Page 11 of His in the Dark

PERSEPHONE

S urely he did not capture me so that I may perish. The Lord of the Dead knows more than others what is to become of a Goddess who no longer has life within them. Nothingness. That is what I offer him if he merely offers me this. He can turn me into nothing and that is what he will have. I will offer him nothing more.

When Hades realizes I’m not going to say another word, his eyes go black. A deep void of power that lies in the depths of his iris. It consumes me as I stare back. As if seeing through him.

It is clear he thinks he’s hiding his feelings from me. The desire and the need to have his hands on me. It is clear what he wants of me.

I do not know him. I do not know how he lives. I do not know how the Underworld was before I was brought here.

But I do know that the small twitches in his expression are a mirror of his mind.

He releases my throat, and I gasp in a breath. The lack of his palm on my throat feels like an immediate loss. I reach up and touch the place his fingers were.

My heart beats fast and hard. His footsteps retreat from me, and I hold my breath again, my mind filling with questions. Will he turn around and come back? Will he move me to the bed? Will he bend me over it, locked in his chains?

Will he lose his patience?

Most importantly the question riddles in the back of my mind: Do I want him to?

There’s a push and pull within me that’s far too dangerous. Like playing with fire. But the bedroom door opens, and then slams, and there is silence all around me once more.

I’m alone. Nothing. I make myself nothing.

I remain still, all my senses tuned to the door. I no longer hear Hades’s footsteps. He has not called out to anyone. He does not seem to be waiting at the door, ready to come back in for me.

After a minute or two, I let my shoulders slump. I massage the rest of the heat from Hades’s palm out of my neck.

I regret it once it’s gone.

The windows that Hades threw wide open have been closed part of the way. There’s enough space to let in the blustery air, and it keeps the room cold. The room is dark as well, though I can’t tell if that’s because I am losing hope or because they are meant to be dark.

It’s black outside the windows as well. Late at night. It seemed like Hades was gone for weeks, but if I do my best to remember, there was daylight, and then darkness.

Should I keep track of the days and the nights? A prisoner… I’ve conceded that I am in fact a prisoner.

My muscles ache and my bones crack as I get up from the rug and move around the room, my legs shaking with weakness. I cannot find anything to make a record of the days.

I pause at the table and dig my fingernail into it until it makes a scratch.

While I wait to gather my strength and go back to the rug, the scratch vanishes as if it were never there.

It has been two days at least. Perhaps three. That’s what tonight’s darkness tells me. I will do my best to remember tomorrow, and the day after that, though I do not want to think far beyond another few days.

I could save you from your fate.

“What fate?” I murmur the question I had for Hades at the unsuspecting table. “You have made this my fate. You have made me a prisoner.”

The table does not answer. I go back to the rug and sit, curling into a ball and holding myself as tightly as I can.

I could save you from your fate.

Hades’s words repeat in my mind. No matter how many times I dismiss them, they repeat again and again. Chills follow the promise.

What does he know of my fate? And how did he know of my powers?

I hunch over my bent knees, resting my chin there. It’s so cold, and my stomach is hollow from the lack of food. I’ve only slept a little, and I can’t afford to fall asleep again. I’ll wake up next to Hades, and I won’t do that.

It is shocking that my mother and father haven’t sent someone. They cannot come themselves. The realms aren’t open for all to enter, even the Gods, but surely?—

Surely they should have sent someone by now. Some word. Some acknowledgement that they know I am missing and are planning a rescue. If they even know who took me. My heart squeezes at the thought that they may not even know I was taken. They may think I’ve left of my own accord.

No, no, I refuse the thought. My mother knows I’d never leave her side. Not without telling her. Not without a goodbye.

Someone will come soon. In the meantime, I need to focus my energy on thinking of my own plan.

I squeeze my eyes closed and try to concentrate. The cold makes it difficult because I’m shivering so hard. I would do anything for a bowl of warm broth.

Almost anything. I will not submit to Hades.

Maybe a protection spell would work. I don’t have my altar, and I don’t know if there is power for me to draw on in the Underworld, but I can at least try. If I believe?—

If Beatrice could do such things, then it is possible I could cast a spell to help myself even in the Underworld.

The words slip through my mind, faint and hard to grasp.

The power inside me craves the light

Bring me the warmth of fire

And take from the powers to my right

My eyes peer open to observe my right. A sleek obsidian wall.

I repeat, “The power inside me craves the light,” I say into the cold sweeping in through the windows. I imagine being safe and protected. I imagine being freed. I imagine the hunger and cold disappearing. “Bring me the warmth of fire, and take from the powers to my right.”

