Magic Awakened: A Paranormal Romance Boxed Set

by K.N. Lee

  Perhaps my brother took some measure of pity on me that day, as I stood frozen to the spot in my hiding place. My plan to burst forth and spirit Persephone away had seemed eminently reasonable, practical, and practicable in the privacy of my chambers. But, as I stood enthralled by her beauty, I found that I could no more take a step towards her than take a step back into the shadows. All I could do was watch her wander, each blade of grass brushing her feet reverently with every step, and each flower blooming under her loving, blessed gaze.

  Ah, you think I have forgotten the thread I spin? You are impatient, reminding me that I meant to speak of my most sovereign and gracious brother’s grand gesture, and your eyes roll at yet another paean to my beloved’s majesty. Fie upon your short-sighted heart! You are like a maiden who dreams of a gallant cavalry officer in bronze and silver, and who scorns the steady sweat and rough linen of the farmer. Just remember that cavalry officers leave with as much pomp and ceremony as they make love, and they often die too soon and brutishly, with less dignity and joy than that of the farmer who has true reverence for life and all things in his care. I should know.

  All right, all right! You nag, mortal, worse than a mother-in-law! I was hidden behind a tall, nondescript shrub. Suddenly, a single, magnificent flower burst into bloom. Its gay and brilliant colors, heady scent, and seductively curling petals were clearly the work of my showy brother. It was his way of winking at me, damn him.

  “Why, welcome to sunlight and earth!” Persephone cried out merrily as she espied the newborn blossom. Gaily, she ran over to examine this new subject of her sweet domain. I could hardly breathe, for she was there, no more than an arm’s length from me. This close, I could count every strand of her hair. I could smell her warm fragrance of lilies and secret moss. I could not help myself.

  “Persephone,” I breathed.

  Her golden head lifted, and her clear eyes searched for the voice that had sounded the call of darkness.

  “Persephone,” I said yet again, stepping from my hiding place to stand before her. I lifted my hand to touch her face as she stood, seemingly transfixed by my sudden presence.

  “My-my lord?” she whispered, shrinking back from my touch as if it were the fanged caress of a viper.

  “Do not fear me, Persephone,” I begged, though my voice sounded harsh to my ears.

  My beloved stood her ground, an honorable gesture, a kind gesture given the terror I saw in her eyes.

  “What do you want of me, my lord?” she whispered.

  Every blade of grass, every leaf held as still as she was, the very air seemed to wait for my answer.

  “You,” I said bluntly.

  Persephone’s eyes went wide, and she finally surrendered to her fear and took a step back, seeming to draw the light and warmth of the sun with her…and away from me.

  “I want you,” I repeated, drowning in a sick rush of desperation that was in danger of becoming a great wave of rage.

  “I- I do not understand,” she said quietly.

  “You will,” I said, taking a step toward her. “Come with me, sweet Persephone. Come be my queen, my lover, my light!”

  Persephone gasped, her chest rising with the sharp intake of breath.

  “I cannot!” she protested wildly.

  “Do not make me force you, please, Persephone,” I begged, hating the sound of my own voice. “Come willingly to my arms!”

  “No!” she cried out. “No! I cannot—I will not!”

  She turned to flee, but she was a young goddess and nowhere near quick or strong enough to evade my swiftness and strength as I caught her to me.

  For a moment, as I held her in my arms for the first time, I was powerless to do anything but absorb the sensation of her body against mine. Though she struggled, I felt her secret softness, her sun-warmed body against my cold one. My hands did their job of holding her fast, but my fingertips burned to explore the lines and curves that shifted under them, hidden by only the thinnest of linen.

  “Mother!”

  Her cry roused me from my desire-drenched reverie.

  With a snarl, I bore her away from that spot, carrying her swiftly back to where my chariot waited. My faithful steeds—four black horses whose sin of trampling their cruel owners had earned them the misfortune of allowing me to shelter, feed, and care for them for an eternity—stood, ready and eager to return to the world below.

