Would she continue on? Would she continue to berate and warn him with empty words? He turned, all but snarling, and lifted his ax in warning. But she was gone.
The moon was gone and the sun was high, yet he tried to carry on. He’d no strength left, his body collapsed beneath the last cypress. He sat and stared over the stumps, bleached white in the moonlight. Their broken, jagged remains were a fitting image for his broken soul. Sleep eluded him. He felt nothing but desperation… and hunger. A powerful hunger, rivaled only by his need to find Persephone.
###
Persephone was cold. Hades piled on furs and linen, stoked the fire and drew closed the windows. And still she was cold.
He took her hand in his. She looked so frail to him, exhausted and defeated.
The moon
had risen twice since he’d brought her here, but there’d been no change. Her wound was healed, pink and sealed with no trace of a scar. He’d left her but once, in the care of the woman Aeacus had sent to him.
And still, she did nothing more than shiver. But that, he supposed, was something.
He sat beside her on the bed and leaned forward to smooth the hair from her forehead. He knew it foolish, but he whispered into her ear, “Be brave.”
Her eyes opened, and her head turned towards him.
He stiffened, daring to hope. “Persephone?”
She tried to keep her eyes open, but they drooped shut.
Relief found him. He let go of her hand and stood, pouring a small amount of nectar into a cup and returning to her. A movement caught his eyes, drawing his attention to the bed. Her fingers waved weakly and her hand lifted slightly from the furs. He glanced at her hand then took it in his. Her hand relaxed.
He swallowed, looking at their joined hands. Did she find comfort from his touch?
He squeezed her hand then released her to lift her head. “You must drink.”
Her eyelids fluttered, but did not open. He lifted the cup and she drank. A small sip only, but it was enough. He set her back upon the furs and smiled broadly, pleased.
Her hand fluttered, and he reached for it. He could not stifle a soft laugh as her hand stilled, clasped warmly in his. He stared at their hands, considering.
She was shivering, her hand like ice in his hold. She felt truly frozen, yet her skin was covered in a light sheen of perspiration. He hesitated only moments before he lay at her side and pulled the furs over them.
He drew in a tight breath, cursing his weakness as he drew her against the length of him. Fragile as she was, he could not ignore the feel of her–soft against him–or how she affected him.
He froze then, for she moaned and turned into his chest.
He gathered her close. “Shh,” he murmured into her hair. He lay back, settling her forehead on his chest and wrapping them tightly in the furs. “Sleep.”
He resisted the urge to bury his nose in her hair, to press his lips against the top of her head.
She slept instantly. Her body softened and her shivering ceased. Her hand, pressed against his stomach, twitched in her sleep. That she lay with him, silk and woman, was torture enough. Such movements did little to calm the heat in his blood.
He took her hand in his. Her fingers clasped him in return. It did not escape him that she fit against him perfectly…
“You will be well,” he murmured against her head, his passion cooling to be replaced by something else… something infinitely more dangerous.
She sighed in her sleep, causing him to smile as he finally drifted into sleep.
###
She heard him. He spoke to her in her dreams.
There were times she almost thought them real. But he would never hold her against him, never cradle her hand in his.
Yet she knew his voice, for it was her favorite sound. And he demanded, earnestly, for her to be brave and heal.