“The power inside me craves the light,” I repeat, forcing my voice to steady. It’s the chains I want gone. I want my body to be my own again. I imagine the heat of a fire that could burn through the magic but leave my skin untouched. I imagine the chains falling away. “Bring me the warmth of fire, and take from the powers to my right.”

I hope, and I hope. I can hear the snap of chains. The metal clanking on the floor.

But then - a noise distracts me and I have doubt.

The only thing that happens is a hunger pang. My stomach twists around its own emptiness. My throat is dry, every word scratching on the way out.

I’m on my feet before I understand what I’ve done. I stumble across the room to the table as if the chain itself is drawing me to the bread and the wine and the pitcher of water and the shiny, red pomegranate.

I can’t touch it. I cannot touch a single thing on this table, or I will shove it all into my mouth and eat like an animal. I should sit, and wait, and be still. I should not give in to this temptation.

But my stomach hurts too much.

I find myself reaching before I can stop myself. I claw into the flesh of the pomegranate and lift out one shining seed.

It bursts between my teeth. Only a taste but such sweetness and divinity lies in its nourishment.

I swallow the juices with a moan, tipping my head back and closing my eyes. It’s delectable. I’m not sure if it’s the betrayal, the starvation or the sheer deliciousness that adds to the pleasure. I’ve never been so satisfied yet craved much more with such a thing.

Before I know it, the glass of wine is in my hand. It’s dry and rich, and smooth with no bitterness. A small moan slips from me into the glass. I’m sure I appear mad to any onlookers. Let them savor the vision as I savor the divine wine. The thought brings a smile to lips.

I want to gulp it. Vaguely, I’m aware of the craze that’s come over me. I want to pour the whole bottle down my throat, but I settle for another mouthful instead, then drop the glass to the table. It lands and cracks in two, spilling wine onto the surface, but as I watch, trembling with the flavors still on my tongue, it repairs itself and waits, upright, for me to fill it with more wine.

The magic … it tempts me. It calls to me. I wish it to buckle under my command.

The temptation has never been greater. My entire body feels pulled to the wine, even as the taste lingers in my mouth. I try to suck more of it down, but it’s already fading. There is more here. More that’s meant to be mine.

The lock on the door click s. I yank my hand back from the table and rush back to the rug. I’ll be damned if I willingly provide Hades the pleasure of the sight.

Only I don't stop at the rug. I pad across to the bed and clamber up onto it, pulling the sheet over me like a child hiding from a bad dream. Like those stories the mere humans tell.

It’s pitiful. The moment the sheet graces my bare skin, I regret my decision. The desires of the Gods are not so far off from mortals and Hades’ intention is obvious. This is what happens when I let my foolish desires get the better of me. This is what happens when I forget to stay strong and start to crumble instead.

With my teeth gritted and the sweet wine lingering on my lips, I stare at the God who dared betray Zeus and Demeter with my abduction. The bastard Lord of the Dead and ruler of the Underworld.

Hades’s footsteps are already in the room before I can even meet his eyes. I cannot get out of the bed without drawing more attention to myself. It is a mistake.

But maybe he will not see that I gave in and tore into that pomegranate. Maybe he will not notice the missing wine. Maybe this is an acceptable sacrifice.

I lay my head on the pillow and close my eyes. Ignoring his presence as best as I can.

I feel him pause, noticing his gaze hot on the curve of my body. His intentions sliding over my skin underneath the blankets.

I try not to move. Still as can be with racing thoughts as the wine works its own magic. A depth of darkness slips through me and my grip tightens on the sheet.

My breathing gets faster. The tension I feel when he’s in the room—when my heart is racing in a warning, he’s here, he’s here, he’s here —is too strong to ignore. The scent of him is subtle, but it’s there—faint and spicy, like something only the Gods could dream of having.

My entire soul centers on his next step.

Will he touch me? Will he reach over the sheet and put his hand around my throat again? Will he lay his hand on my chest to feel my heartbeat? My pulse skips at the idea of his touch, lightning fast and too strong to resist.

And yet I did resist it. I told him no to his face.

How many more times will I have to resist? When he can make things so much easier for me? When he promises my powers, and surely, he’s demonstrated his.

As many times as it takes, I tell myself sternly. Even if I have to spend the rest of my life resisting. Even then.

This God deserves nothing but my anger. How dare he take me, as if I am some possession!

His footsteps retreat, and I exhale a sound of disappointment. I can’t stop the noise from slipping between my lips. All I manage to do is make it quieter. Then I press my face into the pillow and breathe long and slow, praying for my heart to slow.

A few minutes later, the bed dips. There are a few gentle tugs at the sheets.

He’s gotten into bed beside me. And with him, the heavy presence of a blanket. A soft, and luxurious blanket that promises warmth.

