9. Chapter 9
Chapter nine
Corre
B eing confined to her room was the worst way she could have spent the twenty-four hours following her encounter with Theron, but Corre didn’t have a choice. She didn’t want to cross her mother again. She was already worried she’d lost her trust. The least she could do was listen to her and follow through with the juvenile punishment, even if she was an adult who had genuinely tried to do the right thing.
I guess it is an apt punishment for her level of fury , Corre thought. I mean, what could be worse than being forced to think about that wretched encounter? Theron’s face appeared in her mind, and she remembered how it felt for him to pour his shadow over her—to feel the warmth of his body so close to hers.
She wasn’t disgusted or afraid. She was excited .
She groaned and twisted in her bed, plunging herself beneath her pillow. “This is so dumb. What’s wrong with me?”
She flopped her arms out in a T-shape, her face buried into the mattress. She should be ashamed of these feelings. The God of Death had burrowed into her mind, had practically tortured Athena and Phineas, and she was excited about him? What did that say about her?
She rolled over and stared at the wooden boards staggered across her ceiling. Am I a bad person? She had no answer for that but chalked it up to the adrenaline of the situation. She was terrified when she first saw him. When he’d walked closer and closer to her. When he peered into her eyes. Those brown, brooding eyes that contained every shadow of the Underworld. He’d cast them over her through his enchantingly dark stare.
“That’s it,” she said flatly, inspecting the grooves in the wood above her. “It was the rush of nerves.” She let out a heavy sigh. Her theory was a good one, and it was the one she was going with. She wasn’t completely convinced, but she’d worry about that another time. She didn’t want to dig too deeply into her psyche. Not right now. Plus, she’d never see him again anyway, so what did it matter?
Her thoughts dissipated when a knock sounded at the door.
“Come in.”
The door creaked open. “Are you doing okay?”
Corre rolled her head to face her mother. “Meeting the God of the Underworld and then being forced to relive it for an entire day is a new form of torture, I think.”
The older goddess let out a sigh and closed the door behind her. Phineas had immediately skittered home after the confrontation, leaving Corre and her mother alone in the cottage with a thick air of contention that followed the young Persephone into her room.
The slight goddess took a seat next to Corre on the bed, creating a small wave that bobbed her daughter’s head against the sheets. Berenice brushed the frizzed knot that was coming undone on the back of Corre’s head. Her hand stilled on her daughter’s cheek. “I’m sorry, but you don’t understand. The power of Hades is unmatchable. He’s capable of things you couldn’t even comprehend.”
“How do you know I can’t comprehend it? Maybe I’m more capable than you give me credit for.”
Her mother’s smile softened, and she knew what she was thinking. She was thinking Corre was being na?ve. She always thought she was being na?ve. But what if she wasn’t? What if she was the only one who could see this situation clearly? See through Theron? That he wasn’t this big bad elusive god that could kill someone with the flick of his hand.
“I don’t know what to tell you that will make you believe me, but I was there. I saw him myself. I can hold my own. I’m alive, aren’t I?”
Berenice patted the back of Corre’s hand. “Yes, but we don’t know why he let you live. I’m sure he had his reasons. And they likely weren’t noble ones.”
Corre gathered her knees to her chest and rested her chin against her kneecaps. “I never said he was noble,” she said. “He’s vile. I just . . . I don’t think he’s as scary as everyone makes him out to be.”
The hand holding Corre’s squeezed tighter. “Corre. You cannot underestimate him. The fact that you think he isn’t frightening proves how cunning he is.”
She sighed. Maybe her mother was right. He certainly had an entrancing ability that made her feel too comfortable with him. Even if she didn’t want him around, she wasn’t scared of him after a few quick words and exchanged glances. I guess that is scary , she thought.
“Then what do I do?”
“You stay away from him. At all costs. He’s dangerous.” Her mother paused and leaned back, her eyes falling far away, as they had the last time the two spoke.
The silence grew long. Corre fidgeted until she couldn’t take it anymore. “What is it?”
“You haven’t seen destruction the way I have,” Berenice whispered. “What gods can do. What demons and Titans are capable of.” She winced, but her eyes were still somewhere else. Somewhere they didn’t want to be. Like she was staring at something she desperately wanted to look away from but was forced to watch.
Corre shook her head. “What are you talking about?”
Berenice’s eyes fastened to her daughter’s. “You . . . don’t remember any of it?”
“Any of what?” Corre studied her mother’s wide eyes, but Berenice didn’t answer.
The silence grew until it nearly choked Corre again. “Mother, can you please stop being cryptic and tell me what’s going on? You’re scaring me.”
The older goddess rubbed the bridge of her nose, the lines on her forehead now engraved in place. “It’s probably better that you don’t remember.”
