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)
How does Hades hold all of his realm in his mind? How does he rule over such a vast space, filled with so many souls?
I look at him out of the corner of my eye, reconsidering him.
He looks down at me, all traces of the anger he showed before gone. It is like being watched by a predator. A beast whose power is undeniable, and whose rule will not be questioned. My pulse ticks up at the thought that I’ve already questioned him in more ways than one.
“These are the baths,” he says, and gestures just as he did when he was showing me the Underworld. The hot springs are undeniably tempting. The smooth rock and falling waters that steam call to me. The scent of lavender and something else waft to me, drawing me in and calming me before I’ve even touched the hot waters. Beyond them, the raw cliffs of sparking quartz and pyrite shimmer… there’s not an ounce of greenery though. No life present, only mother Earth in her raw form of stone.
“Bathe. You may take as much time as you wish.” With the command given, he turns and walks out. A gesture at one of the guards has him following Hades away from the baths. The other guard keeps his eyes on the floor and goes to station himself near the door. Closing them and giving me privacy for the first time since we’ve left. The only sounds are my own beating heart and the soothing waters.
Time passes and I stand in wonderment. I turn toward the baths. The pale pink of the salts that wall in the baths shines through a dim light. Creating a calming and soothing feel. The divine oils, scrubs and soaps sit on a gold intricate tray at the right and just behind the tray lay a pile of lush towels and washcloths beside them. Across an elegant gold chair with rolled arms and a high back, lies a silk cream gown.
There is not just one bath. There are many pools of inlaid quartz stone and clear water. Some of them bubble. Others have steam rising from them. Vaguely I think of my sister Aphrodite. She would adore these baths. Deep in my heart there is a longing, but one that for some reason feels touchable, if only I wanted.
I will not be able to deny myself this.
I’ve been so cold, and it seems like I’ve been cold forever. At the side of one of the pools, I stop and dip my toes in.
The water is deliciously warm. It feels like the sea heated under the sun all day, and even standing at the edge, all my muscles relax as if I’m already submerged.
I remove my gown after what feels like an eternity. It slides over my shoulders before I’ve made any conscious decision to give in.
All I know is that I need to be in the water, cleansing myself of the fear and the desperation that came over me. I need the water to wrap around me with its warmth, touching me everywhere and clearing my head of what I have seen.
I step into the water, a sigh escaping me. The visions—or memories—will not last long. The sensation of the warm water holds too much pleasure and relief.
Most of what remains from the tour fades almost immediately.
What does not fade is Hades. His kiss. His touch. Vaguely I remember the river, although it seems much less like an escape now. What lies beyond it is surely not something I wish to see. Instead, as I attempt to organize my thoughts, I think of Hades.
I tip my head back, letting the water soak into my hair, and look at the ceiling high above me as I trail my fingers through the water. It’s the perfect temperature to soak in—hot, but not painfully so. It is exactly what I’ve craved.
Almost what I’ve craved.
I would like to take my time but scratching in the back wall breaks the moment. Almost like a cracking. I bring my hand to my chest, startled and unsure of what I’ve heard. In the silence, the soothing waters murmur, and I cannot hear the sound again. But I swear I heard something, what it is, I’m not sure.
Quickly I dress and search for Hades, only to find him right outside the doors.
HADES
The soul is half-dead, only the remnants of his being clinging to the flesh I’ve damaged. The anger in me is not satisfied. Not in the least as I hover over him, the rage nearly blinding. He cries no longer for mercy. He speaks to more of sorrow and regret. Blood pools on the floor, spreading out from what was once identifiable as his body. There can’t be much left, and soon it will trickle out onto the tiles, and his soul will be taken for judgment.