I’ve been too cold to warm the sheets myself, but his heat is an instant presence in the bed. It radiates off him. I will not go to him. I will not .

Although I crave the comfort.

It is dark in the bedroom. The low lights that had been on all night are off.

I listen to him breathing.

The sound is welcome after hours filled with only my own screams and tears. After an eternity filled with panic and a night filled with hunger and despair. The sound of Hades’s steady breathing shouldn’t offer me any comfort, but it does. Perhaps it‘s the wine. Perhaps it’s my own curiosity. Perhaps it’s the promises he’s offered and how tempting they are.

Hot shame spreads across my face. I close my eyes and try to stop listening.

I can’t.

I resolve to listen without caring instead.

I can’t.

Another rustling sound. I peek out of the corner of my eye.

Hades has opened an arm to me, his hand nearly touching my shoulder. His masculinity is on full display with his carved muscles. A different temptation sweeps over me. Almost like protection… like a savior. I would only have to turn over, and I would be wrapped in his arms with warmth and an offering I can hardly refuse: my powers. My magic . I would barely have to lift my head, and I would be in his arms, offering.

I close my eyes again. My chest aches, needy and tired. My body wants the warmth he offers. My body is a traitor, because it already wants to bend to his demands, if only to have food and drink. If only to have a taste of the power I’d begun to lose.

Would I be able to stop if I caved? Or would I fall desperately into madness. I’ve heard tales of Hades’s brutality and surely this is weak compared to the stories. I almost tipped the bottle of wine to my mouth and splashed it all over my face in my desperation. Would I be able to hold myself back from Hades?

He sighs in the dark, a deep low sound of almost pleasure. “You will come in the night. It is not shameful.”

It is not my choice, I want to tell him, but I cannot bring myself to speak. I fear too many other words would come with that admission. I fear I would tell him of the secret shame that grows behind my ribs and between my legs with every minute that ticks past.

It’s the shame of wanting him. It’s the shame of wanting to give in. Everything about this is shameful. To bow down seemingly willingly although I’ve been given no choice. I have only shreds of my dignity left, and if I do not guard them with everything I have, I will be left with nothing.

“I will care for you,” he adds. “Even if you do not care for yourself.”

Anger simmers but only dully. As if he knows anything about me to that extent. I do not say a word.

I think, for a few moments, that he will offer me some of the blanket he brought with him, or cover me with it, the way he did last night.

Instead, he rises up from the bed. I lay with my eyes closed until it dips again, then open them and look.

He has brought food on a small plate, and he sits on the edge of the bed, the night lighting his face. My heart races at the regal lines of his beauty. The harsh, handsome face that brooks no argument. The power that sings in the air when he’s here. This is his realm, and he rules , and yet he sits here next to me, an offering in his hands. Slowly, I sit up to see him more clearly, keeping the sheets clutched to my chest.

My mouth waters. It has nothing to do with the food on the plate.

Hades holds the plate out. Not quite offering it to me, but showing me what he’s brought.

“You desire these do you not?” he asks with the plate of stuffed vine leaves and marinated feta. Some of my favorite bites. As if he knows my cravings.

With strong fingers, he picks up a morsel and holds it to my lips. I desire to take it into my mouth so badly that I tremble from head to toe, but I don’t let myself do it. I want to lick the food off his fingers.

“If you eat…”

He lets his words trail off and doesn’t finish.

When I open my mouth, my lip brushes the morsel of food. “What will you give me?”

“Nourishment so you can gain your strength.”

With those words, it seems to me that he is taking back some kind of deal.

Of course. Nothing he offers me comes without consequences. Nothing is offered without an implicit contract between us. Not even one bite of food. Not even a scrap of warmth.

I pull my head back an inch, clamping my mouth shut tight and raising my chin.

Hades makes a soft sound. Whether it’s disappointment or frustration, I cannot tell.

As soon as Hades stands, I lie back down on the pillow, shaking harder with the near miss. I almost gave in. I almost let him feed me. I almost lost.

His footsteps move around the bed.

There’s a soft click as he puts the plate on the table next to my pillow.

I do not move.

His footsteps retreat to the other side, and the mattress dips again. He climbs into the bed and turns onto his side, his back to me.

I do not know if he is sleeping when I reach out to take the food from the plate. I eat it silently, one morsel at a time, swallowing without any sound at all. I wish more of it would appear on the plate. I wish an entire tray of delicacies would materialize in the room. I wish I could eat it all night, and all day, and then the next night as well.

When I’m finished, my stomach no longer pains, but it’s not full, either. I stare at the empty plate for a long time, wanting more, but I do not move. And I do not cave into his warmth.