Persephone sniffled. Oh, how beautiful she was, even when flushed with tears. “How can you be so sure?”
“Hades would not go to such great lengths of bringing me here if he didn’t care deeply for you. He told me himself,” Cyane glanced behind Persephone and quickly looked back. “He detests me for fighting him, for...giving your belt to Hermes and Demeter, which…” It hurt her to say, knowing now all that had happened to her friend. “Which led to them finding you.” Tears spilled from her own eyes. “I’m so sorry, so, so sorry.”
Persephone cupped Cyane’s face back. “Don’t. You only tried to help me. You didn’t know. I love you. Don’t be sad on my part, not anymore. You’ve been sad, so sad for too long. I may not have know where you’ve been, but I have felt your agony.”
Cyane pulled away and wiped her eyes, nodding. “I wish I could’ve protected you. It was my glory, my duty, and I failed.”
Persephone laughed lightly, wiping her own tears. “Then protect me now. You’re here now and that’s all that matters. I haven’t had a friend in so very long, not since you.”
Cyane shook, excited, honored, and hurting all at once. “Hades wants you to return to his bed,” she admitted. She couldn’t keep this from her goddess, not after everything. Not after the honor and forgiveness Persephone bestowed on her.
Persephone’s laughter died, her expression falling. “Do you really think he wants me?”
“Yes. I do.” Cyane grabbed her friend’s hands again. “He could’ve had any goddess give him heir, but he only wants you.”
“Will you…” Persephone’s voice turned grave. “Will you attend me? Make sure… it is really Hades who I lay with and not…someone or something else? I trust no one. No one but you in this.”
Thoughts of Cerberus rose in Cyane’s mind. She inhaled sharply. Zeus had taken the likeness of Hades, Hades bestowed his likeness on Cerberus. She and Persephone shared far more than Cyane could imagine.
Cyane straightened. “Yes.” Conviction filled her. “I’ll attend you.”
Persephone’s shoulders sagged and her smile returned—like the first rays of sunlight after a long and terrible night.
When Cyane looked up, both Cerberus and Hades were gone.
Melinoe listenedas Hades and Cerberus left the ballroom, but she didn’t watch their retreat. Her gaze remained on the broken god at her feet.
She knelt at his side and eased one hand over him, fluttering her fingers a hairsbreadth above Hermes’s bloodied chest.
Life clung to him, strong and fervent, riotously robust under his mauled exterior.
She smiled, pleased. She was already surrounded by so many ghosts. The last thing she wanted was another to add to her collection. Melinoe lifted her skirts and straddled Hermes’s chest. He moaned softly as she covered him. He was beautiful, far too beautiful for the likes of her. But he was also alone and abused, and she couldn’t have that. Not when she had the power to see him back to health. Not when she could offer him a place of safety while he slept.
She knew she wouldn’t be able to keep him forever—the God of Crossings could not be caged—but while he recovered, and while his power was weak, she’d be able to enjoy his company. His warmth.
The last time she experienced warmth was when her mother held her when she was a babe.
When Melinoe sat tall up a short time later, they were in her quarters—a dark place where she honored the old gods—Tartarus, Nyx, and Erebus—and their richly cataclysmic ways. Though they no longer took human form, they understood her like no one else and blessed her often.
Her haven, unlike Cerberus’s, was large and spacious, with room after room, all draped in tapestries depicting her favorite nightmares. They were places she could enter at will and relive the events that had unfolded. Events she could draw a weak power from—enough to keep her starvation at bay.
Placed throughout her quarters were chains and cages. Most were empty—except for one or two that kept the ghosts of the undying that had wronged her greatly.
Melinoe climbed off of Hermes and crawled from her bed, where she had transported Hermes to rest. His godly blood soaked her sheets, but she didn’t mind. Blood was not something that disgusted her—it intrigued her—and she leaned down to sniff the scent of it from Hermes’s groin up to his closed eyes.
Her face fell into bliss, and she inhaled sharply. It wasn’t his blood that pleasured her, but his masculine, living scent.
Melinoe licked her lips and drew up, slipping her dress off her shoulders. She lifted her legs to climb into bed next to Hermes but paused when she spotted a tiny burst of color between the strands of his tousled hair. She drove her nails through his hair and found a tiny poppy from Hypnos’s garden.
Her breath hitched, and her heart thundered as she turned the small flower in her palm. She glanced back at the god languishing in her bed.
A smile stole across her face.
Melinoe pulled Hermes’s lips apart, and he groaned. She stuffed the sleeping flower into his mouth, pushing it down deep into his throat. His throat bobbed weakly.
He will hate me when he awakes.
She kissed his brow anyway. “Sleep well, sweet Hermes. When you awake, you’ll be in good health,” she whispered.
