That Fatal Kiss (4 page)

They flew down through the almost liquid blackness beneath the Earth, in a rush which thundered past Persephone’s ears. Stunned, she could make no move to harm her abductor, or even to free herself. The goddess could only stand against him, breathing in a strangely fresh, damp scent, the kind that rises from the newly turned soil, for it emanated from him. Her staring eyes wide, she succumbed to the hypnotic beat of Hades’ heart, for her back pressed up against his chest and she felt it as plainly as though it sounded within her own.

It seemed ages before they completed their descent through the gaping tunnels within the hard-packed, rocky Earth. Eventually, Hades steadied the horses and urged them forward instead of down, through the blindness of the caverns to one of the many entrances to Erebus. When they reached the Kingdom of the Dead, Persephone saw that a soft, milky light swam through the gloom, not cutting through it, exactly, but somehow existing within it. It was like the dusky hour above ground when the blazing sun settled down upon the horizon and the moon’s horses began their nightly journey. There were no torches yet, though Persephone could see lights flickering off in the distance.

The goddess looked up and saw no roots hanging from above, as the other gods imagined, but only what appeared to be a very wide sky, again, like that of the Upperworld, only as it appeared in the late evening hours. A thick mist spread throughout the darkness and grew finer in its lowest sphere. The moisture rolled forward menacingly, only to recede in upon itself and then finally scatter, like the waves of some phantom ocean.

They charged on at a furious pace toward the deadly waters of the river Styx, which separated outer Erebus from its inner reaches. They approached the embankment where a throng of newly deceased souls rambled about, clutching their coins anxiously, so that they might pay the fare to get across the river. An old, creaking vessel arrived at that shore, and Persephone wondered absently how they themselves were to cross the Styx. Just then, Hades pulled on the reins to order the horses up and they flew high above it. The boat’s captain and only crew member, skeletal Charon, was cloaked in a dark and slightly unraveling cape. He raised sunken eyes to regard them and Persephone shrank back further into Hades’ arms. They tightened about her, almost as if he now meant to comfort her.

The chariot dipped after they crossed the Styx and Hades reached down to stroke one of the massive heads of his hound, Cerberus. The three-headed beast jumped up to lick his master’s hand, with a gruesome sort of joy that made the goddess shudder. She burrowed into Hades’ vast frame and they flew on, above the somber fields of asphodel.

The shades which had already crossed the Styx fluttered and twittered loudly in their confusion over this strange occurrence. Persephone inhaled sharply as one of the shades reached up to touch her. Even as the hand passed harmlessly through her arm, Hades brought the horses up higher, and they soared over the countless dead until they reached a small grove of pomegranate trees near a massive palace. Persephone didn’t waste time speculating about how vegetation might thrive below ground without her mother’s assistance. Hades could cause life to sprout anywhere, in anything, just as easily as he could take it away.

The King of the Dead brought down the chariot and the palace loomed before them. Three horizontal layers of beaten stone covered its face, the bottom a layer of malachite, topped with a narrow band of gleaming onyx, which gave way to ruddy jasper. Two onyx columns flanked three steps that led up to an enormous bronze portal. The god’s home imposed at every glance, but the grandeur did not frighten Persephone. Instead, its dark, haughty beauty eased her distress, though she could hardly fathom why. She only knew that her breath came easier as she regarded the walls of polished stone, and she felt a warmth coming from them that invited her touch.

The mortal servant waiting at the bottom of the steps came to them and bowed low. Hades passed him the reins before bending to slide his free arm behind the goddess’ knees. He swung her up into his arms and disembarked from the chariot. When he reached the steps, he paused to look down at Persephone. He took a breath, as though preparing himself to speak, only to expel it and continue on his way.

The goddess’ racing heart slowed to a steadier pace as Hades bore her up the steps, through the opened portal, and down a long passageway, until they arrived at a massive black door. The god willed it open and, once they’d entered the chamber, it closed behind them. Again Hades paused to regard her, only this time he did speak. “Do you think you can stand on your own or would you prefer to sit?”

Hades’ voice, rich and potent, poured like honey over Persephone, sank in through her pores, and stirred something within her. “I’ll stand,” she said, glad that her voice was steady.

The god set her down at the foot of the great bed made of iron. Persephone watched Hades make his way over to the opposite side of room, to a tall ebony chest, then turned her eyes back to the massive bed. The bed in which, she felt certain, the god would soon expect her company. Inexplicably, the thought did not terrify her. That it did not angered the goddess, and to remind herself that she’d been seized against her will, she asked, “Why have you done this? Why have you taken me for your concubine?”

Hades paused in the act of removing his black gloves to observe her. The goddess made a concerted effort to calm her sudden trembling and held his gaze staunchly. When an immediate response failed to come from Hades, Persephone gathered herself up proudly, as imperious as Father Zeus himself.

Hades returned his attention to his task and slid a glove off his left hand, his voice mild when he said, “I do not claim you as my concubine, but as my wife.”

An unsettling heat rushed through the goddess’ body at these words. “Your wife?”

“Yes, my wife. My queen.”

“But…why?”

Hades’ deep tones were dry, amused, as he replied softly, “Why do you think?”

Persephone’s eyebrow arched of its own accord at the flippancy of his response. “But I don’t know you.”

Hades tossed his gloves onto the nearby chest. “Now you
may
know me. As husband.” Hades dropped his eyes to the floor and silence ensued. He removed his black cloak, draped it heedlessly over the back of a chair, and once again regarded her. As she averted her gaze, Persephone saw his lips thin out of the corner of her eye. She heard him stride to stand directly before her. When he spoke, he did so quietly, but with an edge of mastery. “I expect you to adjust to your new position with your usual grace and sense of duty.”