“No! Please tell me. It’s important I know everything that can help me against Theron.”
“Absolutely not. If that’s what you want the information for, I definitely won’t tell you.”
“Come on! It’s not like I’m going to go out looking for trouble. I just think I should know. Just in case.”
Berenice sighed. “I’m sorry, Corre, but there are some things that are better left unsaid.”
The young goddess’s shoulders dropped. She sighed and let herself fall against the intricate metalwork of her bed’s headboard, the tunnel-like designs digging uncomfortably into her back. Berenice put her hands on her knees and slid off the bed, but before she left, she took one last look at her daughter. “One day, I’m sure you’ll remember it for yourself.”
With that, she closed the door, and Corre was even more lost than before.
Theron
Theron couldn’t focus. He moved through the chamber with agility and precision, but it was all through muscle memory. He couldn’t get his mind to latch onto his training. The creatures looming over him were hungry. Thanatos prepared them to fight by not feeding them for weeks. It’s the best way to make you become the Hades you need to be , he always said.
A ghastly noise like shattering glass pierced the dungeon. With it came a stench so putrid it made Theron’s eyes burn. There were six of them—dragon-like creatures of fire and shadow, all snapping, snarling, and chomping at the bit to get their rows of blood-soaked teeth sunk deep into Theron’s skin.
The long sword at his side was made with a blade of hematite and an ancient mineral found only in Tartarus, with a hilt made of steel. It was long enough that it took the massive god both hands to carry, and the heavy minerals it was forged from made it purposely difficult to wield. It was crucial that he handled it with absolute precision, not only because it was sharpened daily, but because of the power it contained. The Sword of the Underworld was a treasure he’d worked to obtain for years. With it came the power of the God of Death.
It was exactly what he needed to make up for his lack of concentration today. He needed every thought to be centered on his movements with the relic. The ancient mineral at the core of the blade was said to have come from the teeth of the hydra, its venom lining the razor-sharp edges and instantly poisoning those struck by it. There was no room for mistake.
He swung the sword by its gold-encrusted hilt, then quickly pointed it at the closest of the creatures and lunged with all his might. Carefully, he calculated each attack. His movements were swift as he dodged the first creature’s snaps, the others following close behind. It only took one calculated swing to swipe the head clear off the first beast, but as soon as the gaping skull rolled across the rocky dungeon floor, oozing black goo sprayed from the creature’s exposed neck. The headless body writhed frantically.
Theron took a step back, positioning the sword high in his hands. The bodies of the identical creatures writhed with the bleeding, headless one. It was eerie watching them shake in unison like that—bent and popping and unnatural—but he studied them each carefully. He didn’t buckle from the pressure or nerves of what might happen if his next move was the wrong one. He stayed strong and cautious, and as soon as the first of the remaining beasts snapped at him, he ripped through the air and killed it. Unblinking, he listened to his senses and picked off each one after it, fileting scaly flesh and creating a pile of steaming heads in the middle of the dungeon floor.
Once he was sure they were all dead, he took a breath and went over his techniques, playing out every moment of the fight in his head. The task had taken him longer than he’d hoped, but at least it was over now. He knew there would be more beasts, more training, but right now, he could rest. Tired and achy, he moved to his room, his sword vibrating and contracting until it fit securely at his waist.
His quarters were cold and didn’t smell of monster flesh—a welcome change as Theron stalked inside. He peeled off his shirt in a daze. His movements were purely from muscle memory. Clean. Wash. Scrub. Rinse. Dry. Dress . There was no use rushing his nightly routine after his last fight of the day. He’d just have to wake up and do it all again tomorrow.
He fell onto his bed with a relieved sigh and looked up at his hourglass. He’d finished early tonight. “Oh good,” he breathed, stretching out and closing his eyes. Sleep started creeping over him, dulling his senses and relaxing his aching muscles, until the face of that goddess surfaced in his mind. Her freckles like a cluster of stars, dusting her delicate features. Those fiery eyes piercing the darkness.
That familiar burning rushed through his blood, and he couldn’t take it. He needed to see her again. He thought of his master, of his routine and each corridor of his labyrinth. Thoughts brewed in frenzied waves as he formulated a plan, figuring out the exact strategies to go about this.
If he could ensure Thanatos wouldn’t summon him for the day—at least for a few hours—he could leave Tartarus through a less conspicuous entrance. No one would know he slipped out, and he could go see her.
That’s it. It was settled. He was going for it.
He just needed to cover all his bases first.
Corre
It was a new day. Corre could finally breathe in the fresh air of the pastel garden outside the cottage. She crouched to inspect a new hyacinth her mother must have stress-grown. Her hand slid to the grass. I don’t feel like creating anything today . The emotion was strong, but she was hollow.
