Page 32 of Where Darkness Bloomed (Of Stars and Salt #1)

Flames erupted around them.

Hephaestus’s hand was firm around hers, drawing her against his side. The inferno roared, but she felt none of its bite. Only the solidity of him against her in the torrent of light and heat.

Then the fire’s roar softened into crackles and whispers. Heat gave way to a suffused golden glow, warm and tranquil.

Her eyes opened slowly.

They stood in a vast stone chamber, scents of smoke and ember lingering in the air. Overhead, lanterns of iron and glass hung from the cavernous ceiling, spilling amber light in gentle pools.

A hearth was set into the stone floor at the chamber’s center, a wide basin of burnished bronze, etched with intricate relief. Within, flames danced, reaching out to brush thick pelts that softened the space.

Across the chamber, a massive bed commanded attention. Blackened iron was woven with veins of molten gold, carved in detailed patterns, layers of furs and linens cascading over its edges.

Everything here bore the mark of a master, shaped with skill and purpose. A reflection of the one who called this place home.

Him.

Husband.

The word was stunning in its finality, beautiful in its strangeness. It had happened so quickly.

Now, she stood with her arms wrapped around his waist. His broad hands rested at her back, anchoring her against him with an ease that felt impossible. Natural.

She tilted her head back .

Hephaestus looked down at her steadily, his eyes amber and stormlit. He did not release her and she didn’t move, unwilling to step away.

But her thoughts crashed like waves. “I do not understand,” she whispered, unable to hold back the tide.

The fire in his eyes eased. “What is it, Aglaia?”

His deep voice rolled through her, leaving her unmoored.

She hesitated, gathering the words. The sting of the memory still smarted.

“You told me to go,” she said, the words painful as they left her. “You did not want me.”

A beat passed.

His hand came to her cheek, his thumb tracing a line beneath her eye. “I wanted you more than was wise.”

Aglaia’s throat tightened. “Then why...?”

She couldn’t finish.

“I should not have sent you away.” Hephaestus’s brow furrowed, the words rougher now. A confession dredged from somewhere deep and silent. “I should have spoken then. I should have kept you near.”

Shadows danced over his face, darkening his eyes. But his hand gently cradled her cheek. “I should have bound your name to mine,” he murmured, “the moment you stepped into my forge.”

Her breath caught, her heart rising fast in her chest. Her fingers curled around his wrist, holding him there. Closing her eyes, she turned her face into the warmth of his hard palm.

He watched her, sorrow and warmth mingling in his eyes. “The eons have shaped me,” he said in a low voice. “And not gently. The Fates have rarely woven me a thread worth keeping.”

He hesitated. But she didn’t press, waiting as the words rose within him.

“When you came to me, bright and fierce as dawn—I thought you misplaced. Surely you were meant for another.” His thumb brushed her cheek again, slower this time. “A younger god, one as radiant and whole as you.”

He exhaled, a harsh release.

“I have little to offer one such as you.”

Aglaia looked up at him, still holding his hand. Her voice came steady, certain. “You have everything I want. And I do not want another.”

It was the purest truth she possessed.

Hephaestus was still, staring down at her .

Tears pricked in her eyes. “I thought…” she whispered. “I thought you denied me.”

A muscle worked in Hephaestus’s jaw. Then he bent forward, touching his brow to hers. “How could I deny you?”

The words fell like thunder—hoarse, deep, devastating.

It was a balm, soothing the sting of doubt. The tightness in her chest loosened, her body softening into his. Longing unfurled through her, wild and sweet, smoothing the sharp edges of heartache.

He didn’t speak again—there was no need. Instead, he lifted her into his arms with ease. Everything beyond him dissolved.

Time bent around them, giving way to the rightness of the moment as he lowered her to the bed. His eyes held hers, fierce amber calling to the warmth gathering around her heart.

Then he followed, his body pressing to hers with command, his touch leaving no room for further doubt. Every movement was a vow, every touch speaking deeper than words.

***

When Aglaia stirred, the first thing she felt was him.

Hephaestus lay sprawled beneath her, vast and unabashed in his nakedness, a great stretch of bronzed muscle and heat. The great bed seemed to yield to him, his body claiming the space effortlessly—and her with it.

She was trapped against the solid breadth of his chest, every curve molded to hard muscle. Her belly was flush against the taut ridges of his abdomen, her bare thigh thrown across his hip. His heart pounded steadily beneath her cheek.

Muscular arms were slung possessively around her. The scent of his skin surrounded her: fire and leather, pine, and the salt-dark musk of him. It sank into her blood, her heart swelling.

She pressed closer, her lips softly brushing the skin just over his heart.

A sound answered—low and masculine, rumbling through his chest into hers. His fingers slid into her hair, his palm warm at the back of her head, holding her gently.

When she tilted her face up, he was already watching her. Eyes dark and half-lidded, burning in a way that would have stripped her bare, had she not already been naked.

“You study me.” His voice was gruff, amusement softening the edges.

Aglaia ducked her head, hiding her face against his chest. His warmth did nothing to calm the burning inside her. “I think you are beautiful,” she whispered into his skin.

A quiet snort escaped him, his fingers gently combing her hair. “No one has ever used that word for me. Apollo, perhaps. Or Dionysus,” he mused. “But not me.”

Then he shifted.

