side of his face. “Tell me how you had a hand in what they did?” She sighed deeply. “You did what was honorable. You did what was right.” Her brow furrowed. “She was a fool.”
He shook his head even as he smiled at her. He pulled her onto his lap, unable to deny the feel of her against him… the very need and longing he denied flooded him. His words were rough as he whispered, “Mayhap you are a fool for thinking her wrong?”
His stomach tightened as her hands cupped his face and pulled him to hers. Her lips parted beneath him, inviting him eagerly.
“Then I am a fool,” she spoke against his lips. “And I will remain so, happily, to stay in your arms.”
Her words touched him, more than he wanted. Each one of them tore at the restraints on his heart. Each unleashed something he could not afford to feel – hope.
Chapter Sixteen
Her heart was so full of love for him.
She ached for Hades and all he had been through – for his poor wife too. And yet a part of her was happy Priska was gone. Not for the woman’s suffering or the grief that she’d endured through no fault of her own. Priska’s was a tragic tale, one that haunted her to think on too long. But if she’d lived, Persephone would not have her Hades. And he was hers.
He grabbed her, gripping her shoulders to draw her closer. She did not resist, but leaned into his chest. He had large hands, long fingers that stroked and caressed the length of her arms into the tangle of curls that fell about them. She arched, pressing herself against him as her lips clung to his. His lips traveled along her neck to nuzzle her earlobe, his teeth sent shivers down her spine. Thoughts of Priska, or anything beyond his touch upon her, vanished.
She pressed her own lips to his chest, her nose brushing the line of his neck.
He shuddered against her as he drew her peplos from her shoulder. He was warm against her, his hands gripping her hips as she straddled him. His mouth and breath brushed her face, his hands cupped and kneaded, and she was undone.