Her thoughts were too messy—too clogged with curiosity from the fear in her mother’s shaky voice. Theron was dangerous. There was no doubt about it. He’d used his cunning abilities to enrapture her. Even now, it was hard for her to avoid the thought of his eyes on her leg and his body nearly touching hers.
Her fingers absently found the smooth petals of another new flower. Berenice did that often—stress-worked. When her mind was brimming with anxiety, she poured it into the powers she was granted when given her title of Demeter. She was the only goddess, to Corre’s knowledge, who was given an ability, rather than being born with it—she wasn’t born to be Demeter, like Corre was Persephone.
After Corre’s parents disappeared, the gods had to improvise. She was never told what happened exactly, but she knew Berenice was chosen to take her in and was given the title of Demeter to help her. Every second wave of Great Ones had to have a mentor who ensured they would properly fulfill their callings and be ready to take on their titles when the time came. But Demeter was the title of her mother, not a mentor. Though her biological mother had vanished, along with her title, to Corre, Berenice was both.
What the young goddess didn’t understand was why Berenice had more of her gift than Corre did. Whenever she was distressed or confused, she was useless. Even on her best days, she couldn’t create half as breathtaking a plant as her adopted mother could make on her bad days.
Corre sprawled out on the grass, letting the soft blanket of green warm her body, breathing in the sweet scent of the lilies outlining her frame. The divine concoction of scents usually lifted her spirits at least some, but not today. This is hopeless . Her eyes focused on the clouds churning above her head. What am I even doing?
“I knew I’d find you here.”
Corre’s stomach dropped. That voice. She sprung up, her rosy hair falling loosely between her shoulder blades. Standing there in front of her, right outside her home, was Theron. Her eyes darted to the cottage.
“Don’t worry,” he said, his deep voice pooling through her ears. “I’m not here for anyone but you.”
She didn’t move, but her eyes followed him as he approached, dressed all in black, a cape billowing behind him and brushing against his ankles. He moved in careful strides. There was a hint of a smirk on his face, a mischievous smile that made her stomach flip.
She tore her eyes from him to look around, but she didn’t know what she was looking for. Nothing could help her now, and she didn’t want to get anyone else involved. By the time she looked back at him, he was standing above her, his shadow casting over her like a lethal umbrella.
She sucked in a deep, shaky breath and rose to her feet. “What do you want?” Her eyes fixed on his. She didn’t want to miss anything—a flinch or sudden flicker in his face. Anything that could indicate his next move.
He chuckled, and when that smirk turned into a gentler smile, she had to look away. Her skin burned. Why was the God of Death so good-looking? That, in and of itself, was a travesty. It should have been against some rule. That Hades’ gaze couldn’t make a goddess so weak in the knees.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he said, and the rich darkness of his voice melted her insides. Her gaze gravitated back to his. She wanted to quip back with a witty reply, but she couldn’t speak. Any comeback was stuck behind a large lump lodged in the back of her throat. “I wanted to see you.” The words crashed into her like a thrashing wave.
“Why?” She forgot to breathe as he crept closer.
He tugged on each finger of his black glove until it slid off his large hand. “You intrigue me, Correlia.” She stepped back, ignoring the sound of her name on his lips.
“Well . . .” she began, but words were a concept so far from her now. He didn’t look at her as he pulled off his other glove, but then his dark eyes snapped to hers, and her body froze in place. “Well, you don’t intrigue me ,” she managed to hiss.
“That’s okay. I just needed to see you.” His voice rumbled against her chest. Heat coursed through her, and she desperately tried to ignore how hard it was to breathe. His fingers caught hold of a loose strand of her hair, and it was hard to do anything, let alone think.
“Why?” She tried hard to catch her breath. It felt like she’d just run through the entire woods and back again. “What could you possibly gain from seeing me?”
His smile dropped, but his eyes stayed on the hair twirling between his fingertips. “There’s something about you I can’t get out of my head. Something I desire.” The words came out like a purr.
Her knees wobbled. “What?”
“Something is off about you, Correlia, and I need to find out what it is.” His voice was liquid silk in her ears, deep and smooth. He was so close she could feel his breath on her lips. Another moment ticked by where they didn’t say a thing. The corner of his mouth tipped up, and he let his hand fall along her jawline, his touch white-hot as his fingers swept across her skin.
“Something’s off about you, too,” she whispered, breathless, “but I already know what it is.”
“Oh?” His hand fell to her bare shoulder, and her mind temporarily fizzed to a stop. “And what’s that?”
