Chapter 38
Eros
The color of the gown Hera was wearing had transformed from the light shade of powder pink to a shade of deep, dark crimson.
The instant she attempted to scream again, her expression contorted as she removed her fist from her chest, her fingers curled around her heart.
Her face retained the same grimace, her eyes reflecting the agonizing pain that she was being forced to endure.
The very last breath that resided within her lungs escaped and struck him in the face, signaling that the life in her eyes had finally vanished.
His brow arched, unbothered. Eros’s gaze dropped to her hand, and he released a satisfied chuckle at the sight of the beating heart pulsating against her fingers.
With no warning, Hera’s body dropped to the floor, and the organ rolled away on the mat, finally coming to a stop just inches from his feet.
“I trust your husband and brother is now dead,” he stated slowly, scrutinizing her lifeless body.
All that was needed was a cautious movement of his hand, allowing his fingers to grip the heart and raise it to his face to analyze it better.
One last heartbeat resonated through his hand with a quiet stubbornness, its soft echoes bringing forth memories of a time when it held tremendous strength.
He clutched the organ with a tighter grip. Yet his heart started racing, as if it was on the verge of bursting from his chest.
Charisma.
The second heartbeat caught his attention as it came irregular, unsteady, and wavered, presenting itself as a tremor instead of a proper beat.
As his heart rate sped up, he instinctively reached out with his other hand, seeking the spot where he could most easily feel the rhythm of his pulse.
Charisma, what is happening to you?
The last pulse faded and a horrifying, paralyzing silence fell upon him as his own heart seemed to die at the same time.
Suddenly, he was overwhelmed by a flash of absolute terror that seemed to freeze every cell within his body as all the surrounding noises dissolved into a quiet stillness.
As if a searing wire was pulled taut just beneath the surface of his skin, he experienced a sharp pain in his neck, and each breath he took felt stolen.
He tried to shout as his mouth opened, but no words came out. With pain blossoming, he instinctively raised his hands to his neck, seeking to find some relief from the ache that was intensifying and spreading upward to his jaw.
The entire scenery of Hera’s murder began to dim at the edges, all the colors draining. The pain fragmented him into sharp pieces.
And then, it all suddenly ceased.
He released the deep breath that he had been holding within his lungs, his fingers beginning to scratch against his chest, and his hand eventually releasing its grip on the lifeless heart of Hera.
The instant he felt his pulse thrum within him again, a flurry of painful stings descended upon his eyes as tears involuntarily rolled down his cheeks.
Then he lowered his head toward his chest. Only at that moment did the full extent of his pain become clear to him. The sensation was similar to breaking his neck; however, his neck was not injured.
“No,” he whispered, his voice cracking.
The moment he put his hands on his chest to convince himself that Charisma’s heart had only stopped for a moment before beginning to beat again, the darkness within him began to stir.
A part of his rational mind was aware that this was not what occurred, but he was unwilling to accept it.
Denial had a hold on him, and he was becoming more and more entrenched within it with the ticking of each second.
His gaze dropped to his hands, and with a sudden, accelerated motion, he pulled up the sleeve of his left arm, only to observe that the bonding mark was gradually disappearing into his skin.
His shattering shout seemed to break him, as though his soul had been torn apart into millions of pieces, each one still holding the love that he felt for Charisma Sinclair—his bonded, now gone.
An uncontrollable tremble engulfed his hands as the darkness further dimmed his vision, while the last remnants of his soul exuded a howl of agonizing pain that reverberated within each cell of his body.
As he shut his eyes, another scream erupted from his mouth, while his mind was slowly altering the puzzle pieces that were once keeping him sane.
Not only did their bond embodied love, but it also reflected the tenets of law. And in the world of gods, any transgression carried an everlasting price no one knew until it was due to be paid.
The striking recollection of Charisma’s death pushed out the shadows of grief that awakened in him after losing Psyche.
The moment of his final damnation and utter destruction had at long last arrived, and Eros finally collapsed on the floor.
“A heart for a heart, but one was lost in vain because your plan went awry.” The voice of the man whom Eros hoped to be dead filled the room.
The sound of a body hitting the floor with a sickening thud reverberated throughout the room, coming to rest near Eros.
The god, after hearing the noise, slowly turned his head to observe what had landed beside him.
The sight of the scarlet locks, which he had once held in his hands, were now strewn across the floor.
In a movement that was nearly devoid of emotion, he extended his arm toward her body.
The emptiness of her piercing, open eyes became forever etched into his soul, intensifying the ache lingering inside him.
Upon the instant that he touched her cold cheek, his gaze turned toward the place where Zeus had been standing before vanishing.
His palm came atop her head, his vision blurring.
She did not resemble the Charisma he was familiar with.
Her eyes were like two dark pools, devoid of life.
Utterly motionless, as if time had stopped.
Refraining from making a clever comment.
That couldn’t have been her. That was not his Charisma.
Charisma might swat his hand, huff with an eye roll, or even lightly tease him about his affections.
“Please, I implore you, don’t do this to me.” He shook her shoulders, yelling, but she stood frozen, silent, and unmoving. Her eyes refused to open, and the world became dark. He whispered, “Please,” his voice raspy as his head fell, and his cheek pressed against the curve of her neck.
He pressed his ear against her stiffened flesh, hoping that he would hear the beating of her heart. A frigid gust escaped his lips, and goose bumps erupted as he strained to hear any sign of life. But her heart was not beating.
“I beg you, tell me that this is just one of your terrible jokes,” he continued, begging for her to wake up.
But she did not.
As he shut his eyes, the shadow within him began to dominate his speech, and said, “I will count to three, my bonded, and you will end this joke.”
He took a deep breath in, still keeping his eyes closed. “One . . . two . . .” He paused briefly, his breath stopping for mere moments as if waiting for Charisma to burst out in laughter at him. “Three.”
And there was . . . nothing.
A searing pain exploded in his chest, each beat a violent throb that threatened to tear him asunder as the finality of Charisma’s absence crashed down.
Eros felt a warm, viscous flow coursing from his chest, a visceral reminder of the bond’s magic siphoning Charisma’s remaining essence from his veins.
He clutched his chest, the sharp jabs stealing his breath and leaving him gasping for air.
As the howling wind entered the room, it slammed against the windows, which immediately exploded into a million pieces. The house seemed to exhale a mournful sigh as he took Charisma’s lifeless body into his arms.
The darkness had entirely consumed his soul, obliterating the last glimmer of light that was kept alive by the hope of bringing his bonded back.