The words reignited her anger and she thoughtlessly offered in return, “Do you? And under which particular delusion do you labor that you expect such submission from me, an immortal goddess?”

But even as she said them, she regretted the words. For, until that moment, Hades’ expression was guarded, yet she had seen a light of something…tender, in his eyes. But after she spoke, the shutters came down and she could read nothing, for his face became an impenetrable mask.

Hades placed his forefinger under her chin and brought it up so that she could not avoid his gaze. “I anticipate your acquiescence because I am your husband and such is my will. You are mine, now, and no one can gainsay me. No one can protect you from me. And though you are an Immortal, you’ve no power that can break through the barriers of the Underworld, unless I allow it.” His eyes blazed their dark fire at her as he repeated, “You are
mine
.” And he punctuated this thought with a hard kiss to the goddesses’ unsuspecting lips.

Power, darkness…pain? Was that what Persephone tasted as his tongue brushed against hers? His breath invaded her, his heat jolted her reason. Not only his arms, but Hades’ immortal soul enveloped her, rushing like a wave to flood her heart. The goddess knew she should despise him, but viscerally, she welcomed his deluge, longed to drown in him. When he released her she cried out, but not in anguish, no. She cried for more. And with this realization Persephone sat down on the bed, once again silent.

“Unfortunately, I have business to attend to, so the consummation of our union will have to wait.” Hades took up his cloak and made to leave, but then stopped and turned to face her again. “It will be my great honor to introduce you to marital bliss.” And with a tight smile he left.

PERSEPHONE STARED AT
the sealed door for long moments after he’d gone. A contrary mix of thoughts and emotions swarmed her mind, fatiguing her. She fell back onto the plush cushions on the bed and strove to make sense of things and, if possible, form some plan of action.

Of course no one would oppose Hades. First, few would dare stand against the dreaded King; second, Zeus must have agreed to let him have her, which was all the permission Hades needed. Marriage deals, on Earth and in the Heavens, were generally brokered by males. Though goddesses could expect a certain amount of courting, it was not strictly required. So the law was with Hades.

Demeter, however, would be outraged and could be counted upon to demand Persephone’s release. Knowing that her mother would be a damned nuisance to Zeus if she didn’t get her way, Persephone smiled. Zeus cared greatly for Demeter, and the Grain Goddess would not scruple to take advantage of his affection.

If, however, Zeus were faced with having to favor one Immortal over another, he was bound to choose politically and side with Hades. And Persephone would be doomed to residence below ground for eternity.

The goddess grieved to think she might never see her mother and friends again. And what of the sun? What of all her favorite haunts on lovely green Etna, sandy Pylos, and holy Locri? Hades almost certainly would not allow her to return above ground for fear she would not resume her place with him. Although he had already shown to what lengths he would go to claim her; she doubted she could find any hiding place secret enough to keep him from her.

Why her? What did Hades know of her to make her his only choice of bride? Or had there been another? Had she somehow left him? Persephone could not recall ever hearing of him taking a wife, though rarely was his name spoken above ground. Except for the occasional mocking anecdote from Hermes, who traversed daily to Erebus with the shades of the dead as their divine escort, she heard very little news of Hades. Then, the vaguest hint of a memory teased her, one in which Athena and Eros spoke of Hades with some gravity. Only she could not recover it, and she grabbed a pillow, punching it in frustration.

As if they’d been hovering malignantly over her, biding their time, Hades’ parting words to her chose that moment to rise up in her consciousness. He spoke of the “consummation” of their “union.” Her breath caught in her throat and an odd sensation filled her stomach, but it wasn’t fear. She wished she could deny it but something about Hades attracted her, enticed her. Aroused her. She scowled at the realization, yet could not elude the persistence of her own thoughts. Finally, someone stirred yearnings within her—the one who abducted her. She shook her head, disbelieving her own body’s hungry response, thinking she should be repelled by him. But she was not. When he removed his cloak, revealing incredibly muscular arms, she turned her face away, not with disgust but because she feared her reaction to his partial nudity would be clearly visible in her eyes. A fierce pang of lust shook her at the memory.

She got to her feet, threw the pillow back onto the bed, and paced the chamber, biting a thumbnail. Her eyes swept the room, taking in its appearance as she had been incapable of doing before.

The huge bed rested its head against the far wall, opposite the black door. Unlike the face of the palace, the walls were painted, a warm, vibrant red, with ivory trim. Beneath her feet an intricate mosaic depicted a grove of golden trees, identical to the one before the palace. Large red orbs represented the fruit they bore, and black and green tiles framed them.

The iron bed itself featured splendid bedding, made of finely woven ivory wool. A variety of pillows were strewn upon it, promising to lure one into sweet slumber within moments of laying one’s head upon them. Persephone ran her hand over the tempting cushions, forgetting herself momentarily and reveling in the sensuous feel of the fabrics covering them. She found it difficult to reconcile the idea of a luxury-loving Hades with the austere figure who ransomed her away to so dreary a kingdom.

From where she stood at the foot of the bed, she saw that several chairs dotted the chamber, and on the far-side wall, opposite her, was a black-framed and ivory-cushioned couch. To the couch’s right stood the ebony chest upon which Hades had lain his gloves. Intuitively, she turned to look behind her and discovered an identical couch with an ivory chest to its right, and a large mirror beside it. Curious in spite of herself, the goddess walked over to the ivory chest and lifted the lid experimentally. It yielded readily enough and revealed feminine garments of exquisite quality and in a variety of colors. A panel divided the chest; the larger section contained numerous gowns, while the smaller contained several fine cloaks, also in assorted colors. Persephone grasped one stunning scarlet cloth and examined it with a careful eye. Some goddess must have woven it, for no mere mortal hands could possibly have created a thing of such refinement.