Page 33 of Curse the Flame

I blink. Cerberus? What? Like the three-headed giant dog that lives in the Underworld?

Yes, Will, I think wryly—and though that’s not my usual tone, that’s definitely my inner voice. Took me long enough, huh? As though Persephone’s comment about Sir growing a second head couldn’t be any more obvious.

All along, I was trying to keep the hound of Hades safe.

The hound of⁠—

Uh-oh.

He’s…

And I’m…

Persephone beams. Oh, yes.

As though he can sense the enormity of the realization that just hit me, the man—god—whoever purses his lips, though he doesn’t look away from me.

“I suppose you can say he’s mine.” He pauses, his dark eyes bearing down on me as he adds, “Just like you are.”

Wai—what?

Before I can tell him the same thing that I told the Roman soldier, he holds out his hand. “Come to me, Persephone.”

Husband…

“My name is Willow.”

The gorgeous stranger doesn’t miss a beat. “Come to me, Willow.”

Is it sad that I would if I could? Shoot. For twenty-eight years, I’ve never been easy, but something about him… I give my aching shoulders a shrug. “I’m kind of stuck.”

His eyes turn white again. Only for a split second this time, and he throws out his hand, gesturing toward the tree I’m tied to.

I don’t know what the heck he just did, but when he blinks, his eyes going from white to black again, he nods before holding out his hand once more. “Come to me now. I’ve waited eighty years for you. Don’t make me wait a moment longer.”

It’s something in his deep, throaty voice. It’s how it twists something deep inside of my chest. It’s the certainty that I wouldn’t refuse, the powerful way he commands me to go without giving me a moment to really think about what he said.

…waited eighty years for you…

Instead of focusing on that, I move my hands. I… I want to go to him, though I don’t know why, and as I shift my position so that my arms are bent the way they’re supposed to be, I realize that the rope… it’s gone.

I do a closer inspection. Is that ash on my skin? I don’t know, but it looks like ash. Almost as though he used some kind of magic to incinerate the rope binding me against my will, but how? It couldn’t be those flames again. I didn’t feel any heat. What did he do?

No clue, but I see his pale hand outstretched, Sir waiting expectantly at his feet.

He saved me.

He owns you.

What? That thought rushes through my head, though I’m suddenly not sure if I thought it or Persephone thought it for me. It doesn’t matter. As if my legs are acting on their own accord, I’m shuffling in my bare feet toward the man.

His eyes are hypnotizing. I could no sooner escape him than I could the soldier.

I lay my hand on his. “Where are we going?”

“Home, my blossom. We’re going home.”

Yes!