Page 12 of His in the Dark

HADES

I f she does not respond to the offerings, I’ll be forced to make her surroundings harsher. She will leave me with no choice. It is not my desire but I cannot bend her to my will.

I pause for a moment after I unlock the door. Not long enough to make it seem as if I'm eavesdropping, but long enough to hear Persephone's footsteps quiet, flying across the room inside.

I pray she was eating. Her complexion has diminished and without nourishment, her powers are weaker than they were when she arrived. Again, not my desire. She is strong willed.

The emotion flares up in me like a flame. I have to swallow it back, my expression harder than intended.

I cannot stop thinking about her eating. I cannot stop thinking about color coming back to her cheeks.

Color that is not from crying or raging or screaming. It would be the smallest sign of her acceptance. It would be the smallest sign of her submission. And my condemned soul relishes in her submission. Every little piece of it.

And I cannot put into words how dearly I want it. I cannot say how much I need to see her submission before my eyes.

I know she ate before. The plate was empty when I woke, the delicate pastries no more. Persephone slept on the pillow, unaware that she had stayed in the bed next to me all through the night.

I did not wake her to tell her I’d discovered her betrayal. That’s how she will think of it. A betrayal to herself. She tried to keep herself away, and she could not. My failing is my inexperience. I’m not accustomed to company.

If that is betrayal, I am greedy for more of it. I need to take her to that betrayal with my hand in her hair, my grip so strong that she finally understands who has the power in my realm and who could have the power, if only?—

I cannot think of this if only. It is a mistake.

So I do not make that mistake. Instead I pause for another second, giving her time to arrange herself.

The two guards outside my bedchambers keep their attention carefully away. This weakness of mine… her existence, is more than evident I’m sure. I do not keep them here to notice such things, and neither of them breathes a word.

With desire ringing in my blood, I open the heavy door and stride in.

Persephone isn’t sitting on the plush rug I’ve offered for comfort, as she has been. She stands in the center, her hands folded in front of her and her head bowed. She’s quiet and submissive, even in her stillness. That is not what I expected of such a strong goddess.

My cock hardens from the sight as I enter but keep the door open. Questions riddling my mind as I memorize her position. The thin silk fabric draped delicately over her curves.

Fucking gorgeous. But I do not trust it.

I didn’t expect her to break so quickly. From how she struggled and wept, I thought it would take longer. Years perhaps. Decades. An amount of time that would try my patience although for this , for her , I’ve done everything I can to be patient.

My pulse beats at the sight of her standing there. She could be a queen, still. Could be strong, still. Could be a goddess, still.

She will. I’ll not live in a world where she does not reign beside me righteously and with the same powers as I.

Still, this presentation is … more delicious than the wine I offered her.

She's beautiful, with a little color to her cheeks. Her long lashes are downcast, brushing against high cheekbones. Her full lips are no longer so dry and cracked as they were.

It brings me to my next offering for her. The sexual pleasure I’m aware she’s … not familiar with. I will fix it. I will tempt her. I will educate her as well.

“Persephone,” I say. Her eyes flick up to meet me. I hold up a hand and gesture to the guards at my side. “If you are ever tempted and I am not here there are men outside the door who could satisfy other needs…”

I let the suggestion hang in the air. In the silence, a revulsion twists in my gut. It sickens me to think of her indulging herself with another man, but such measures are necessary. Persephone cannot be allowed to think she is here to be worn to nothing. I want her to play… even in my absence. The thought of men with her, pleasing her, softening and warming her, it gave me great pleasure before this moment. But as the words escape, I question them. What possessiveness has come over me that I would selfishly hold her to a standard I do not express myself?

The only part of her I wish to break is her willful resistance to her own power. I want Persephone to be free of the lies others have told her. I want her to be free to dwell in her power.

I want her craving the pleasure I intend to give her. If she does not crave me at this moment, she may crave others.

For a moment, Persephone does not understand. She looks at me, her eyes wide, confusion darkening their color.

Then my offer becomes apparent, and a fresh blush spreads across her cheeks.

“I offer myself,” one of my guards says, his voice calm and quiet, though of course I can hear the arousal underneath his breath. Anger bristles through me. Who would not be aroused by my Persephone? A gorgeous Goddess or rare balance. It would be a rare person indeed. He does not step forward, but he is ready—if I gave the order, he would be with her in moments.

Dressed in armor, their presence is for protection but her desires are to be met with enthusiasm, my orders.

"No," Persephone says quickly almost with shock as well as fear, then clears her throat. I give no sign of how this pleases me to hear of their denial but still the thought lingers, she is not educated in the pleasures of flesh.

Is this because Persephone has decided to submit to me? Is it because, in her most secret heart, she has given into her desires? I do not know, but I do not give any sign of my speeding heart, nor the flicker of pleasure I feel at her words. "No, thank you, but no."

“The offer stands if you change your mind,” I state easily although every nerve ending in me lights aflame. I need her to desire these things.

