Chapter 29
Elara dabbed carefully at the gash, her fingers brushing against his skin. Each accidental touch sent a strange warmth skittering up her arm, something she tried to ignore, but it was impossible with him watching her so intently.
Finally, unable to bear his silence, she muttered, "You should have someone else do this. Someone... more capable."
"Yet here you are," Hades replied, his tone quiet, almost amused.
She swallowed, keeping her focus fixed on the cloth. "Only because you clearly weren't going to."
There was a pause. His voice dropped lower, velvet and unyielding. "Then tell me—why do you care if I do?"
Her hand stilled. Her heart leapt into her throat. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to his, and the weight of his gaze nearly unraveled her.
"I don't know," she whispered honestly. "I just... didn't want to see you hurt."
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The fire crackled. Her pulse raced.
Hades tilted his head, studying her as though she were a riddle he longed to solve. "Strange," he murmured, "to hear those words from you. Do you realize how rare it is that anyone worries for me?"
Elara looked back down quickly, returning to her task, but her cheeks burned. "Maybe they should more often."
The faintest smile ghosted his lips, gone as soon as it came. He did not press her further, though his mind swirled with questions he dared not ask.
When she finished bandaging the wound, she leaned back, exhaling as though she had been holding her breath the entire time. "There. Try not to make it worse."
"As you command," he said, a flicker of dry humor lacing his voice.
She rolled her eyes, gathering the supplies quickly, desperate to put space between them before she lost her composure entirely. "Get some rest."
He leaned back against the headboard, still watching her as though he could see through every wall she tried to build. "And you, Elara Everwyn, should be more careful. Not all wounds are so easily mended."
Her hand faltered on the doorknob. She didn't look back, though her heart hammered so hard it ached. Without another word, she slipped out, the door shutting softly behind her.
Hades sat in silence long after, his hand lifting absently to touch the fresh bandage, but his mind lingered only on her—her trembling fingers, the flush of her cheeks, the way she had looked at him not as a god, but as a man who could bleed.
And for the first time in centuries, he was not certain which unsettled him more—her compassion... or his hunger for it.