Page 26 of His in the Dark

HADES

I t has been days since Hermes came to the Underworld.

It seems like an eternity and at the same time, no time at all.

It’s like she’s slipping away and there’s nothing I can do about it happening. I know it to be so. With every wretched thunderous cry in the darkness above, thousands of souls pour into the River who should not be here. They overwhelm the Judges. They drown in the River with fear. And the balance has been upset. The pain is immense.

Agony is felt by all. It’s a suffering the worlds have never known.

And yet, every moment that I am with Persephone is precious. In the bedchambers what lies beyond this space does not matter. It does not exist.

But whatever the Fates said to her left its mark. She does not seem to recognize herself.

In the days since they met, Persephone’s powers—and her control over them—have improved a great deal. Even the amount of power she keeps close to herself is greater by far. When she walks past the torches, the fire blazes as if they cannot contain themselves. When she stares intently at a fire in the grate, it burns hotter. When we walk among the shade of the trees, the sun shines more strongly through the branches, warming us from the inside out.

The power calls to her although I do not know if she’s aware. She seems lost in contemplation.

Persephone’s attention has turned back to Olympus.

She speaks often of the roses there. Several times a day, her expression goes distant. Agony has met me in such ways though I try to deny it.

“The roses will surely have wilted,” she says one afternoon, the corners of her mouth turned down.

The next morning: “They used to pray to me, you know. The mortals. I heard their prayers on Olympus. I cannot hear them in the Underworld.”

The day after: “I cannot make the roses bloom again, Hades. I cannot answer the prayers of the mortals. What good is power if I cannot use it for those who pray to me?”

I have no answers for her and it only adds to the despair that grows within me. My Queen struggles and I can only distract her. I can only offer what I have in the Underworld. For the most part, it is enough. She need only release what once was.

As I prepare to open the door to the bedchambers, a weight seems to settle in the pocket of my robe. Curiously, I check it and find the seeds of the Underworld. The pomegranate seeds, at least a dozen of them. Lifting one, I observe the shiny translucence of it, the delectable dark red and burgundy shades.

For a moment, I think to squeeze them into her wine and then shame falls upon me given what happened before. Putting the seeds back, I open the door to find Persephone standing at the lone window, looking out.

She is a vision. My Queen.

She is not preoccupied with the changes to my rooms. Persephone hardly seems to notice them. But they are there. More soft rugs decorate the floors. The fire burns higher in the grate. Our bed is piled with pillows and blankets. The finer things that can be softened have been softened. It is a sanctuary, now. A place to rest as well as retreat. Whatever her heart desires, Silvie brings at once. Wine and chocolates. Candles and crystals. She entertains herself with so many books of histories that stacks now line either side of the window. I shall build her a library. It does not escape me though that pages have been torn out and folded into flowers and lilies that sit atop the stacks of books.

Quietly I approach. When I place my scepter down, leaning it against the table where her wine sits and the half drunk goblet rests, she glances at me. The warmth in her cheeks and the smile that greets me reminds me that all is well.

I need only give her the seeds , a voice in the back of my head reminds.

I go to her, put my hands on her shoulders, and bend to kiss her cheek.

“It is dark,” she says softly.

“It is Samhain.” I press another kiss to her cheek.

Persephone lifts one hand to find one of mine and twines our fingers together. “Winter is coming,” she says softly. “It will be dark for some time.”

“It will,” I agree. Her eyes soften and within them the colors swirl. Her softness has not left her, although she strengthens with her power. “Walk with me.”

I take her down the path to the fields of Elysium, then spread a woven blanket made of the finest dark green threads that was left there by the crystal clear river and help her sit. The moon is just beginning to rise. Persephone leans against me, watching the sky. For now, it is quiet—almost lonely, and Persephone is quiet.

It begins shortly after. One soul, then another. Persephone studies them, her lips slightly parted. Coming home to the Underworld.

“There is beauty in the dark,” I say. “It is when the light of the souls is clearest.”

“It is beautiful,” Persephone agrees. “The veil must be very thin.”

“It will reach its thinnest very soon.”

“There are so many,” Persephone whispers. “So much light. So much beauty.”

“It is not a sin to take joy in that.”

“I can hear their pleas,” she says, pain in her voice.

“Answer them.”

Persephone leans closer, her hand tight around mine. “My powers do not work here.”

“Which powers do not work?” She has not tried. She may have power yet that she has not discovered. “You have more power than you know, my love.”

