Hades studied Cerberus, his darkness swirling around the hound in a soft caress. Cerberus remained still and silent under his master’s perusal.
Then Hades’s sly smile returned. “Where is she now?”
“Put away in a place your daughter—or any other immortal—will never find her.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Cerberus, my dear hound. Do I senseconcerncoming from you? For amortal?”
Scoff. “No.”
“Hah!” His lord leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Your responses are intriguing. Has our mortal guest stolen your attention? Are you afraid?”
“Afraid?” Cerberus’s eyes narrowed. The fire within him rose. He was the son of the most feared titan of them all; fear was an emotion for his opponents. “Do you want me to bring her to you now?”
“Oh no. I will see her on the morrow when the dancing begins. Bring her then. If she is well enough to show her presence, she is well enough to dance her shock away.”
“Very well, my lord.”
Hades turned to the crackling fire in his hearth, and Cerberus took that as his cue to leave. He turned towards the door.
“Cerberus,” Hades said, stopping him. “You should be afraid.”
Cerberus placed his gloved hand on the knob and, closing his eyes, walked into the darkness.
A short time later, he stood over Cyane’s sleeping, slumped over form in the chair overlooking Styx. Her hair had come loose in the back, and slightly curled tendrils had fallen over her face and spilled down her chest.
The light brown of her hair was nothing to sing about. The shapeliness of her body was the same as any fertility goddess. She had sunspots, an asymmetrical face, and she certainly didn’t look solely Greek. A mortal mutt.
Yet, there was something about her, something he couldn’t quite place. Perhaps it was her imperfections that caused it, maybe it was something else. Cerberus shrugged it off.
It was strange, staring at her without her knowledge. He—like most undying—rarely slept. He took the opportunity her continued weakness gave him.
Shewasweak. He moved to stand in front of her. There was something about her weakness that returned the thrill to his senses. He didn’t understand it, he never found much satisfaction in anything but keeping the wayward souls below in line, but there it was. Thrill.
What would he do if he’d been born as such a powerless creature? For all his eons of watching mortal souls, he never stopped to think about what it would be like to be a mortal.
If I were powerless, I’d find someone stronger and give myself over to them.
If I were a mortal, I’d find a god and give my life to them for protection.
He had a sudden need to brush back her fallen hair and awaken her, but reflections from his conversation with Hades burned in the back of his mind.
He’d done just that—given his loyalty to a god more powerful than himself.He, the son of the greatest Titan and grandson to primordial Tartarus himself, grandson to Gaea—the world. Even now, Cerberus could feel his father moving deep below, in Tartarus’s gut, waiting for the day Zeus would be overthrown and Typhon’s eternal chains would break away.
No, I’m not weak like her.
A soft whimper sounded in his ears, and something bumped his hand. Cerberus looked down at the hound seeking his attention. He knelt and idly scratched behind its ears as he watched Cyane. Several more of his pups came out from the shadows to await his attention.
Teeth, tongues, and long sharp snouts.Cyane’s inability to describe his true form brought a rare smile to his lips. His hounds were as much a part of him as he was one of them.
One-by-one they settled around him and Cyane.
Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. The red flush of her skin from earlier was gone.
Maybe I am afraid.