She casts her eyes back to the floor and swallows hard. Minox I believe was right in his suggestion. After all, the offerings have been accepted in her loneliness.

Yes. I do think Persephone has eaten. If she hadn’t, she would not be capable of such a deep flush. She would be too weak to stand for as long as she has.

Perhaps she would eat out of my fingers. If not now, then soon.

I am not used to such powerful feelings of impatience, but Persephone inspires them in me.

Still, I keep them on a close leash. I want, very much, to run the pad of my thumb over the deep blush on her cheeks, but I do not. I bide my time, waiting, letting the tension between us increase.

I have not told anyone how strong it has become. I will not tell Persephone that, even now, a current pulls me to her. I am strong enough to resist…for the time being.

As much as I want to touch her, I want her to beg me first. I stand a short distance away, my guards behind me, just outside the door at either side of me, and wait.

Until Persephone lifts her eyes again, daring to meet mine for only a moment or two. It is a breathtaking sensation, and it is only her gaze connecting with mine. It feels like breathing deeply for the first time in months. It feels like bloodlust, only it is not a desire to kill or maim. I feel a deep desire for pleasure and to pleasure her in return.

“Your guards will escort us today.” I take one step nearer to her and watch her chest rise and fall faster, though she tries to hide it from me. Her instinct is to pull back initially. I despise it. She cannot hide anything from me. Not here. Not when I spend every waking moment thinking about the pink color on her cheeks and the curves of her body when she moves against me in her sleep. “Although I’m sure they are unneeded, given your state.”

The corner of Persephone's mouth twitches with disgust at my comment. Her eyes flicker down to the floor and to the left. She is ashamed, but she is angry as well. The two emotions warring in her are obvious.

She should be ashamed for neglecting herself so. A Goddess such as Persephone, with so much power just outside of her reach, should be ashamed at her inability to see what I’m offering her. Her power and mine. A crown for her head and a place at my side.

Though I must admit that I can admire her spirit. I admire her fight, even if I am certain she will lose. The game itself is … intriguing but not so much as the reward.

And what does it mean to lose? Persephone thinks it would be a great defeat, but I know better. It would be a triumph.

Closing the distance between us, I take another step. Persephone takes a long breath as if to steady herself. Her hands grip one another tightly, then relax.

She keeps her eyes lowered until I reach her and place two fingers underneath her chin. Persephone offers no resistance when I lift her face to mine. The heat of her skin against mine is everything, electrifying and alluring. I need more. More of her. More contact.

There is no resistance except for another flash of emotion in her eyes. Her lips tremble slightly, but she does not speak. I wait to see if my presence will compel her. If my eyes on hers are enough to break her. To bring the future tumbling in to meet us. To bring her future and her power into their full, uninhibited form.

I can imagine the cries that would come from her mouth when she felt it. I can hear them reverberating in my memory as clearly as her screams, though I have not heard her impassioned moans.

I haven’t heard them yet. I have not drawn them out of her yet.

I will do so even if it requires sacrificing all of hell and burning it to the ground for her pleasure. Whatever her heart desires, I will discover it and I will bend the Underworld to her will.

Time passes slowly as I wait, inhaling the sweetness and warmth her skin creates against mine. Inhaling the flame-like connection between the two of us, burning invisibly through the air and binding us together as surely as the chains bind her to this realm.

I see, I want her to say. I see that this is not a cage, but a coronation. I see what it is to rule.

But she does not speak. I drop my hand to my side, and Persephone swallows, her head moving forward as if to capture my touch.

Victory. A small one, but a victory nonetheless.

“I do not deserve your anger,” I tell her. This is the truth, and it is time Persephone hears it.

“Are you not the God who took me in the night?” she snaps back, her voice clear and ringing. I do not care if the guards hear her words. They are loyal souls, and the plans of the Gods are not theirs to judge. Their tongues will not stay attached to them if they utter a word and they are aware of that.

“There are others that forced my hand.” Although I hesitate to confess such things, I add, “They would have hurt you.”

Her eyes narrow, darkening. “Lies.” The singular insult nearly hissed.

With my hackles raised, I respond easily, “I tell no lies, my queen.”

Her eyes flash once more at my queen . Her teeth clench together, and then she bites at her bottom lip, stopping as quickly as she discovers herself doing so. The struggle she faces in her mind is clear in her expression.

Oh, it will be delicious to coax it out of her. She must feel it growing in her. She must know that she craves power, and even more so, she must know that she craves vengeance.

There are those who have betrayed Persephone, but she is not used to such impulses. She is not used to the resolve it requires to seek revenge that is well earned with a wrath deemed intolerable. It requires one to put aside the empathy they hold for other people’s weakness. It requires a certain bloodthirsty yet righteous rage, and I have no doubt that if I nurture it in Persephone, it will create havoc on the Gods who have done this.

