Page 42 of Where Darkness Bloomed (Of Stars and Salt #1)

Before she could finish, he stepped forward and lifted her into his arms. A soft breath caught in her throat, and her hands rose, clutching his shoulders as her weight settled in his arms. Holding her close, he stepped through the linen hangings onto the balcony.

The Underworld unfurled before them, eternal and vast .

Mountains loomed around the temple, wild and wind-carved.

Silver rivers wound through dark, fertile valleys, glinting beneath a sky of obsidian and jewels.

Far below, the Stygian waterfall thundered into mist-veiled gorges of moss and stone, its roar rising over the Underworld like the voice of time.

Hades set her on her feet, remaining at her back. One hand framed her waist, drawing her close until her spine touched his chest. Together, they gazed out at all he had built, the creation that had been crafted by his hand.

His kingdom. Now theirs.

With quiet care, he lifted her hair from her shoulder, his fingertips grazing the soft curve of her neck. His jaw brushed lightly against her temple.

“First, I appointed judges. Three mortal kings, wise in life, incorruptible in death. They separate the wicked from the worthy.”

Taking her hand in his, he lifted it, guiding her gaze eastward. In the distance, silver fields rippled, stirred by the breeze.

“Then came Asphodel,” he said. “For souls neither wicked nor virtuous. There, they face neither punishment nor reward, only eternal peacefulness.”

He drew her hand north, toward a turquoise shoreline barely visible in the distance, kissed by the light of an unseen sun.

“Elysium lies there. A land of eternal reward for the honorable and innocent.”

Finally, he moved her hand westward to the green plains stretching innocently toward the horizon.

“And there, the Fields of Punishment,” he said, tone darkening. “For those who sowed evil in life. There, the scales are balanced, evil repaid with evil.”

A shudder rippled through Persephone. He drew her closer, his arms tightening against the memory of Alecto’s lash slicing the air. Then her arm.

Never again.

Silence lingered, but it was peaceful, calm.

Then, at last, she spoke. “You created all of this?”

“I had time,” he replied wryly. “But, yes.”

She stood still, her gaze sweeping the landscape—its vastness, the weight of eons etched into its bones. Then, with a slowness that sent heat rising in him, she leaned back. Her head rested against his chest, her body softening in his arms.

It was a small gesture, yet it was everything. An offering of trust, quiet and sincere .

His hands slid down the length of her arms, settling at her waist. Fingers tightening slightly, he turned her to face him with the kind of gentleness only she had ever drawn from him.

“Last night...” His voice was rough. “If I caused you pain... if I frightened you—it was never my intent.”

A faint flush rose to her face, soft as sunlight on water. But she didn’t look way. Instead, her hand came to rest on his chest, her palm resting flat above his heart.

“I am not hurt,” she said quietly. “Nor frightened.”

The words fell like warm rain on dry ground. They slipped beneath his ribs, easing something clenched there, ancient and aching.

Her gaze dropped—first to his mouth, then to the hollow of his throat, the cut of his shoulders, bare beneath his himation. Her hand moved again, fingers whispering over the curve of his bicep, tracing the strength beneath his skin. A tender touch, quietly curious.

He should have let her continue. Let her touch him slowly, take what she wished from him with the quiet boldness blooming behind her touch. But the burn in his blood rose too hot, too fierce, desire pounding through him like a war drum.

He tugged her closer, tilting her mouth to his—and kissed her.

It was deep, searing, filled with everything he hadn’t said: the hunger, the devotion, the restraint worn raw. She answered with a soft, aching sound that curled hotly in his chest.

When he lifted her, she came easily, arms winding around him. The blanket slipped from her body, falling to the ground forgotten.

Lying against the bed inside, she was gilded in morning gold and the slow drift of shadow. She looked up at him, and the invitation in her eyes struck him still. A look he had longed to see since he’d first touched her at the solstice.

He drank it in like sacred wine, then came to her. One knee pressed to the bed, then the other as he rose over her. His hand glided up the soft flesh of her thigh, fingers spreading wide to cradle the curve of her hip as she opened to him.

Sinking into her was a slow, exquisite agony, a merciless unraveling that drew a groan from them both. Bliss laced with the bite of ache, as the air between them drew taut, heavy with need.

It was no echo of the night before. No gentle discovery. No uncertain offering. She was fire beneath him, his hunger met and matched .

Tenderness swiftly gave way to something rougher, wild and sweet. They moved together with fevered urgency, sweat blooming on skin, breath catching sharp between moans and gasps.

There was no drawing it out. Need bloomed too bright, too sharp between them. She broke apart in shaking waves, her cry muffled against his shoulder. And that was all it took.

Her release ignited his own, tearing the breath from his lungs. A sound broke from his throat, harsh and unbidden, his rhythm deepening as he found the edge she had already crossed.

Then it broke. Heat and light, a storm loosed in his blood, tearing through him in waves. He bowed into her, hands fisted in the sheets, a snarl ripped from him as he emptied himself into her—his seed, his breath, his soul.

The world slowed, its edges softening.

A few moments later, she lay draped across his chest, utterly beautiful in abandon. Her breath warmed his chest, her dark hair spilling over his shoulder, sweat-damp at the temples.

He exhaled slowly, the warmth of her sinking into him, melting the tension from his limbs. Still misted with sweat from their coupling, she molded to his form like she had always been meant to lie in his arms like this. Warm, sated, held against him.

She was sweet—sweeter than he’d ever imagined possible. A balm to an ache he had not realized ran so deep. She soothed and unsettled him all at once, a presence more potent than ambrosia, headier than the richest wine.

