Chapter 12 Hades
Hades
In the darkness, I head outside to the beach.
The moon is high, scattering shadows over the sand dunes across the grotto.
It’s still sticky and warm outside and the water stretches out before me like a dark, sleek cloud.
I listen to it lap gently against the shore as I disrobe.
First my shoes, then my pants. I glance back at the house for a moment before I unbutton my shirt and slide it off, carefully folding it and placing it on top of my pants.
As I take off my boxer briefs, I try not to shiver at the unusual sensation of wind brushing against my back.
The scars on my back form an intricate, crisscrossed pattern, all the way from one side of my back to the other.
There are even some stray marks that go down to my elbows and even my wrists.
My father was too drunk to be careful when he beat me. And he left behind traces of exactly how weak I was.
The fucking bully in him couldn’t bear to see my weakness.
So, he left me with these scars. Scars that I don’t like anyone to see. Not even my brothers, who were there when the scars were still fresh abrasions and welts.
I prided myself on never flinching or showing any pain then. And my choices in adulthood have only doubled down on that.
No mercy.
No weakness.
No justice. No judges either.
I live my life on the brink of everything. Just outside of normal people’s field of vision, unafraid of their judgements.
I stride coolly down to the water, sinking in as soon as I can.
The water is not refreshing, exactly. But it is warm, warmer even than skin temperature, like being in a giant bathtub that’s only just started to cool off.
I swim out, freestyle stroke, hand over hand, splashing quietly in the water.
I don’t keep track of the distance, merely swimming at a breakneck pace until I have to stop, treading water and gasping for breath.
I dip my head under the water and then resurface, pulling in heavy gasps of air. How alone I am right now, I think. Would anyone really care if I simply did not ever make it back to the shore?
I probably couldn’t kill myself like this. As I tread water, I think about my brothers. They still need me, whether they’d like to admit it or not. And there is my enemy, Constantine.
I feel the prickling, burning need to see his little empire burn to the ground. It would happen. That much was certain.
All that was left was for me to watch, like Nero watching Rome crumble before his very eyes.
I turn around, bobbing my head under the water one last time. Then I swim back to shore, moving more slowly this time. When my feet hit the sandy ocean shore, I dash the water from my face. I make it halfway out of the water before I realize I am not alone.
Standing next to my pile of discarded clothes is Persephone. She cocks her head and takes in my naked torso, glistening and bare under the sultry glow of the moon.
She’s wearing the silky black dress that I remember seeing earlier, her breasts only held in place by the fragile spaghetti straps of her top. The sweater that I remember is nowhere to be seen. She seems to glow in the moonlight, as if lit from within.
“I wondered whether you were awake,” she ventures, her voice carrying the ten yards between us with ease.
“And now that ye’ve found me… are ye satisfied?” I ask. I realize that I am hovering in the water, behaving like an idiot. Like a teenaged boy, too scared of being naked in front of a girl.
That won’t do.
I surge forward, moving out of the water. Persephone licks her lips, glancing nervously toward my cock once. Her pupils dilate, just a hair. Then she flushes and diverts her gaze.
She doesn’t leave, though. She just… waits.
I stalk up the beach, snatching my black boxer briefs off the ground and stepping into them. Once I have them on, I pick up my shirt. Persephone turns and her eye catches on the scars covering my back.
Her jaw goes slack. She reaches out, her fingers barely touching the back of my muscular arm. “What… what?”
“Stop,” I warn her, pulling away. My tone turns lethal. “Dinnae touch me.”
Her hazel eyes are wide with disbelief as she keeps looking. “Does… does that hurt?”
“It’s fine,” I hiss. I yank at my shirt, but my wet skin stops it on my forearms. It’s halfway on and my hands are shaky as they pull at the material. “Fucking hell.”
“Hades,” she says, her voice plaintive. “Wait. Please.”
At that, my breath seizes. I grimace at the ground, torn.
I want her to look away. I want her to not have seen the scars.
But her melodic voice, at just that soft timbre… that makes it hard to keep moving away from her.
Persephone looks me in the eye, moving her hand ever so slowly until her fingers touch the back of my arm. She waits, perhaps checking to see if I am going to cry out or lose my cool. But when I simply don’t react, I can feel the heat of her fingers tracing an arc across my back.
I have the sudden, violent urge to physically make her stop. To whirl, grab her hand, bend her fingers back until she cries out in pain.
But I don’t. I’m not my father.
I just stand here, my hand clenching into fists, my eyes sinking closed.