Who would not want to know that their pain had been avenged? Who would not want to see their enemies vanquished, once and for all?

The Gods know I would relish both.

“There is no need to feel conflicted within yourself, my queen. I can offer you the balance you seek.”

Persephone lifts her chin. “You speak of balance, but you are still the God who?—”

“Who rescued you from danger. You must have known that there was no safe harbor for you on Olympus.”

“I knew no such thing,” she says with certainty, but the volume of her voice gives her away. It is obvious to anyone that Persephone was keeping secrets when she dwelled in the home of the Gods. She would not have craved my presence, would not have accepted it, if she had not been afraid. If she had not known she was near a precipice of abandonment.

They did not want her as she was. I crave her as she is presently and as what she will become. Mine.

“You will come to know it,” I say, mildly. “You will come to see that you could seek the balance I speak of. It will not take you long, my queen, to see that I am the one who holds it.”

“Balance means nothing,” she says, though there is a note of curiosity in her voice. Persephone may not believe me now, but she will see. I will make her see. “Imbalance fuels the cycles of what must be.”

“What does balance mean to you? Tell me.”

“Life,” she says softly. “My life . And with it death.” She states and then seems to hesitate, to ponder on the world. My lips threaten to lift in an asymmetric grin. It’s telling, her pause. Where there is life, there will be death. And she should rule both. She is destined for it, I know it.

“Your life was not balanced. It was rotting where it lay in the ground. You could not see this because you were not willing to see, but I did, and I intervened. Now I offer you true balance. Your powers, and the heads of those who betrayed you delivered on platters for your amusement.”

Persephone’s mouth drops open, her lips parting slightly. All she must do is allow herself to taste what I am offering, the way she allowed herself to taste the delicacies I brought for her. Once she knew the flavor of power, and the flavor of revenge, she would want to glut herself on it. She would find her place of belonging. Where she is meant to be.

“I—” She begins, her hands trembling. “I do not want heads on platters.” She stresses the statement although her eyes stay wide with shock. “I do not want to kill for amusement. You are the one who judges. You are the one who sends souls to suffer for eternity.”

Persephone’s eyes meet mine, suspicious. As if I guide my realm for my own amusement. As if judgement is a child’s game.

“You do not know of what you speak,” I grit out, not so much insulted by her statement, but more so disappointed with her lack of education.

“You have not told me the truth.”

“You have already chosen to believe the lies of others and the lies you tell yourself so you may have what you seek rather than what you are destined to own.”

“Why should I not believe others when you’ve done this?” Persephone cries. “You brought me here. You will not let me go. I am no different from the infinite other souls who?—”

“You are different.” I did not mean to raise my voice, but I must—the anger has burned too hot in me, and Persephone is too close to ignore the heat of her accusations. “You are my queen. And I am not a jailer for every soul who enters my realm.”

“But—”

“Those who do no good are condemned to a thousand years of reflecting on their misdeeds.”

“That is harsh. That is cruel ,” Persephone argues and once again her eyes widen. She has much to learn and the thought strikes a new kind of detest through me.

“It may be cruel, but it is fair. These souls turned their backs on others, so they should be forced to suffer as well. They are left with their thoughts and their memories, looking into the truth of how they failed until they turn their back on themselves.”

“And what happens then?” Persephone demands, her voice shaking. “What happens to those who cannot save themselves? Who cannot right their wrongs? Sometimes they know not what they do.”

She is thinking of herself. Persephone is young and does not wish to see the truth of her circumstances.

But my words are striking a chord in her. I can tell they are burrowing deep into her mind.

I can tell she will think about them when she falls asleep at night and when she wakes in the morning.

I can tell these thoughts I am planting will only grow.

I can tell she is thinking of herself as a soul condemned to a thousand years of hopelessness, but she is not. She is blessed with a thousand years of power.

If only she would reach out and take it. If only she would fall to her knees and let me give it to her.

“They are simply hopeless. Simply empty. And then they are sent back. To do better…” I take her chin in my hand and stare into her eyes. “Or not.”

“That is–”

She attempts to interrupt but I continue, “May they hear the sounds of torture and the pleas from their victims, one at a time, over and over, unable to stop it now that it is done. May they live with the screams and cries, the wails of babes and their mothers’ screeches for mercy, over and over again and hear nothing else and feel nothing else but the raw pain and the emptiness of hardships.”

“Those who do such things…”

“They are not you. You could not and would not cause so much agony would you? Would you seek for those who profit on pain to have no justice?”

“I–”

“Yes I am cruel. Because life requires it. Death is where so much justice is delivered and I have the honor of balancing that pain but there is so much more," I say with my voice low. “There is so much more to the Underworld. So much more of balance and…” My breathing becomes heavy as I stare at her. Knowing the weight of what will be when she is given her throne.

“So much what?” she asks.

But I can not answer. Not just yet. Not when she knows next to nothing. When she has no idea what power she already has.