  “No, please! Oh, Mother!”

  With one arm, I held Persephone to me, using my hand to crush her face to the crook of my neck to silence those telltale cries. With a wordless roar, I commanded the horses to take me back to Tartarus, to my kingdom…our kingdom.

  We raced across the fields, neither hoof nor chariot wheel touching the ground. Dust from the earth stirred and swirled around us, and the land itself was nothing more than a blur to me as I urged the horses to greater speed. Persephone was shaking in my arms, and I could feel her tears burning against my chest. I knew this was the most terrible part of her trials, and that soon, all would be love and gentleness for her once again. But pity did not loosen my grip, nor did her small cries for her mother give me pause or make me doubt the rightness of my purpose.

  Soon, the terrain changed to hills and mountains, and my chariot skimmed over lakes, streams and small waterfalls. Finally, we reached the pool of Cyane. Beneath her waters lay the portal to my kingdom. Always, she parted her waters for me, though I suspect it was more in distaste of touching the god of the dead than out of any voluntary deference.

  But the surface of the pool remained unbroken.

  “Cyane!” I shouted, calling forth the naiad. I watched impatiently as she appeared, the curtains of the waterfall parting to reveal her.

  “Where do you go with Demeter’s daughter?” Cyane demanded, her delicate feet stepping on the surface of the water as if it were glass as she came over to confront me.

  “That is none of your concern,” I snapped.

  “I will not allow you to pass through these waters with Persephone unwilling!” Cyane proclaimed proudly, narrowing her limpid eyes at me.

  “You dare to disobey a god?” I thundered. “Then you shall pay the price!”

  My rage at being challenged and thwarted by a mere naiad was fueled by my need to return home so that I could ease Persephone’s anguish. I grabbed the great staff of the lord of the underworld from its restraints on the rail of the chariot, and I smote the water with it.

  The earth itself shook and trembled as the waters of Cyane’s pool flew high into the sky, revealing the rocky bottom that hid the entrance to Tartarus. I glared at the rocks, and at my silent command, they shattered, their debris shooting into the air around us. The gaping hole now open was a welcome sight to my eyes, though I could feel Persephone shrinking back against me.

  “You cannot do this!” Cyane cried out in anguish. “It is not right! Demeter has not given her consent!”

  “And Hades is not to be gainsaid!” I shouted back, taking the reins of the chariot again and urging my faithful horses to plunge us back into the welcoming dark embrace of the earth.

  Cyane’s pleas followed us down until we were too deep for anything of the world above to reach us. Great boulders crashed down around us as we sped straight down the dark passage. The noise was tremendous as the earth closed up behind us, rock and soil grinding together. I always enjoyed the display of such true power, but I could tell my little Persephone was terrified.

  Yet secretly, how could I not relish the feel of her lithe form trembling against my body? The way she inadvertently clung to me was both maddeningly sweet and agonizing in the knowledge that it was I who caused her the distress that made her turn to me for assurance.

  You think me cruel and domineering? Do not forget that I did offer her a choice of a sort. I asked her to come with me. I told her of my love. I hinted at the greatness that awaited her.

  I can still see your disapproval of my actions. Words such as ‘high-handed’ and ‘imperious’ are on the tip of your ton
gue. I do not disagree. Quite honestly, my plan was harsh, and circumstances had not lent themselves to any finesse. Yet, are you not grateful today for the way your nurse or tutor bent you to your task whether you liked it or not? Often, what is best for us arrives like an unwelcome guest and puts us to more trouble than it seems to be worth.

  “Fear not, Persephone.” I spoke into the sweet gold of her hair. “This is your realm now, and no harm shall come to you, for you, too, will command all that Hades commands. Indeed, you shall learn to command Hades himself!”

  A small sob escaped her lips, and the sound was like a knife plunged into my heart. I made what I hoped was a tender, reassuring sound and kissed the top of her head, my lips burning cold against her warmth. Soon enough, my horses brought us to the ground on the banks of the River Styx.

