Her body was so warm, inside and out. Heat clawed its way from somewhere deep in his stomach, soaring straight to his head. He was dizzy with it, intoxicated. Another time he might have let the primal, possessive part of him take over, but he moved his hand to her round stomach, a constant reminder of the precious life she carried. It kept him calm, present, grounded.
He propped himself on one elbow.
“Are you well?” he asked, voice quiet.
She nodded, breathless, face flushed and glistening. He bent to kiss her, moving his hand to the apex of her thighs where he rubbed her clit.
Her mouth opened against his, a choked moan leaving her throat. He stayed there, teasing and thrusting, consumed by the sound of her pleasure and the tautness of her body against his. She braced herself against the bed, one palm pressed into the mattress, arching with each steady movement, moaning until she stiffened, frozen in place as she came. She seized around him, he gave into his release. It tore through him hard. He pressed his head against her shoulder, hand tight on her hip, as he rode each pleasurable burst until he had nothing left.
Drained, he relaxed, legs tangling with hers. Their breathing steadied and the heat between their bodies turned to chills.
Hades ran his hand over Persephone’s pebbled skin.
“We should bathe,” he said. “Then you should rest.”
“That sounds nice,” she said, voice heavy with sleep.
He shared her exhaustion and closed his eyes, telling himself it was only for a moment, but the darkness pulled him under.
Hades knew this darkness.
It was thick, heavy, and solid. He reached out, chest tight, fingers brushing the smooth stone walls of the labyrinth. He was covered in a thin layer of sweat, his breathing haggard. There was a high-pitched ringing in his ears. It grew louder and louder, piercing his brain, broken only by a horrifying scream.
He went cold all at once and his heart beat painfully in his chest.
“Persephone!” he bellowed.
“Hades!”
He ran in the direction of her voice, calling for her.
“No! Please!”
Her scream seemed to come from the left, but he found he could only go right. For a moment, he attempted to scale the walls, but they were too smooth to climb. With a frustrated yell, he slammed his fist into the stone before racing down the only open path.
“Persephone!” he called again, needing to hear her voice.
She answered with a blood-curdling scream. It was followed by the cry of an infant.
Panic set deep in Hades’s bones, his throat felt swollen and breathing impossible.
Another wail joined the other—a second baby.
The twins.
“Persephone!” Hades called, racing down another passage, but she did not answer. The babies continued to cry.
“Persephone!”
Hades shot from sleep and sat up.
For a few brief seconds, he froze, his heart still racing. Slowly, he realized he was in his bed, in his room, in the Underworld. He took a breath and scrubbed his face hard before turning to check on Persephone.
She was not in bed, which wasn’t exactly surprising. For the last few weeks, she’d risen before him and gone about organizing, decorating, and baking. He knew she was safe, he could feel her presence like warmth grazing his skin, and yet, he needed to lay eyes on her.
He rose and summoned his robes. He felt like a storm as he headed down the darkened halls of his palace. The dream had stirred up every quiet emotion he’d managed to smother over the last few months, but the one that needled him most, the one that gave the others life, was fear.
He ground his teeth as a wave of hot shame settled over him. He struggled with the humiliation of having allowed himself to be deceived and imprisoned by Theseus in the labyrinth, of having failed not only Persephone, but his realm.
