Seph wakes to the choking smell of molten iron and the acrid heat of black, billowing smoke. The sky bleeds in a mixture of purples and reds and oranges, but when she looks for the light of the setting sun, the familiar golden star is nowhere to be found. Around her, endless fields of asphodel burn, and the agonized cries of millions of people assault her senses, with each and every wail shredding her empathy anew. She falls to her knees, desperately attempts to shield her ears from the tortured screams.
A single voice, baritone and commanding, pierces through the madness.
"Do you see what she has done?" it asks. Seph turns towards the voice, and her heart nearly leaps out of her mouth.
"Hayden, what…"
But it can't be Hayden. This man is too tall, his voice too deep, his hair white, and his eyes furious and threatening. And yet…and yet, she can see him there. He's far away, yes, buried deep and hidden, but he's there: a roaring current beneath seemingly still waters.
"My name is not Hayden. Do not address me as such. I will ask you again: do you see what she has done?"
Seph watches as the world burns around her. Despite the raging tongues of fire that threaten to engulf the two of them, all she can feel are the freezing chains of fear that have begun to wrap around her heart. "I see," she answers.
His shaking hands drop a heavy, black helm onto the dark earth, and the wind blows it away into dust. "I have waited aeons, enduring this destruction, just for the chance to see you again. You look as lovely as the day I first beheld your beauty."
She blinks, and he's suddenly in front of her. He smells of the sorrow of the grave; he smells of the great sadness of those whom the world has forgotten. The Lord of the Dead stands before her, a mirror image of his kingdom: drained of power and strength and the will to continue fighting.
"That day when I claimed you, screaming and kicking in my chariot, I did not take you…gently; I did not take you as I did this night. You were frightened of me, and justly so. I selfishly tore you from everything you knew and held dear." She feels his muscular arms wrap around her, hold her tight against his marble body. "Yet upon realizing your destiny…you opened for me like a flower, blossoming and beautiful—even as I ripped you away from the World Above." His voice turns into a hoarse growl. "Even as I took you in my chariot and made you mine, Persephone." He gazes down at her lips. Heavily lidded and pupils dilated, his blue eyes burn darkly with desire.
"Do you know who I am?" His cool breath tickles her mouth. Cradled in his caliginous hold, she can no longer see a thing. He has engulfed her.
"You are Hades," she breathes against his lips. Hard fingers push into her sides, grasping her tightly. All around her, she can feel him: his hands on her breasts, his teeth on the soft skin of her neck. He's inside her too, now, a shadow thrusting in and out and setting her ablaze.
"You see what she has reduced me to. What she has reduced all of us to." His words burn through her, brand the most secluded corners of her mind. Who? she needs to ask. Who has done all of this? But he is everywhere—inside her, surrounding her, overwhelming her—and the only noises she can make are pleasured sighs against his unyielding lips.
"Hear me now, Persephone," he rumbles through her, his rich baritone so much angrier and sorrowful than the one she's used to hearing. "When we meet again, the circumstances will be dire. War draws near for all of us, yet we remain trapped in a deep slumber." He holds her, melds with her as they both climax and fade into one another. "I will be weak," he warns against her ear. "But take heart, my love, and do not let me falter."
As consciousness begins to pull at her and the scorching world of his kingdom starts to disappear, his final words tie around her, cut deep into her flesh. "Know this, my great and fearsome queen, that even as I stumble, I have loved you; throughout the millennia, in different eras and frail lives; through diseases that plague the body, soul, and mind, I have loved you. Fiercely, Persephone, and with all that I am. My feelings have never wavered…though I have failed in my quest to be reunited with you. But if you walk with me through fire, as I am—human and mortal and weak beyond all things—I shall hold you in my arms once more…"
Seph opens her eyes to the low light of the morning sun peeking through drawn shades, and her heart beats at a breakneck pace. The room around her is large, its walls painted in a warm, comforting gray. An enormous, mahogany bookshelf sits in one corner, along with what looks to be a custom-made desk that's decorated with intricate carvings she can't quite make out from this far away. On the wall across from her hang two maps of the world: one a modern rendition, and the other much older, with a disproportionately large Mediterranean region compared to the rest of the world. Where is she? And what was that dream? I need to get out of here. She starts to move, but feels Hayden's soft lips and beard tickling the nape of her neck. The events of the previous night unfurl in her memory, and she calmly leans back into his embrace.
"Morning," he says, kissing the top of her back. His sleepy voice caresses a place in her heart she didn't know she had. Seph turns in his arms, faces him. The dimples, the look of absolute joy and wonder, the way he's holding her—she can't believe that she just had a dream about Hayden where he was so unlike what he is right now. She kisses him, wanting to make sure that he's really there. His hands move to her face, keeping her close, and he sighs into her mouth. She prefers the man in front of her to the one her imagination created.
Breaking the kiss, he leans his forehead against hers. He's never felt this way before. She has him wrapped around her finger and he's powerless against it.
"Did you sleep well?" she asks him.
"I did." Better than I have in years. "How did you sleep?"
Uncertainty flickers across her face, but she gives him a quick peck. "Great," she answers, smiling.
A vicious blow from a sledgehammer hits him, knocks the wind out of him. I love her, he realizes.
Heart swelling, he gasps, "You're so beautiful."
"You're so cheesy," she laughs, scrunching her nose. He playfully bites her chin, causing her to erupt in a storm of giggles.
He loves her, deeply and irrevocably—he fell off the cliff into a great abyss, and he has absolutely no problem with it. He suddenly wants to tell her…everything. Don't be an idiot, he chides himself, you'll scare her. This might all be completely one-sided on his part—in all likelihood, it is—and he doesn't want to run the risk of saddling her with things she never asked for. No, he won't tell her everything…but that won't stop him from enjoying the time he has with her.
"You hungry?" he asks, tenderly rubbing his thumb in circles on her cheek.
Seph raises her eyebrows. "What, are you offering to make me breakfast in bed now?"
There's a loud knock on the door before he can answer.
"Master Underwood!" a reedy, old voice calls from outside.
"I'm busy, Charon!" he shouts at the door.
"I deeply apologize, Master Underwood, but this is urgent!"
Hayden sits up, shaking his head. "Sorry about all this," he mutters, pulling on his boxer briefs and pants. "I'll be right back."
"I'll be right here," Seph says, and Hayden can hear the tender smile on her lips as he opens the door.
"What is it, Charon?"
The old man fidgets under his gaze, wrings his small, leathery hands. "Terribly sorry, sir," he begins, sneaking a quick peek behind Hayden and instantly confirming his worst fear. "The police are here."
Hayden's eyes grow wide. "What?" Panic shoots through him, and he can hear the drums start to crash in his ears again. "Why?" he croaks, lost to the fear.
"I believe they are here for the, ah," Charon pauses, searching for the right words, "lovely young woman lying on your bed."
Hayden glances back at her worried face, and a thousand different scenarios race before his eyes.
He loses her in all of them.
Not today, a sharp, unfamiliar voice growls in his mind. Hayden sets his jaw, clenches his fist. He roughly brushes past Charon. You will not lose her today, and you will not lose her again.
No—he most certainly will not.