“Do I?” Persephone meets my eyes in the glow of the souls. “Because it does not seem that I have enough to be both parts of who I am.”

“You do.”

“You could not possibly know that…” she murmurs. Whatever plagues her is troubling. Again, I think of the seeds.

I take her in my arms and kiss her, lingering over each press of her lips on mine. Persephone opens her mouth to me, letting out quiet moans.

“Take me to bed,” Persephone begs. “Please.”

I take her back to my rooms in near silence and seal the door behind us. I put my fingers under her chin and tip her face up. Tears stand on her cheeks. Is it from the beauty of Samhain or her worries about Olympus? I do not know. All I want is to give her what she needs to dry them. To hold her head up high.

“You do not believe in your powers, my Queen.”

“What can they possibly be worth when I have lost half of who I am?”

Anger simmers at her words. She keeps saying that. But what once was is gone. She is not meant to be in Olympus. She is more powerful here. She is safe beside me. She is meant to rule!

“Everything. It is worth everything,” I answer her solemnly. It is time. Past time to make good on what I said to Zeus. Tonight the veil is thin and the power of souls and life and death mingles between the realms. It is a sign that we should mingle ourselves in that same way. “I have one more gift for you, my Queen.” The ritual must be done.

“What is it?” Persephone whispers, intrigued and hopeful. It is obvious if she does not believe in herself, she does believe in what I tell her.

I wave my hand, and the room transforms. Persephone glances to the side, then turns around to look. No longer black obsidian, this room bares one purpose. The soft color palette of rose and peach in the luxurious velvet drapes add to the opulence and sensuality. A hundred candles or more take up the floor space and add a warmth no fire could compete with. In the antique mirror on the other side of the room, our reflection stares back at us. My darkness to her light and yet, we are perfect for one another.

“Hades,” she says.

“I crave to be bonded with you,” I murmur into her ear. “I need you to know that you are powerful enough to be bonded to me. You are my Queen, and I am your King. Let us make that true in every possible way.”

Persephone turns once again, her eyes searching mine. Her hand lays across her chest as if she must physically contain her heart. “Bonded? For eternity?”

“Forevermore.”

There is a moment when I think she might shake her head. When she might reject me. Distrust me. It would be like surviving in that pit of darkness again.

It would be worse.

But Persephone lowers her hand and kisses me sweetly, dearly even.

“Yes,” she says breaking the kiss, her eyes still closed. Then she opens them, staring up at me like I’m her savior, not the villain who stole her away, lied to her father and will soon offer her the seeds that will bind her here forever.

“Yes,” she murmurs and kisses me again. Whatever pain lays deep in my chest is numbed by her affections. By her love.

I undress her by candlelight, lifting her gown and undergarments off her soft skin as carefully as if I am dressing her for court. With each inch of her delicate skin that is revealed, my heart beats harder. The aching emptiness at the core of me is no longer a void that could consume everything. It is my hunger for her, and only Persephone can fill that space.

When I am finished, Persephone takes her turn undressing me, biting her lower lip as she concentrates. Her hands along my skin is like fire. I cherish the moments she lingers.

Neither of us is wearing anything when I take her hand and bring her to the bed, the white fur covering the four poster dark wood bedframe with silk drapes that glisten with the candle light that fills the room.

“My Queen.”

Persephone nods to me, trembling slightly, and accepts my help up onto the bed. A white fur has been spread out on the covers, and Persephone lays back, her hair flowing out around her head.

I lean down and kiss her gently, taking my time and knowing all too well what will happen after tonight’s deed is done. The knowledge is heady as is the floral scent of Persephone that envelopes me as I kiss her neck and then the soft spot just beneath her ear and then nip her earlobe.

My lips. Hers. Heat. Passion.

But there is more.

Flames spring to life around the bed, surrounding us. The magic of the underworld has come to oversee the ceremony. That is the only witness we need, other than the two of us.

“This is an ancient ritual,” I murmur into Persephone’s ear, stroking between her legs as I do.

“How will I know what to do?” she asks with all sincerity.

“I will guide us. And if I could not, the magic would guide us. This part—” I pull her earlobe between my teeth and breathe. Persephone shivers underneath me. “Will not be difficult for you.”

Her arms rest around my neck and she kisses me, tasting me, testing my lips, while I stroke her until she’s hot and tight on my fingers and writhing, her hips rock along with my touch, begging me for more. I do not rush. Completing the ritual on Samhain will add blessings to our bond, but I will not move forward until she has shaken off all the sadness of the past weeks and succumbed to pleasure. There is no sign of anything but the Goddess who is only submissive to me and rules over all others when I kiss her again.