  “I cannot cross that!” Persephone gasped, turning her face up to look at me, her eyes swimming in tears. “If I cross it, I shall never be able to return to the world above!”

  “Hades’ queen can go where she likes, when she likes,” I purred, fighting the urge to lower my lips to hers. It was a hard-fought battle, for her lips were smooth and of palest pink, parted just enough that I could glimpse that warm darkness inside that I longed to plunder.

  “Then I choose to go back to the surface!” Persephone demanded, the fierceness of her voice taking me aback.

  “I will decide if and when you can do that!” I growled, hating the obvious inconsistency of my remarks.

  “Then I am your prisoner and not your queen,” Persephone retorted, pushing against me with her little hands, her face twisting into a scowl.

  “You are both,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “You cannot have it both ways, my lord,” she insisted, continuing her fruitless struggle.

  “Enough!” I snapped, wearied by this sudden show of spirit from my golden girl. Once more, the horses went forward, leisurely pulling my chariot onto Charon’s skiff, and the grim old man ferried us across the black-water river.

  Persephone’s efforts to free herself from my embrace continued unabated. She pounded her fists against my chest and called me all sorts of names—names, indeed, that I was shocked to learn that such an innocent would know. I blamed the nymphs for this particular education.

  My horses took us along the dark road that led to my palace, and the sight of it finally stilled Persephone. She gazed upon it with wide, fearful eyes. I must admit, trying to see it from her perspective, I was impressed by it anew, as well.

  My palace was carved from the black rock itself, with a thousand windows that were filled with the glow of light from ten thousand torches, bronze sconces and sweet-scented oil lamps. Tall black poplars lined the lane that went up to two enormous oak doors. Pulling up to the entrance, I halted the chariot, and a slave rushed forth to tend to it.

  “Welcome to your true home, Persephone,” I said gruffly, still smarting from her resistance.

  “You mean my prison,” she retorted, digging her heels into the ground as I tried to usher her to the doors that had swung open at my approach.

  I growled deep in my throat and tightened my grip on her thin wrist, fairly dragging her after me as I stalked into the grand courtyard. I had done my best to make my palace beautiful and lovely, to make it appeal to Persephone, but the girl seemed stubbornly set on seeing it as nothing but a rock-bound jail full of shadows.

  My guests had gathered in the courtyard, some lounging about on the lip of the fountain—carved in the likeness of Cerebus—some leaning against the columns of the peristyle. They shouted their welcome to me, with fatuous phrases of praise. I snorted and strode through them, pulling Persephone along behind me.

  “Where are you taking me?” she demanded breathlessly as she struggled to keep up with my pace.

  “To your rooms, my lady,” I said curtly.

  “To my cell, you mean,” she corrected with a defiant tilt to her chin.

  I bit my tongue. This was not going as I had planned.

  Not at all.

  Chapter 3

  I glowered at the unoccupied couch across from me. Supper was all laid out on low tables in my private chambers, and two divans had been arranged in a most intimate way so that I could reach over and touch my beloved’s hand as we ate and drank and grew to understand one another better.

  But no, I sat alone, with the fish getting cold and the honey sinking to the bottom of the wine cups. I resolved to wait a bit longer, reasoning that perhaps she had gotten lost, though I knew that excuse was specious. She would be escorted to my rooms by various attendants.

  What her absence really meant was that she simply did not want to be with me.

  I tried to be patient and understanding. All that long first day, Persephone had not once stepped outside her chambers. She did not break her fast, nor summon any servants to assist her with dressing. I had fancied myself as extraordinarily kind and broad-minded in letting her be, thinking that she needed time and solitude in which to vent her grief and rage. I had even ordered that she was not to be disturbed unless she called for attendants.

  Later in the day, I began to feel restless and snappish. I had lashed out at the fatuous, vainglorious shades that haunted my court, feasting eternally on my bread and meat. I wanted my prize. I wanted the fulfillment of my wishes and the soothing of my aching heart by my beautiful, happy queen. A queen, who at that moment, was almost as unattainable as she had ever been.

