Series: Willow Winters
Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 94417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
I want to gulp it. Vaguely, I’m aware of the craze that’s come over me. I want to pour the whole bottle down my throat, but I settle for another mouthful instead, then drop the glass to the table. It lands and cracks in two, spilling wine onto the surface, but as I watch, trembling with the flavors still on my tongue, it repairs itself and waits, upright, for me to fill it with more wine.
The magic … it tempts me. It calls to me. I wish it to buckle under my command.
The temptation has never been greater. My entire body feels pulled to the wine, even as the taste lingers in my mouth. I try to suck more of it down, but it’s already fading. There is more here. More that’s meant to be mine.
The lock on the door clicks. I yank my hand back from the table and rush back to the rug. I’ll be damned if I willingly provide Hades the pleasure of the sight.
Only I don't stop at the rug. I pad across to the bed and clamber up onto it, pulling the sheet over me like a child hiding from a bad dream. Like those stories the mere humans tell.
It’s pitiful. The moment the sheet graces my bare skin, I regret my decision. The desires of the Gods are not so far off from mortals and Hades’ intention is obvious. This is what happens when I let my foolish desires get the better of me. This is what happens when I forget to stay strong and start to crumble instead.
With my teeth gritted and the sweet wine lingering on my lips, I stare at the God who dared betray Zeus and Demeter with my abduction. The bastard Lord of the Dead and ruler of the Underworld.
Hades’s footsteps are already in the room before I can even meet his eyes. I cannot get out of the bed without drawing more attention to myself. It is a mistake.
But maybe he will not see that I gave in and tore into that pomegranate. Maybe he will not notice the missing wine. Maybe this is an acceptable sacrifice.
I lay my head on the pillow and close my eyes. Ignoring his presence as best as I can.
I feel him pause, noticing his gaze hot on the curve of my body. His intentions sliding over my skin underneath the blankets.
I try not to move. Still as can be with racing thoughts as the wine works its own magic. A depth of darkness slips through me and my grip tightens on the sheet.
My breathing gets faster. The tension I feel when he’s in the room—when my heart is racing in a warning, he’s here, he’s here, he’s here—is too strong to ignore. The scent of him is subtle, but it’s there—faint and spicy, like something only the Gods could dream of having.
My entire soul centers on his next step.
Will he touch me? Will he reach over the sheet and put his hand around my throat again? Will he lay his hand on my chest to feel my heartbeat? My pulse skips at the idea of his touch, lightning fast and too strong to resist.
And yet I did resist it. I told him no to his face.
How many more times will I have to resist? When he can make things so much easier for me? When he promises my powers, and surely, he’s demonstrated his.
As many times as it takes, I tell myself sternly. Even if I have to spend the rest of my life resisting. Even then.
This God deserves nothing but my anger. How dare he take me, as if I am some possession!
His footsteps retreat, and I exhale a sound of disappointment. I can’t stop the noise from slipping between my lips. All I manage to do is make it quieter. Then I press my face into the pillow and breathe long and slow, praying for my heart to slow.
A few minutes later, the bed dips. There are a few gentle tugs at the sheets.
He’s gotten into bed beside me. And with him, the heavy presence of a blanket. A soft, and luxurious blanket that promises warmth.
I’ve been too cold to warm the sheets myself, but his heat is an instant presence in the bed. It radiates off him. I will not go to him. I will not.
Although I crave the comfort.
It is dark in the bedroom. The low lights that had been on all night are off.
I listen to him breathing.
The sound is welcome after hours filled with only my own screams and tears. After an eternity filled with panic and a night filled with hunger and despair. The sound of Hades’s steady breathing shouldn’t offer me any comfort, but it does. Perhaps it‘s the wine. Perhaps it’s my own curiosity. Perhaps it’s the promises he’s offered and how tempting they are.