Persephone's voice is hesitant. Shaky, even.
“How did you get these scars, Hades?”
I weigh my options. Lie? Tell the truth? Something in between?
A minute passes while I wrestle with what to tell her. Finally, I just tell her what I am able to.
“I was a child,” I say, my voice gone to gravel. “Dinnae ask me for more.”
I feel the warmth of her hand dip to my lower back. Spreading her fingers, she trails her touch up my spine. “This is okay, right?”
I shiver. My thoughts are a tangled snare of dark, unnamed emotions. I can’t formulate any words. So, I just nod stiffly.
To be touched like this… Persephone's delicate fingers trace the lines of my scars as they arc across my flesh, back and forth. Almost no one has seen my scars since I was a kid.
To have this woman bear witness, to have her touch my back and ask me gentle questions about how they came to be…
It is both pleasurable to an extreme degree and at the same time deeply humiliating. My body almost hums at her innocent touch. But in the very next thought, I want to kill her for taking such liberties with me.
That doesn’t stop me from leaning into her touch. The sensation of her fingers touching the skin of my back… even the girls I fuck don’t touch me like this. I never take my shirt off, doing the deed quickly and in dark places where my wearing a shirt doesn’t really matter at all.
Persephone brings her other hand up, rubbing away a knot of tension just beneath my right shoulder blade. The sensation switches from heavenly to painful, then from overwhelming to eyes-rolling-up-in-my-skull blissful.
I can’t get enough.
Her touch is killing me.
I must have more of it.
Finally, when I can’t bear another second of her touch, I lurch away from her.
“Enough,” I grit out. “Get away from me, lass.”
“Hades—” She clings to my arm.
I rear up, whirling to face her. I get close to her face, my entire body trembling, my chest heaving. “Dinnae,” I grit out, a single word of warning.
Persephone's mouth opens, poised to say something. My gazes slides down as if drawn by sheer magnetism, fixing on her pink lips. I pull my shirt up onto my shoulders, provoked by her very presence.
It’s only the work of a second to spear my hand in the back of her hair. My fingers pull her head back, my mouth descending to press against hers. Her lips are tense, and she makes a tiny sound of shock. The second I brush her mouth, I know that there is no going back.
The honeyed heat of Persephone’s lips. The crisp, wet slide of the tip of my tongue against hers. The scent of her in my nose, floral, clean and delicate.
The unintended noise I make in the back of my throat, halfway between a growl and a purr.
But the most shocking part is the fact that, after a moment of utter surprise, she kisses me back. Her hands curl in the darkness of my shirt as she tugs me closer.
I love her reaction every bit as much as I am disgusted by the whole interaction. I allow myself a few seconds of bliss, working my tongue and lips against hers, breathing her in.
And then I pull away, my chest heaving, pushing her back a step.
“What the fuck?” I ask. “No. That’s not… I shouldn’t be kissing ye.”
I catch a glimpse of her face. She wipes her lips and looks at me out of the corner of her eyes, bewildered. Her expression slips into a careful mask, giving nothing away. She watches as I redress, buttoning my shirt and yanking my pants up my legs.
I clear my throat, feeling that it is stuffed full of that same dark, needy, unnamed tangle of emotions. Persephone pushes out her bottom lip and considers me after I get my shoes on.
“Hades.”
I glance up at her, a sigh on my lips. “Aye.”
“Thank you for…” She gestures, looking for the right word. “Trusting me. To touch your back, I mean.”
I shoot her a tiny glare. “I dinnae trust ye, Persephone. I dinnae trust any woman. Ye all lie. Ye all manipulate. Ye all act innocent when ye know yer at fault.” I finish tying my shoe and rise, pulling myself to my full height, stepping toward her.
I stand over her, making myself the dominant one once more.
I pin her to the spot with only my prickly stare. “Ye just happened to walk out here at the right time.”
She looks up at me, swallowing thickly. Showing signs of nervousness, which is just what I wanted. Her mouth twists with a mote of displeasure.
“I see you, Hades. It’s taken me a while, but I can make out your angles and corners now. Don’t think I haven’t seen you looking at me with a longing expression when you think I’m not paying attention.”
My answer is a derisive huff of laughter. “I haven’t been longing for anyone. I dinnae long.”
The tiniest smirk crosses her expressive mouth. “I’ve got your number.”
Rolling my eyes, I shoot her a final glare. Then I bump her shoulder with mine as I stalk back toward the house.