The silence was sacred, a quiet harmony of heartbeats and breath. But at last, she stirred.

Her head lifted from his chest, her hair falling like a veil. Her lips were still kiss-swollen as she asked, “What of Tartarus? Where is it?”

Hades brushed a strand of hair back from her brow. “Beyond the temple. It is set apart and within my sight. Its prisoners require... a closer guard.”

She studied him, brow faintly furrowed. “Do you fear them? The Titans?”

“No.” He shifted, tucking one arm behind his head. “They were defeated long ago.”

“But you do not fear they will escape?”

His hand had been moving idly along the length of her spine. At her question, he paused, considering .

“The Underworld is not easily breached,” he said at last. “Only one has ever succeeded. But Tartarus? It is a prison without a door, and few have dared to try. Koios, the Titan of wisdom, came the closest just after their imprisonment.”

“What happened?”

He glanced down at her. Her cheek was nestled against his bicep, her gaze fixed on him, filled with quiet wonder.

“He was forced back,” Hades replied. “By Cerberus.”

At the name, her body stilled. He felt the flicker of tension in her limbs, the faint quickening of her breath.

He understood.

She had forgotten him—Cerberus. The guardian of every threshold and gate had remained hidden from her. Hades had made certain of that. The beast would come later. Not now. Not yet.

“And there are others,” she said, more realization than question.

His hand was still against her bare back, his gaze returning to her. “I do not want you frightened.”

The words were quietly spoken but edged with iron. He felt them even as he said them—that tightening within him, fierce and possessive, as he thought of her afraid. Here, in her home. Her kingdom.

Her eyes warmed. She pressed closer to his side, tucking herself further into the curve of his body. “I won’t be,” she whispered against his skin. “I wish to know.”

He watched her for a long moment before turning to his side, drawing her into him. She was small in the cradle of his arm, her body warm where it met his, their legs tangling like ivy. He let his eyes fall closed, savoring the feel of her against him.

“Kronos is there,” he said finally. “And his brothers—Hyperion, Krios, Iapetus. Atlas, son of Iapetus, suffers elsewhere, bound to his punishment. And there are others. Warlords, tyrants, beasts... creatures twisted by hate, born of evil.”

Her fingers rose, brushing the edge of his jaw. “Can a creature truly be born evil?”

Hades turned slightly into her touch. “Yes. Typhon.”

The name seemed to darken the air.

Typhon, the last monstrous child of Gaia. Born of fury, bred for ruin. The same ancient, malevolent terror who had nearly shorn Olympus from the earth .

His hand drifted absently to the old scar just beneath his collarbone. A jagged line etched deep above the plane of his pectoral, like a relic carved into stone.

She followed the motion. Then, her fingers found his, interlacing them as she guided his hand aside. “What happened here?” she asked.

He caught her wrist, rotating it until his eyes found the faint gold scar etched across her upper arm from Alecto’s whip.

“The same that happened to you,” he said darkly. “But mine came long before. In the battle against Typhon.”

Her eyes changed then—darkening, deepening like storm-touched seas. Slowly, she rose. Her thigh slid intimately against his as she pushed herself upright until she was sitting beside him. Her hair slipped forward as she leaned over him.

His gaze slid appreciatively over the curve of her breasts, the dusky peaks barely veiled by the dark cascade. The sight sent heat stirring low and sharp along his spine.

“Typhon did this to you?”

Persephone’s eyes were fixed on the old scar. He wrenched his gaze back to hers.

“Yes,” he said, rougher now. “Our battle with him was long… brutal. In the end, it was Zeus who struck the killing blow as Typhon and I grappled on Mount Orthys.” His fingers slid over her knee where it rested against his hip, tracing the curve. “We were victorious, but not without difficulty.”

She frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Typhon is a beast of unmatched fury. A hundred heads, each spitting fire and venom. His breath scorched mountains, wings blotted out the sun. On Orthys, I held him long enough for Zeus to strike.”

He left the worst unsaid, but the memory still burned brightly. The force behind every blow he’d landed, bones cracking and earth roiling beneath Typhon as he bore the beast’s wrath until the moment came.

Typhon’s black talon had torn through him, ripping into his chest, divine blood spilling hot over shattered rock. Poison laced with flame had surged into his veins, agonizing, searing.

Then the sky had cracked open with a scream of lightning.

Typhon had fallen.

Now the foul creature wasted away in Tartarus, rotting in the deepest pit of darkness. And he would remain there, until the stars rained from the sky .

Persephone’s eyes traced the scar on his chest. It was jagged and gold, carved into immortal flesh. A wound neither time nor divinity could erase.

Her fingers rose, hovering. Then she leaned in. Her hair fell across his chest like silk, her lips pressing softly to the scar he’d borne for eons. A touch light as breath. Fleeting, yet devastating.

It undid him. The heat that surged through him eclipsed memory and pain—not merely desire but devotion, aching and wild.

With fluid grace, he sat up, his hands sliding to her hips as he guided her into his lap. She came easily, her knees bracketing his hips, breath hitching as her body settled against his. They fit together with easy intimacy, chest to chest, breath to breath.

He held her there, his eyes searching hers. Then he bent his head, his lips brushing the steady thrum of her pulse. His voice spilled roughly against her skin. “This realm will fall to ash and ruin before I allow harm to touch you.”

The earth answered. A tremor moved beneath them, deep and slow. Like a beast shifting in sleep. As though the realm itself had heard its king’s oath—

And bowed at her feet.