Yay, officically made it to the second chapter!
Hope you're enjoying the story so far :) It's not particularly conventional, or normal, but I've tried to set a (vague) outline for the story. It will definitely have a different take, though...
Sephy
'Midway on our life's journey, I found myself...In dark woods, the right road lost'- Charles Dickens.
I don't cry often. So when I do, it's usually about something serious.
And I'm pretty sure being forced to become the King of the Underworld's concubine is serious. And now, here I am, six pomegranates later, crying like the idiot I am.
God, what was I thinking? I don't even like pomegranates that much. Everything had seemed like a blur when it had happened. It wasn't like I had been warned against eating them. They were there, and I was hungry...
Jesus. I try to stifle and sob and breathe in deeply, but it doesn't work. I just choke on air. Trying to compose myself, I pick at the soft silky wool of the bed sheet comforter underneath me. I don't even know where I am. Just some bedroom amidst many. If I wasn't already feeling claustrophobic...
Just the thought of my Mom's face when she found out is enough to make me start with the waterworks again. Not heartbroken, or disappointed, just practical. The harsh lines of her blanched face, her long blonde hair coiled practically behind her head.
My Mom, the Queen of the living, had handed her daughter away to the King of Death, like it was no biggie. I never imagined-
"Pity party for one?" A voice comes from behind, and I close my eyes. I can imagine him standing there, so it's not like I need to turn around. One pierced eyebrow lifted, sardonically, shoulder against the doorframe, dark hair cast against creamy the pale wall, a body that manages to be bulking and lithe at the same time.
I don't hear a sound, but before I know it, he's there, standing in front of me, merciless eyes staring down at me. Those mismatched eyes used to scare me when I was a little girl. Now that I'm older, they terrify the living daylights out of me. "You shouldn't have eaten out of my garden, if you're going to cry about it now, sweetheart." His voice is like a knife tipped with silk.
"Fuck you." I choke out, in a burst of surprising courage.
A small chuckle. I look up, and see that he's looking down at me, his mismatched eyes filled with an amused temperament that reminds me of a cat playing with the mouse it's about to eat.
"You'll be doing that soon." He says.
"How can you be so sure of yourself?" I say, scornfully, when all I feel like doing is crumbling into a million pieces. But I'll be damned if I show any weakness to him.
He sits next to me on the bed, and before I can recoil away from him, his palm cups my cheek. I can see the tattoo on his bicep, and an errant thought runs through me; I wonder what kind of king he's like, with his unconventional rules, and against-the-grain looks.
Before I can open my mouth, he leans in, his face inevitabley close. I see those mismatched eyes framed by thick dark lashes, surprisingly soft lips, high cheekbones, creamy golden skin. Probably the most beautiful man I've ever seen...
And then he's kissing me, his lips claiming mine, his hands running down my shoulders, and I let him. A flick of desire runs down my spine, and my jean clad legs open, instinctively, as he climbs on top of me, the weight of his body, sending me back against the bed sheets, his lips never leaving mine.
His body is hand, and deliciously unyielding. Trying to come to my senses, I pull away from his mouth, to push his face away from mine, except he's stronger than me, and his lips are running down my cheek, and all I can think of is, The Lord of the Underworld is kissing me, he's kissing me, and I like it...
It's half a relief, half an annoyance when someone clears their throat at the doorway, making me jump, and let out a little squeak. Lord Dain just growls and pushes his face into the crook of my neck. "What is it, Charon?"
I turn my head to look into a pair of dark obsidian eyes, trying to get the King off me, at the same time, like some desperate rat caught in a painful trap.
The owner of those eyes, a guy with dark hair, and an expanse of swarthy brown skin steps forwards into the light. He wears nothing but black, leather and boots which look like they could kick an average sized person into heaven and beyond. "My Lord..." he says, and his voice is surprisingly soft, almost deceptively gentle, compared to the wickedly amused glint in his eyes. I wonder whether everyone in the Underworld has a persona.
"Sorry to disturb you, but have you lost your fucking mind?"