With fluid strength, he gripped her waist and rolled them, reversing their positions. She found herself beneath him, strong hands pinning her into the bed’s waiting cradle with impossible gentleness.

She burned with awareness. Heat licked at every place their bare skin met—the rough-hewn muscles beneath her hands, the firm press of his arousal against her thigh. The air coiled tighter.

Amber eyes raked over her, his desire laid bare. “Though I failed to say it earlier,” he said, his voice dragging against her overheated skin, “I find you beautiful as well.”

Her fingers slid into his hair, knotting there, drawing him closer. She pressed her face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in—and whispered, “I was afraid.”

Hephaestus stilled, then drew back, a crease forming between his brows as he studied her.

Her chest tightened. “That you might regret—”

She never finished.

A flicker of something dark and primal broke across his features. Then his mouth was on hers.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a brand, a claim. A promise sealed with possession. His arms banded around her as if he could meld them body to body, soul to soul. The space between them dissolved into skin and heat.

Her hands traced the muscular ridges of his back, savoring the raw strength that corded there. The scrape of callouses only made her press closer, hold him tighter. Wanting all of it. All of him.

When he finally tore his mouth away, her lips tingled, kiss-bruised and warm. He rested his forehead to hers and softly snarled, “I regret nothing .”

Then he paused again, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. “Though I might ask the same of you.”

She shook her head, throat tight. “I desired you for so long. But I feared you’d never notice me.”

He laughed then—loud and unguarded, a sound that spread through her like warmth from the richest wine. The blaze in his eyes lit brighter, flaming with wonder.

“You thought I did not notice you?” His brow arched. “Goddess of beauty?”

Aglaia’s cheeks heated. “There are many goddesses—”

His expression changed, humor melting away. It became so fiercely possessive that he silenced her with the look.

He sat up abruptly, drawing her with him. Strong hands guided her until she straddled his lap, thighs framing his hips, her breasts pressed to his chest. Lower, the hard length of him rested insistently against her, no barrier between them but the thin edge of restraint.

“There are none like you.” His voice was husky.

One hand slid up her spine, threading into her hair. The other framed her hip, holding her close. His gaze roamed slowly, leaving no part of her untouched.

“Have I proven my desire for you?” he murmured.

Images flashed through her mind—his reverent touch as he undressed her and the forceful way his own clothes were impatiently flung aside. The rasp of his beard against her skin. The rhythm of his body moving against her, with her, drawing them both into oblivion.

She bit her lip.

His breath warmed her ear, a teasing caress. “You blush easily. Is this the same goddess who danced so fearlessly at the wedding feast?”

The memory ignited, a spark to dry kindling. That night—the lilting music, the sway of her hips, her pulse fluttering like wings under her skin. Every movement a silent plea cast across the space between them. And the dark gaze that had answered her.

The truth tumbled free. “I danced for you that night.”

Tight and breathless, the moment stretched.

His eyes deepened, filling with pure desire. “Did you now?” he murmured.

His hand at her hip tightened, drawing her flush against him. His hardness pressed low against her stomach, and heat lanced through her, sharp and sudden.

His lips brushed her jaw, then trailed the curve of her neck, breath fanning warmly against her throat. “You cannot know how much I wanted you then.”

Her head tipped back in silent offering. A soft nip grazed her collarbone .

“And you cannot fathom how much I want you now.”

In a swift, commanding motion, he guided her back down, and she sank into the sprawl of fur and linen.

His face buried against the curve of her neck, the coarse drag of his jawline softly abrading her skin as his mouth descended lower. When his lips closed over her nipple, her body bowed into his as his tongue teased—a flick, then a tender pull.

His thigh drove between her legs, parting them. His hand followed, slipping between her thighs, a groan rising from his chest as he discovered her arousal.

Then he was above her, broad shoulders eclipsing her view, amber eyes flaring brighter, hotter than she had yet seen.

“You danced.” His voice was raw with emotion. “But I burned.”

With one deep, claiming thrust, he was inside her.

She cried out, legs tightening around his waist, her body rising to meet him. He set a smooth, powerful rhythm, possession and offering entwined.

Thought dissolved into hunger, into need. Into him. The world narrowed to skin and breath, the cadence of his body pounding into hers, fast and sure. Her nails bit against the sinew of his back as the tension pulled tight—

Then it crested, white-hot, obliterating.

She cried out against his shoulder as pleasure tore through her.

His arms locked around her, hips snapping once, twice more—then he groaned, a deep, rough sound, as he spilled into her, heat flooding deep. A violent shudder wracked him, and for a moment, they clung to one another in the still-burning aftermath.

He braced above her, breath ragged, chest heaving. Their hearts thundered together in a wild cadence, bodies still entwined, passion spent and skin slick.

Finally, he rolled to his side, drawing her with him. One arm curled heavily over her waist, dragging her into the cradle of his body. Tucked against his broad side, Aglaia listened to the slowing rhythm of his heart beneath the rise and fall of his chest.

His lips touched her temple, soft and lingering, so at odds with the ravenous hunger that had consumed him moments earlier.

She sighed, boneless in his arms, content and utterly spent. The weight of exhaustion curled around her like a lullaby. Sleep pulled at her, gentle and insistent .

Just before it claimed her, his voice rumbled low, a vow that etched deep into her soul.

“I regret nothing, Aglaia. I never will.”