  I sent for Persephone, bidding her to join me for supper. It was a request, but I was ready to make it an order. I was bewildered and aggrieved by this recalcitrant behavior in my golden goddess, and I must admit, I was in a foul mood when I stormed from my chambers in search of her.

  “Persephone?” I called out when I reached her door, trying to keep my voice calm. “It is I, Hades, your husband.”

  There was only silence on the other side of the great double oak doors.

  I took a deep breath.

  “Persephone!” I said, bringing my lips quite close to the door. “Are you ill?”

  “I am not ill,” came a crisp little voice from inside. “But, I do not wish to see or speak to you unless you are come to tell me that I may return to the world above.”

  This made me grind my teeth, and I dug my fingers into the grain of the carved wood panels of the door.

  “That shall not happen, my lady,” I growled. “You had best stop sulking like a spoilt child and come out to greet your lord and master.”

  “I will do no such thing!”

  “What?”

  “I said, I will do no such thing.”

  I heard her the first time, but could not believe her audacity. There was no need for her to be so damn literal about it. Her calm impertinence was maddening. I ripped the iron crown from around my head and viciously threw it to the floor.

  “You would do best not to disobey me, Persephone,” I spat.

  “Or what, my lord?” came the cold, pert reply. “You shall punish me by spiriting me away from all that I love and imprisoning me in the Underworld?”

  I slammed my fists against her door, the divine force of my blow easily splintering the wood. There was a small, startled squeak from the other side, and I smiled grimly.

  “Will you be reasonable now?” I asked more gently.

  “Only if you will be!”

  “I am being reasonable, my lady,” I said in a tight voice, the anger inside me flaring up again. “It is perfectly reasonable for a husband to expect his wife to obey him, to attend him when asked, and to…” I stopped short, biting off the words about surrendering her body, lest that frighten her into even greater resistance.

  “And is it perfectly reasonable to steal a goddess? To ignore her mother’s wishes?”

  “I have made you a queen!” I thundered at the door, raising my fists to break it down completely, though the thinnest thread of sanity made me refrain lest it lead to a frenzy of violence that I could not control and would only lead to Persephone weeping in my bed
.

  “I did not ask to be a queen!” she yelled back.

  I stared at the door, slack-jawed. This golden godling was impossible!

  “I will send attendants to ready you, Persephone,” I finally said, my voice sounding half-menacing, half-defeated in my ears. “And, either you will come obligingly to my rooms and sup with me, or I will come and fetch you. You may not like either option, but, I assure you that one is worse than the other. The choice is yours.”

  With that, I turned and stalked back to my chambers.

  Yes, I am laughing at your outrage, mortal. You may call me rude and my actions beastly, but never forget that I was well within my rights as a husband. Even gods have rights and rules they must follow, for if we did not, the entire fabric of existence would unravel. Creation would become nothing more than a pile of catastrophic knots and tangles of despair. I am aware that there are great tales to be spun from the breaking of rules—how could I not, when the other gods all compete to see who can have the most lines written about their egregious rule-breaking—but, a well-regulated reality requires consistent obedience.

  A short while after, just as I was dreading that I might have to make good on my threat, there came a soft knock at my door, and at my command, Persephone entered.

  I watched her as she made her way over to the unoccupied divan across from me. She was pale and shaken, paying no heed to what was around her. All my anger against her vanished, burned away like morning mist by the sunlight of her beauty. She wore one of the soft, pale chitons I had filled the chests in her room with. Her hair was bound up in a pretty, but completely incomprehensible pattern of roped braids and pinned with jeweled flowers, the only flowers that could bloom this deep in the earth. Around her neck was yet another one of my gifts, a necklace of gold beads and pearls, with a flat pendant of hammered gold in the shape of a lotus bud. Gold bangles loaded down her wrists, and her slender fingers were adorned with scarab rings of the finest lapis lazuli.