She shook off his hand and stepped away. “You’re sick ,” she hissed, “And you can’t be trusted. You’re not even really a god. You’re a monster .” The muscles in his jaw clenched, his eyes turning into sweltering torches. She expected him to snap back, but instead, he evened his breaths and looked away.
She didn’t get it. Why did he care about staying so composed in front of her? He was a bloodthirsty madman. One of those evil gods banished from Mt. Olympus, denounced and deemed to do the dirty work no true god would ever do. A god of decay and darkness. What game was he playing with her?
“I’ve heard the stories,” she continued. “Of how many you’ve killed. How you show no mercy. How you have no one by your side but your lackeys and demons and your twisted mentor, whose only purpose is to make you a monster.”
Darkness flashed in his eyes. “ Stories ,” he scoffed. “You’ve heard stories . You really are as na?ve as you look.” The word pinched something in Corre’s skull.
“I am not na?ve.”
He laughed and stepped forward, lowering his face. “I see I’ve struck a nerve.”
“ No , I just don’t like being underestimated. That’s all.” She crossed her arms, but her legs trembled. Not because she was scared. She wasn’t sure what it was from, but she knew the proximity of his body to hers and the flutter of his cape against her skin wasn’t helping.
“You’re mistaken,” he said, his voice low. Each word spilled out like melting syrup. “I don’t underestimate you. I think you underestimateme.”
“What could I have said to make you think that? I told you I know how ruthless you are.”
“Exactly.”
She blinked. “What?”
“You think I’m some sort of beast.” His head shook slowly, the inky waves of his hair swaying above his shoulders. “But I’m not.” The richness of his voice was enticing. Seductive. He trailed his fingers down the slope of her neck, letting them venture to her collarbone. She gasped involuntarily, and goosebumps flashed across her skin.
“You are ,” she said, quickly stepping away. She prayed to the Titans that he hadn’t heard her gasp. “And I still don’t understand what you’re saying.”
A smile tugged on his lips. “Has anyone ever told you that your eyelids flutter when you’re flustered?”
Her skin flushed. “I am not flustered.”
His head tilted back with a short, carefree laugh. “You’re so cute. So easily riled up.”
“Excuse me?” She wished she’d said something wittier, but she’d never been in a situation like this before. Her skin was hot, her mind frazzled.
He stroked her collarbone with two of his fingers. “I said you’re cute.” The bass of his voice, and the touch of his skin, sent a flurry of confusing messages through her body.
“Th-that’s not what I was saying."
He leaned forward, his hand sliding to the nape of her neck. Warmth pooled through her, heating every inch of her skin as he tipped his face down and tugged at the back of her neck, gently, just enough for her to look up. “Then what are you saying, Correlia of Olympus?”
His other hand fell down the side of her dress, resting on her hip, and a rush of heat turned her blood to fire. “I . . .” Her voice failed her. Her mind wandered.
And she made the mistake of getting trapped in his stare.
His dusky eyes peered coyly into hers, but they were warm, steeped in that same seductive nature so entangled in his voice. She couldn’t help but notice the fullness of his lips, and the sheer blackness of his hair. Like the feathers of a crow, but darker. A moonless, starless sky.
Her body mindlessly searched for the touch of his hand until she felt it curl along the small of her back. “Do you truly think I’m a beast?”
“Of course.” The words came out quiet, weak. She fought every urge that screamed for him to hold her tighter.
He leaned in closer. “Is that so?” Her mind emptied, and just before she could take another ragged breath, he pulled away. “Someone’s calling for you.” The seduction in his voice dissipated, and his closeness vanished. His hands slipped away and returned to his side. It took more effort than she’d care to admit to tear her eyes from him and look at what he was referring to.
“Corre!” A distant voice cried. She scanned the area but saw no one. How did he hear that? " Corre!” Finally, Phineas came into view. Her stomach lurched.
“Oh no—” She swiveled around, but the fear that her friend might see her unwanted guest was backed by nothing. Theron was gone. The God of Death had vanished as quickly as he’d come. There were only the trees and the vastness of the colorful field that formed a gate around her guarded life.
“Corre!”
She stared at where Theron had been standing mere seconds before—at the emptiness of that space—even when Phineas grabbed her shoulder. “Hey, I got done early. Want to come by Athena’s and spar?”
Her eyes didn’t waver from the trees.
“Corre?”
“Mm?” Finally, she looked, but her mind wasn’t present. It raced with thoughts of Theron and mixed emotions she couldn’t make sense of. Thoughts she couldn’t pull together.
“Do you want to train with me?” He said more clearly, and finally, she nodded.
“Sure. That would be great.” The words were hollow, but she followed her friend, forcing herself to stare straight ahead and not wonder what in Zeus’ name was going on.