12. Persephone’s garden #2
Aiden stands in the open doorway behind me, one shoulder resting against the stone frame.
He isn’t wearing his suit jacket today; or, at least, not once he came looking for me and can shed the mantle of Hades as easily as he can his outer layer.
The sleeves of his shadow-black shirt are rolled to his elbows, revealing the dark wisps of shadow that spiral over his forearms; the ones that constantly appear even when he’s being Aiden and not just Hades.
The top buttons hang open as though he started undressing, prepared to change into another identical, old-fashioned suit, and got distracted halfway through.
By me, probably.
He watches me constantly now.
Not in the suffocating way I would have expected from a man who spent eighty years waiting for a dead wife to return. He watches like he still doesn’t trust his own eyes. Like he thinks I might disappear if he looks away too long.
I know he hates having to leave me to go tend to his duties as the Lord of the Underworld.
Persephone tells me that, once I accept that I’m his queen, I’ll be expected to take my place on the second throne in the megaron and help him rule.
For now, while I’m insistent on eating the ambrosia and nothing else…
while I act as though I could leave tomorrow even if the magic refuses to let me…
my domain is the rest of the palace and the grounds around it, not the space where Hades makes damning decisions for the dead.
I shake my head. “No.”
His gaze drops to my sandals, then shifts toward the railing I’m leaning against. “You sure?”
I nod.
“Good.” He pushes away from the doorway. “‘Cause it’s a long way down, and I’d have to go after you.”
“You can fly?” Hang on. “Can I fly?”
“No. We’d both survive anyway. The Underworld won’t let its rulers take the easy way out, but that wouldn’t stop me from tryin’ to cushion your fall.”
A lump lodges in my throat. Within the last month or so, Aiden’s gone from a quiet, wary shadow to a man who says stuff like that.
Just a quick reference to how he must’ve tried to commit suicide in the time after he arrived in the Other, followed by a quiet pronouncement that made it clear that he…
he’s all in. If I told him right now that I wanted to accept the position as his soulmate, I think he would let out a sigh of relief and start planning our gothic wedding down in the Underworld.
But then I would be queen, and I’d never get to leave, and I may be an impulsive romantic at heart, but could I really leave the life I knew for the god of the Underworld fate—and Persephone—says is meant to be my husband?
Then again, all it takes is a look over my shoulder at his sculpted profile and the longing I see in his dark eyes—probably similar to the way I was just looking at the roses—and I start to think what if…
Aiden stalks over to me, moving to my side. He rests both hands on the railing beside mine.
He smiles as our hands brush, the same familiar jolt that happens every time we touch reminding me that we have some kind of fated tie, but the slight curve to his lips doesn’t last. His attention roves over my face before his sharp jaw goes tight, and I know he’s noticed the shadows beneath my eyes.
I didn’t sleep much last night. Now that Aiden’s bed is my bed, Sir leaves the Furies at the gate to guard for him for a few hours every night.
In his puppy form, he tries his best to help me out by wedging himself against my stomach, shoving me back against the slumbering Aiden while snoring directly into my ribs, but every time I close my eyes to get some sleep myself, I see Daphne standing inside my apartment with my phone in her hand and angry tears in her green eyes.
Showing that, in the last two-and-a-half months, he’s really gotten to know me, Aiden lifts his hand, cupping my chin. “You’re thinkin’ about home.”
It isn’t a question. Then again, he doesn’t usually ask questions he doesn’t already know the answer to.
I nod.
He doesn’t tell me not to. He never does.
When I think about it, besides how easily he’s managed to worm his way under my skin and into my heart just by giving me as much time as I need, that might be the most dangerous thing about him.
If Aiden demanded that I stay, I could hate him for it.
If he locked me inside this palace instead of letting me explore, if he force-fed me pomegranate seeds or any other food from the Underworld, or told me that what I wanted didn’t matter because Persephone once loved Hades, then I would know exactly who—and what—he is.
Instead, he calls me “Blossom”, sleeps next to me while never making a move even when I can sense he wants to, and he does everything to get to know Willow. Not Persephone. Willow.
And then, when I talk about Daphne, my students, or the tiny apartment I used to think of as a temporary place to hide, he listens as though each detail matters simply because it belongs to me and I’m all that matters to him. Me and my happiness.
