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Chapter Twenty-Five

Hebe

T he suddenness with which Prometheus can transform from an ardent lover to an indifferent husband continues to amaze me.

Well, “amaze” isn’t quite the right word. Confounds? No— infuriates .

“ Prometheus ,” I hiss. We were in the middle of a conversation— well, more or less. But he was trying to convince me to stay, and I was seizing a beautiful moment before I went to face probable death.

But now Prometheus is bent over the stone Tablet, reading with his finger while his eyes glaze over. It’s like I’m not even in the room with him.

This is like the village boys all over again.

My husband continues to ignore me, so I grasp his wrist.

This finally causes Prometheus to look at me. The blank look in his eyes fades away, though his expression remains dazed.

“You have to see this,” he whispers. Then Prometheus takes my hand and presses it against the lettering engraved into the stone Tablet.

Suddenly, I am no longer sitting on the altar. Instead, I stand beside Prometheus, hand in hand, in a dark void.

Then, two figures of light and color appear. One is a tall, masculine form that is entirely gold and glowing like the sun. The other is a shorter, feminine form that is reminiscent of soil.

Neither speak, nor does Prometheus, and a voice I could never describe fills the silence.

Mortal and Primordial. One doomed to die and the other bound to eternity.

The two figures glance at one another and tentatively hold out their hands. Then, suddenly, they are being dragged away from each other.

Love is impossible until mercy is offered. The mortal ceases to be mortal and escapes the curse of death. The Primordial finds a helpmate to ease their eternal labors.

Somehow, the two figures break free from the invisible forces dragging them away from each other. They almost close the distance between until the woman stumbles and falls.

The Fates can entwine two souls if an offer is made and a choice is proclaimed. The mortal shall become bone of the Primordial’s bone and flesh of their flesh. One will live as long as the other, and only together shall they pass beyond the Veil.

The man catches the woman, cradling her in his arms. Though he has no expression, I can feel his despair. Until the woman weakly nods.

Fangs grow from the man’s face, and he plunges them into the woman’s neck.

I cling more tightly to Prometheus.

Then the gold from the man begins to flow into the woman and swirls through her form.

She stands, the gold making beautiful patterns on her skin. Then the patterns expand until she becomes as gold as the man.

Turning to each other, the pair finally embraces.

And then Prometheus and I are back in the temple and staggering away from the Tablet.

“Why did it have to be biting ?” Prometheus whispers. “Atum is going to laugh so hard when he finds out . . .”

I just stare at the Tablet that showed me a scene as clearly as one of Sia’s illusions. “What was that?!”

“That was no ordinary tablet,” Prometheus offers.

I purse my lips. “I may be a simple mortal, but even I gathered that much.”

“How can I explain such things to a mere mortal? Such concepts are beyond your understanding.”

Crossing my arms, I glare at him. “I am not a ‘mere mortal.’ I am your wife . Have I not taught you the mortal things that were once beyond your understanding?” Prometheus might think he is better than I am, but he’s the one who still has no concept of the more intimate ‘bonding rituals’ we mortals practice.

Prometheus sighs and leans against the altar. “Very well. Tablets came into being after the first war between your people and mine— all peoples, actually.”

“The mortals, Primordials, and the . . Fae?”

He continues like he hasn’t heard me. “The Creator summoned all Primordials— Firstborn, Entities, and even Nymphs— to the River Styx. We vowed upon it to keep our every bargain. Death— or terrible suffering— would be the penalty for breaking our word. It curbed our once unlimited power and bound us more fully to our respective domains.”

“It sounds like an unpleasant experience.”

“It was the last I ever saw of the Creator— the last any of us did, since apparently we are unworthy to look upon Him again.” Bitterness edges his tone.

I glance up for a moment, checking to see if an avenging bolt of lightning might fall upon my husband for his sacrilegious bitterness against the Creator. But none comes. Mayhap because the Creator isn’t Zeus?

“However, the Creator gave a sacred Tablet to Hades before He left.” Prometheus gestures toward the Tablet on the altar. “It’s not that one. Hades keeps the Tablet of Life and Death somewhere not even Sia can find.”

“But the Tablet of Life and Death gave you hope that there might be others?”

“A hope that has been fulfilled. Before this war broke out, I spent my days scouring every domain for more Tablets. Since the Creator no longer deigns to speak directly with us, these Tablets are the only way to receive His wisdom.”

I reach for the Tablet, but don’t dare touch it. “They give you a feeling of connection to Him?”

Prometheus startles. “ What ?!”

Not backing down, I return his stare.

He turns away, nodding toward the Tablet instead. “That one, the Tablet of Life and Love, has eluded me for an eon. Aphrodite swore it existed, but it was stolen from her before she could share it with me. Why Hades took it, I know not. He is the last of us who would ever take a mortal bride.”

I follow Prometheus’ gaze to the Tablet of Life and Love. “So, that is why you have been so desperate to discover the secrets of this stone? Because it has been your obsession for longer than I’ve been alive?”

When I turn back, I’m startled to find Prometheus standing right in front of me. The look on his face says I have somehow replaced that obsession.

Startled, I back into the altar. Then Prometheus plants his arms on either side of me, gripping the stone and caging me against the altar. He leans forward, his breath hot against my skin and his voice low. “What we saw from the Tablet . . . I want to try it.”

I shiver. “You heard what Atum said— we can’t risk my shedding my mortality yet. Not while my people need me to save them.”

Prometheus leans closer still, so that his face is once again resting on my shoulder by my neck. “Let me at least see what it would be like in theory . So that when the day of . . . whatever it is we should dub this comes . . . we’ll be ready.”

Gripping the altar for support, I stare straight ahead and do my best to remember every single thing Prometheus has ever said that annoyed me. “Ready for what?”

He presses his lips to my neck. “To make you legendary.”

I exhale.

Then Prometheus’ teeth follow his lips.

Gasping, I pull away, clutching my neck. “What have you done?!”

Prometheus just grimaces, revealing perfectly normal white teeth. “Nothing. I have no fangs. Not even when I try alter them like I change forms.”

I rub my neck. “Does that mean we cannot do this bonding even when we’re ready?”

“I don’t know.” Prometheus looks away.

The stone doors slide open, and Atum strides in. His expression is solemn. “I am sorry to interrupt, but I have just received urgent tidings. Zeus has left his temple on Olympus. If we are going to do this, then we must do it now .”

Nodding, I step forward. “Then let us be off.”