Page 38 of Where Darkness Bloomed (Of Stars and Salt #1)

Hades rested his forehead in the crook of her neck, his breath slow and ragged. Tension still coiled through his muscles, refusing to ease. For a moment, he held himself there—lost in her warmth, in the fragile silence cocooning them.

Her thighs cradled his hips. Her heels pressed into the small of his back, holding him close. Pleasure still thrummed between them, a current unbroken. As it ebbed, a deep, aching contentment took its place.

Reluctantly, slowly, he eased back.

A soft hiss escaped through his teeth as he withdrew, the slow slide from her a final, torturous echo of their joining. Cool air spilled between them and she shivered, her body suddenly bare without the covering of his.

Then she stiffened, tension drawing tight through her frame. Her breath caught sharply, her wide eyes dropping between them.

Hades’s gaze tipped, following hers.

Between her parted thighs, a smear of blood marked the soft skin, mingling with his seed. Stark. Intimate.

The sight struck deep.

Proof of what had been given. What had been taken.

A clash of emotions surged hotly in his chest—desire, fierce possession, reverence—all tangling.

But it wasn’t the blood that undid him. He wasn’t foolish enough to imagine it as proof of her surrender to him. Not when her claim over him was no less visceral, no less consuming, whether his body bled or not.

It was her.

Persephone was pale and drawn, uncertainty shadowing beautiful features. Her lips parted, brows faintly furrowed .

He reached for her, cradling her face between his broad palms. His thumbs swept gently across her cheeks, guiding her gaze back to him.

“Persephone,” he said, voice rough as stormwinds. “All is well.”

At his silent command, a basin of warm water appeared at the bedside. He leaned past her, retrieving the cloth.

She flinched at the first touch of the cloth, and he stilled for a moment. Then gently, deliberately, he resumed, wiping away the blood and traces of their joining.

When it was done, he cast the cloth aside and drew a blanket over them. He wrapped her against his body, shielding her from the chill, from the world—from everything but him.

His fingers threaded through the damp strands of hair at her temple, stroking slowly. Little by little, the tension bled out of her until she folded into him, warmed by his skin as she lay in the cradle of his arms.

Silence lingered, a delicate pane that neither broke. Her breath slowed, deepened. For a moment, he thought she’d slipped into sleep.

Then a warm droplet struck his chest.

Hades tilted his head, watching as another tear slipped free, catching on her lips. “Is it the pain?” he asked softly, brushing the curve of her ear.

She shook her head fiercely. “No,” she whispered. “I… I—”

Her voice fractured, crumbling on the edge of something too large for words.

“Tell me,” he coaxed, the command hidden in tenderness.

Green, glassy eyes lifted to his. “My name,” she breathed.

And he understood.

Kore. Maiden.

Though it had never been hers in truth, that name—that identity—had been thrust upon her from the moment of her birth. An identity shaped by others.

Now, it was gone. Its loss marked across her skin, stained upon her thighs.

She looked up at him like a soul unmoored, lost in a sea she didn’t yet know how to navigate. And the heat in his chest erupted into an inferno, fierce and protective.

He bent his head until their eyes were level.

“You are not broken,” he vowed, unshakable. “You are not less than you were. Not bound by confines of others, nor less sacred for stepping beyond the name they gave you. ”

He touched her cheek.

“And I did not choose you for a night. Or for the hunger in my blood.”

She trembled again and he knew it wasn’t fear that she felt, but the collapse of old lies. A surrender not to him, but to the truth rising between them, clear and bright.

“Let me carry this with you,” he said. “Whatever grief lives in you now, let it pass into me. I will bear it.”

He cupped her face, his touch steady as he brought her forehead gently to his.

“Because you are mine. As I am yours.”

When Hades gathered her to him again, she pressed closer still. Her body fitted to his, her face buried against his chest, seeking comfort in the arms of the one who had caused her pain.

His hand moved in long, sweeping strokes down her back. Silent promises spoken in touch alone. In the stillness, he let her feel it—the weight of his presence, his certainty. The depth of the bond now woven between them.

Not just his claim of her. But hers of him.

Gradually, the ragged edge of her breathing smoothed. Her head rested against his chest as she sank deeper into his embrace, surrendering to exhaustion.

Hades watched her, his thumb tracing the path of the tears that had dried on her cheeks. Only then did he let himself remember.

The way she had stood beside the brazier, fear clashing with longing in her eyes. His desire had burned fiercely, consuming as wildfire. But her uncertainty had tempered the fire, demanding gentleness.

He had approached her slowly. Touched her with care. And when she had clutched at him—nails digging into his shoulders—he had welcomed the sting, hungered for it. Craved her touch in every form.

She’d already been trembling when their bodies finally aligned.

He had moved slowly, reining in the wild roar of his blood. Holding her close, he had captured her mouth, his tongue mating with hers as he thrust, swift and deep, to see it done.

But beneath him, Persephone had cried out, a sharp, startled cry as pain rippled through her features. A cry that cut through the haze of pleasure clouding his mind.

Bending his head, he had pressed his lips to her brow, murmuring soft reassurances into her skin. Her grip on his shoulders remained, clinging, but the tension began to ease, her body slowly adjusting.

Only then did he move.

Slow. Gentle. Controlled.

He saw it when wonder lit in her eyes, tentative and bright. The flicker of realization as pleasure began to bloom between them. And then the flash of panic when instinct warred with the unfamiliar.

He’d caught her wrists, holding her still, coaxing her to trust him as he guided her to the edge. His thrusts deepened, his fingertips stroking her softly.

And then her head tipped back, exposing the line of her throat to him. Her spine bowed as release crashed down over her.

He held her through it, watching every captivating moment. Letting her ride the crest of it against him . A heartbeat later, his own had followed.

Release found him violently, wrenching a guttural sound from his throat as his hips bucked, his body spilling into hers. He moved through the pleasure, let it take him. Until nothing remained. Until he was spent—sated, utterly lost in her.

Afterward, her face had flickered with emotion. But when he reached for her, she came to him willingly. Her fingers curled against his chest, her breath warm at his throat.

Even as Kore slipped way, Persephone clung to him. Seeking him. Seeking the bond now woven between their sweat-slicked bodies, sacred and searing. Forged in pleasure and pain, fate and oath.

Now, he watched her.

She lay settled against him, warm and calm in sleep. Firelight cast soft shadows over her peaceful features. With aching care, he brushed a strand of hair from her face.

His lips pressed to her brow, a whisper following. “You are not lost.”

A claim, a vow.

“You are Persephone,” he murmured. “And you are home.”