Page 10 of Where Darkness Bloomed (Of Stars and Salt #1)

Hades observed the revelry from the edge of the lawn, his presence unassuming amidst the vibrant chaos. The air pulsed with music and laughter, thick with aromas of roasted meats and crushed flowers.

As the night deepened, the celebration grew wilder, unrulier. The once-graceful flight of Hermes turned slow, careening over the lawn. No doubt from Dionysus’s strongly pressed wine. But he barely noticed.

His gaze found her again. The emerald-eyed goddess who had met his eyes with such startling clarity from across the hall.

She stood among other young goddesses, her bright laughter rising into the night.

There was an ease to her now. The tilt of her lips, brightness in her eyes—that hadn’t been there before.

His attention sharpened when she drifted away from the lawn. At the edge, she paused beneath an olive tree, steadying herself with a hand on the trunk.

The wine , he realized with a flicker of disapproval. Too much of it.

But his interest piqued as she stepped into the shadowed embrace of a laurel grove nearby. He found himself slowly moving, watching at a distance.

Under the swaying branches, she stood still, her face tilted toward the terrace beyond. From where he stood, Hades watched her lovely features shift—curiosity, wonder, then something softer—as Heracles drew his bride into his embrace.

A moment later, her gasp reached him. Soft, but sharp. She spun away, her uneven breaths stirring the stillness.

Hades’s gaze tipped down. Around her bare feet, white blossoms unfurled, pushing through the grass like starlight spilling from the earth. Like the cobalt blooms that still flowered in his grove .

He had not intended to speak. But something in the moment, in her, shifted his course.

“You should not be here,” he said, voice low to keep from frightening her.

The effort was wasted.

She gasped, turning to face him. Recognition flashed in her widened eyes—surprise laced with a flicker of fear. Then she dipped her head, murmuring softly, “My lord.”

Even with her gaze averted, he saw the flush rise. It deepened under his lingering gaze.

He stepped forward, shadows parting around him. “Most,” he said dryly, “would not welcome an audience on their wedding night.”

Her blush bloomed deeper, but she offered no reply. As he closed the distance, his taller frame cast her fully into shadow from the moonlight dappling through the branches. He hesitated for a breath, his hand hovering in the space between them.

Then he touched her. Just a whisper of his fingertips along the curve of her jaw, a command without force, tilting her chin with quiet insistence, coaxing her gaze to his.

“Look at me.”

A breath passed. Then, she obeyed.

Her eyes lifted to his—green, too open, too searching.

Emotion stirred within them like ripples in still water: confusion, a twinge of fear, and something else sparking in the depths.

Her gaze moved over him, lingering, steady despite her flush.

And in that gaze, wavering like a flame newly lit, he saw it.

Attraction.

Not longing, not hunger. But the first echo of something quieter and instinctive, drawn from deeper.

He hadn’t expected it. The realization struck deep, quiet and unwelcome. Still, he held her gaze, studying the soft tension in her brow, the rapid beat in her throat.

“Why do you watch them?” he asked at last, his voice a shade gentler now.

The silence stretched, a thread pulled too taut.

She swallowed, then the words tumbled out swiftly. “Eros, he said… passion was to be seen. I didn’t mean to—” Her voice caught, the words tangling. The rest fell away .

Her embarrassment pulled at something in him. Amusement stirred—faint, fleeting—but beneath it rose a gentler pull. Reluctant. And unexpectedly tender.

Hades glanced toward the terrace. There, beyond the veil of lamplight, two shadows moved in a slow, intimate rhythm. The soft creak of a bed accompanied, breath and pleasure mingling in the night.

When he spoke again, it was a low murmur. “You are missing the heart of it.”

Her gaze followed his instinctively. Then a soft sound escaped her, not quite a gasp. She turned away, color blooming high on her cheeks.

“My lord... I must go,” the goddess whispered, “My mother will be looking for me.”

She turned, but before thought could form—he moved. One step forward, and his hand caught hers. Not forcefully, just enough to still her.

Her pulse fluttered wild beneath his touch as slowly, carefully, he guided her to face him again. They stood closer now, her eyes level with his collarbone. With a slow lift of her chin, her gaze found his once more.

He held it steadily. “Who is your mother?”

The silence that followed trembled—charged, volatile.

She was overwhelmed. He could see it in her eyes, storm-bright and restless, as tension thickened the air like heat rising off sun-warmed stone.

His power stirred in response. It pressed in around them, brushed softly against her, like a hand poised gently at her back. Felt more than seen.

He leaned in, just slightly. Enough to let nearness speak where words would not.

“Who is your mother?” he asked again, a murmur pitched only for her.

The answer spilled from her lips in a whispered confession. “Demeter, goddess of the harvest.”

The name struck him, cold and clean. An anchor sinking deep into the maelstrom of memory.

Hades went still. Completely, utterly still.

Demeter’s daughter.

She stood before him. Daughter of earth, cloaked in shadow. He stared down at her, shock buried beneath the stillness of eons as history and memory twined like grapevines, twisting sharply within him.

Then—slowly—he exhaled, releasing her wrist. His hand didn’t fall away. Instead, it rose. His fingertips grazed the curve of her cheek as he tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear, a whisper of warmth against the cool night.

But her reaction was immediate. Her eyes softened, dark centers pooling with the same potent pull he felt thrumming in his veins. Her head tilted into his touch, lashes fluttering like leaves on wind.

Time staggered, then halted.

The warmth of her skin beckoned him closer, like a flame to a long-dormant hearth. He leaned in until his lips hovered just above her brow. Her breath brushed his chest, but she made no move to pull back.

Temptation surged, a roaring tide that urged him to close the distance. To claim what simmered between them before it slipped away.

But his voice came instead, rough-edged and intimate. “Go, my lady.” The words brushed her brow. “Back to your mother.”

Neither moved. The moment held, fragile and breathless.

Then, from the terrace, a sharp cry of ecstasy pierced the air. A shout of raw pleasure, the unmistakable echo of shared release.

The softness of the moment shattered.

Her eyes flew wide, startled. She stepped back, graceful and swift as moonlight slipping through leaves. Then she was gone, silence closing behind her like a sigh.

Hades remained beneath the laurel boughs, standing among the carpet of moonlit blooms—the earth’s offering to her. The warmth of her skin lingered on his palm.

He stared into the dark where she had vanished. Then, to the silence she’d left behind, he gave a quiet vow.

“For now.”