But what about his?
“What if she thinks I left?” I ask.
“She won’t,” he murmurs softly, stroking the underside of my jaw with his long, slender fingers.
Despite his ability to conjure hellfire—what I call the flames of the Underworld because it amuses the Catholic Aiden for me to think of this place as hell even though Hades and Persephone both don’t appreciate it—he always feels so cold.
I have this instinct to warm him up however I can, and I lean into him as I say softly, “You don’t know Daphne. ”
“Yes, but I know you, Blossom.”
Blossom. At first, I thought he gave me the nickname because he was afraid to call me Persephone and he didn’t think of me as a woman named Willow.
That didn’t last long. It became obvious that it was a pet name chosen just for me, especially when I asked Persephone if it was a name from Hades for her.
No. It was a name from Aiden for me.
Darn it. You wouldn’t expect it from him, but he’s sweet.
He’s awkward in his way, too. I don’t know if my attempts to flirt with him make him uncomfortable because he doesn’t like it or because he doesn’t expect it; eventually, I accept it’s because he isn’t used to it and doesn’t think I’d be interested in him no matter what the so-called “magic” in the Other said.
And, when I’m struggling, he knows exactly what to say to put my soul at ease.
His expression remains fixed on my face, jaw tight enough that I can see the muscle shifting beneath his skin even as his touch remains gentle on mine.
“You wouldn’t leave someone you love without explainin’,” he says. “She knows that, too.”
“But she doesn’t know where I am,” I point out. “If I’m safe or I’m hurt… she doesn’t know that I’m happy.”
Whoops. That… uh. That just slipped out, didn’t it?
Aiden’s fingers stop moving. He sucks in a breath, eyes flashing from black to white and back again.
I hold one of my own.
I don’t know much about this man. Everything I know about Hades comes from my old middle school mythology phase, plus all the lives that Persephone shared with him and the memories she shared with me.
But Aiden… he’s careful. As though he’s afraid I’ll run if he opens himself up to me, he’s more determined to keep his attention on learning about me than sharing anything about himself.
But that? When his eyes flicker that way? The black belongs to my Aiden; and, yes, he’s my Aiden. But the white? That’s when Hades peeks out of Aiden’s face.
It’s never for long. Aiden is strong enough to battle back even such a powerful god. Me? I’m lucky. Persephone is the goddess of spring, and she’s content just being in the Underworld for now. Hades wants more, I’m sure he does, and Aiden… he just wants me to be happy.
And I just told him I was.
He strokes my skin again, and I exhale softly. “I know you’re worried about your cousin, and I hate that it bothers ya. I can’t fight the magic. If I could, I would, but until then… I’ll find a way to get a message to her. Somehow. Some way.”
“You can do that?”
He thinks for a moment. “I’m not sure, but there’s gotta be a way.
I could find someone who knows how time’s movin’ mirrorside.
Hermes, if he’s around. Even Zeus if he shows up again.
Maybe one of the dead… I don’t know, maybe like this shade of a physicist who spent his whole life thinkin’ about this kinda thing before he ended up here because he was Hercules reborn. ”
In spite of myself, I smile. “You have dead physicists in the Underworld?”
“I get everybody eventually, and not all of ‘em were born here. The dead don’t discriminate. It’s just a matter of where I keep ‘em when they’re gone.”
The smile slips from my face the moment the words leave him.
Now, I don’t think he meant for them to sound like a threat, or a reminder that death isn’t just a bureaucracy here and he’s the boss.
No, he’s the Lord of the Underworld, and if I stay here, the only people I’ll ever see again will be the dead.
He lets go of me, taking a step back, an apology already to his lips. “Willow, I’m sorry. If that upset you—”
It did, and I’m not really sure why. “Don’t worry about it, Aiden. I’m fine.”
I don’t think I am, and he can tell.
“No.” He scrubs a hand over his mouth. “It ain’t. I keep wantin’ you to think of me as Aiden, and what do I do? Throw it in your face that I’m Hades and there’s no one who chooses Hades.”
Uh-oh. There are those white eyes again. Gone just as quickly, I’m relieved when the black returns because… he’s right. I don’t want Hades.
I want Aiden.