She is mine. Truly and once the ritual is done, forevermore. Whether we part or not. She will always feel my love and I hers. She will always feel my pain, and I hers. In every life, we will be together, our paths destined to cross with the prayers that we will find one another or else our fates will not be complete.

I sink two fingers into her and find the rough spot that makes her moan with abandon, then stroke it in a slow rhythm until she’s gasping, unable to make a single coherent sound.

By then, my body demands hers. I would deny myself forever if the ritual called for it, but it does not.

It calls for me to have my Queen just as I like.

Persephone spreads her legs for me, wrapping them around my waist as soon as I have begun to enter her. She welcomes me, pulling me as close as she can and rocking her hips at a slow pace that quickens as my pleasure rises.

She feels like fucking heaven. The pleasure is unimaginable. Waves of heat crash down upon us with every thrust and I struggle to hold back my groans of unadulterated lust.

There is so much sweetness in her. So much heat in her body. She was made for me. She is the only place I will ever find solace or comfort.

It is at this point that I push myself above her, my pulse rampaging.

Persephone opens her eyes, panting, and looks into mine.

“Trust me,” I tell her, catching my breath as I do.

"I do.” Her lips are swollen from our kiss and her cheeks and chest flushed.

I have to lean away from her to reach the athame, a pagan knife, on the bedside table. It is silver and twinkles in the light, polished to a high shine, and the tip is razor-sharp.

“Give me your hand.”

Persephone offers her hand out without an instant of hesitation.

“Yours and mine forever bind,” I pronounce, then prick her palm with the tip of the knife.

A single drop of blood wells up.

I bend my head to lick it off Persephone’s hand, repositioning myself as I do. The taste of her blood—salt and iron—is divine. Black and white smoke curl out of the grate and circle over us on the bed.

The two shades of smoke separate. The black goes to me. The white goes to Persephone. But the boundary does not stay firm as I thrust into her, again and again, needing her more in this moment than ever before. The smoke teases between us. It cannot find its place.

I will show it where it belongs. I will show her where she belongs.

Her blood—my spend. That is what the ritual demands. That is what will bring the smoke together. That is what will bind us.

Persephone grips me to her, pulling my body into hers. “Yours and mine,” she moans.

That pushes me over.

I grab her throat out of instinct. Fucking her with reckless abondon as I squeeze her delicate neck. Her hands rise out of instinct, her eyes locked on mine. She grips my wrists and struggles to say something. My hips thrust even deeper and harder and I release her. She gasps for air as her head falls back and an orgasm like none before rocks through her body. Power consumes me as I lower my head to her neck and piston myself between her legs, desperate for my own release.

I come hard, my vision fleeing from me and going dark with the intensity. Persephone clenches around me, her arms tight around my neck, holding on through another strong orgasm.

Somehow I’m able to prick my palm and I offer it to her. In the haze of pleasure, she licks my palm and the requirements of the ritual are done.

The separate plumes of smoke wrap around each other, twisting and swirling until the black and the white are one and the same. They can never be separated again.

Persephone can never be separated from me again.

It is a high, intense peak. Knowing it is done. She is mine in all ways the Gods revere, I let my forehead lean against hers, struggling to catch my breath.

Persephone does the same. Her hands stroke over my cheeks and on the back of my neck. My Queen.

The question comes as if from a great distance and within my heart at the same time.

Perhaps it is a question I have been longing to ask.

“Persephone.” I roll my forehead gently against hers. “Do you love me?”

"Yes," she breathes, her hands on my nape now.

“You would never betray me, would you?” I question as the thought comes to me. The thought of her ever leaving me. “You wouldn’t leave me? Not after this?”

“Never,” she whispers. “I’ll never leave you.”

Persephone’s hands are much smaller than mine, and yet such power dwells in them. Such power dwells in every word, but especially her yes .

“Persephone,” I say again, unable to stop myself. “My Lady. My Queen. My Love. My Goddess. You are every name that can come from my lips. You own everything I do and everything I am.”

“Everything you are?” Persephone asks, her eyes shining.

"You misunderstand, Persephone." I draw in another breath. The magic of the bond overwhelms me, but not as much as Persephone. "You are my everything. Everything. ” I close the last inch between us and kiss her hard on the lips. That is the taste of my queen. That is my Persephone. "To me."