She fell to her back, her head smacking the stone floor before she could catch herself. Pain and fear found her, dredging up memories of the last time she lay – unprotected – at Erysichthon’s feet. She swallowed back her panic.
She was not alone.
She heard a whimper, then the tell-tale rumble of Cerberus’ roar. Even with the beast before her, white teeth bared and spiked tail thrashing, she felt no fear. Cerberus would protect her. She knew it and took comfort in it.
Two sets of blazing red eyes tracked Erysichthon’s every move, their growl reverberating through the cave. There was no mistaking their warning. She suspected Cerberus longed to drag Erysichthon straight to Tartarus. But her presence stopped them. They would protect her first.
She stood, the throb of her head making her wince. She lifted her hand, finding the knot her fall had formed. She drew her hand away, aware that her fingertips were wet.
“If only you would accept your place with me, Persephone. Such injuries would not occur.” His voice was soft, soothing.
Cerberus stepped forward. Their serpent mane roiled and hissed, their tail whipped suddenly, snapping in the air.
“I prefer a bloodied head to falling captive to you again,” she answered. She stepped back, further into the cave – further from Erysichthon.
“In time, you will come to accept me. You will see.” Erysichthon laughed. “I bid you good evening, Persephone.”
She waited until he’d faded into the darkness. When he was gone, Cerberus circled her, pressing her deeper into the cave with alternating growls and whimpers. She nodded, stroking each head in turn. “I know,” she whispered. “Lead me to the orchard in Asphodel. I would eat before I go to your master.”
Chapter Twenty Two
Hades wiped his face on his cloak. His skin was heated from the tunnels, covered with sweat and sulfur, rock and dirt. He ran the cloth over his arms, then tossed it onto the ground. It had done him good, chipping away at the catacombs of Tartarus. It had helped the day pass without his every thought wandering to her. And now, the bracing winds of Asphodel brushed over him, easing the weary ache of his muscles. If not the longing in his heart.
He thought it was a trick of the wind, at first.
But a voice reached him, a whisper upon the wind. A slight growl, then a muffled bark followed. Why were the hounds here? Why was Cerberus not guarding the cave?
He crept forward, his irritation rising. He was not the only one battling restlessness, then.
He walked on, welcoming the exhaustion. Perhaps he would sleep tonight. His eyes followed the path of the sun, long since gone in the mortal world, as it began to lower in the skies of the Underworld.
“I have it,” a voice, one more dear than any other, reached him.
He froze, his eyes searching. Was she here? Or had he finally succumbed to madness?
“Thank you,” she spoke softly. “I’m sure it is most delicious.” She sighed then, sounding forlorn.
She was a flash of white, glimpsed between the closely grown trees. She took one step from the trees, turned in a circle, then slipped amongst them once more.
He hurried then. Was she here? In the orchard? “Persephone?” he called out to her.
She did not answer.
He ducked beneath a low lying branch, all the while searching for her white tunic.
He saw her then, moving away from him.
“Persephone?” Why did she run?
She stopped suddenly. He did not; she was too far from him. When he could reach her, she turned to him. Her eyes were green in the milky sunlight, fixing on him with an intensity that made him pause. She swallowed forcefully, her hands gripping the sides of her tunic.
Her tunic.
He stepped forward, inspecting her. Her tunic was torn and dirty. His eyes lingered on the red line upon her neck, the drops of blood upon her shoulder. “What happened?” he asked, his voice rough.
She blinked, her forehead furrowing.
He reached for her, clasping her upper arms in a loose hold. He stifled the sigh that rose from within. How he’d missed touching her. “Persephone?”