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)
“My queen.” The maiden takes a few steps forwards, her robes moving elegantly with her. My queen… why do they all call me that? Simply to please Hades I imagine. I detest the name but stay quiet so I may observe her.
She glances meaningfully at the open door. Once again, it feels like it is watching me…or like it’s calling to me. Is she the one calling for me? “You need help more than you know. So much so, you haven’t realized the freedom you have.”
I do not clench my hands into fists, but the impulse is strong. It is not for this woman to tell me what freedoms I have or do not have. She should not dare to tell me what I know or do not know.
But then—
She dares to speak to me at all, which makes me admire her. She may not be right, but she seems to be speaking honestly.
“I know the door is open. I do not trust it.”
“I wasn’t referring to a locked or unlocked door.” Her eyes meet mine, the light in them brighter now, and an answering light flares in me, like hope. “Please. If you need me, you need only think my name. Silvie.”
HADES
Something’s different about Persephone when I return for the evening, Cerberus padding along at my side. There’s an air about the room that's different as I stand in the doorway and I make my way in, bringing Cerberus with me. Absently I pet his head as I watch her, poised and still and then turn to the crackling lit fire. My faithful companion leans against me for a pat on all three of his heads, then makes a snuffling sound and goes to lie by the fire. The flames are low in the grate, barely there at all, and certainly not high enough to warm the room.
Yet the energy is undoubtedly different. Persephone stands in the center of the room, her hands folded in front of her, as she has many times in the past few days, but her posture is straighter. Prouder. There is an air of anticipation about her. Of challenge. My heart responds instantly, though I do not let this show on my face.
Instead, I move closer, watching her with every scrap of my focus. Something has happened today, though I do not know what. I will discover what it was—there is no doubt in my mind. I will ask Minox, if I must.
Inhaling the sweetening tension in the air around Persephone, I pause a few feet away, studying her intently. She lifts her chin and stares up into my eyes, the blush in her face a deeper shade of pink.
Fucking beautiful. At last I put my finger on it. She belongs here. She looks and feels like she belongs here. Like she owns the entire fucking room with her silk cream gown that pools around her and straight dark hair that only intensifies the color of her eyes. Gorgeous. The power that surrounds her is breathtaking.
“My queen,” I greet her, not reaching out to touch her. I’m cautious with every move, needing to see her when she’s like this. Craving every intimate moment and detail to be carved into my mind. I cannot distract myself with her curves under my palms.
Persephone’s chin tips up just slightly, her eyes dancing over my face. “You would give me anything?”
No greeting. Just a tempting statement from her lips. Almost flirtatious. As if she has the upper hand. My cock has never been harder.
Her voice is different. Not the pitch, but the tone. She has asked me questions without preamble before, of course, but there is a certain richness to her words now. A certain seductive power. Like she already knows the answer and it’s because she does.
“That is what I said,” I allow.
Her chest rises and falls in a quick, shallow breath. “You seem almost desperate.”
I smirk at her truly humorous statement. “Is that what you think?” I want for her, but I need for nothing. She will be mine. And I hers.
Persephone may think I do not notice, but I see the way she readjusts herself, her shoulders going back. Confidence. That’s what’s pouring off her, though I cannot tell if she has convinced herself to feel it for this conversation or if it has come from elsewhere. Somewhere in the shadows inside of her desperate to be freed.
“I think—” she begins, her voice level, with only a hint of the way it has trembled in the past. Persephone’s confidence does not reach to the innermost parts of her, then. “I think my mother and father will discover I am here at some point. I know they will.”
Again, it’s not her words that have changed. It’s her belief in them. She has made claims about her father before, but they were made out of fear and desperation. These are not. It is a significant change, and raises my hackles, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up straight. It is not a welcome sensation.