by Eris Adderly
Her free hand came up and yanked away the veil. Yellow linen fluttered to the dock. A stab of her thumbs rent the pomegranate, and she dug her fingers into the pulpy scarlet core, a handful of dripping seeds her prize. She stepped toward him and her voice rang loud and clear.
“I, Persephone, daughter of Zeus, Lord of the Skies, and Demeter, Lady of the Earth, do bind myself as Consort to you, Hades Nekrodegmôn, Lord of the Underworld, in the sacred rite of marriage, in the presence of these immortals who do bear witness. May our love endure as long as creation.”
In a single clean move, she brought the seeds to her mouth and swallowed. His goddess had bound herself. She had chosen him. Again.
He reached out his hand for his bident, and it flew from where it had landed on the shore. Hades closed the last of the distance between them, just as his fingers curled around the iron haft. As though she already knew what he needed, Persephone brought red-stained fingers to cover his, and the Lord of the Dead spoke his answering vow.
“I, Hades, Son of Kronos, Lord of Time, and Rhea, Mother of the Gods, do bind myself as Consort to you, Persephone Karporphoros, Goddess of Growing Things, in the sacred rite of marriage, in the presence of these immortals who do bear witness. May our love endure as long as creation.”
The words were no more out of his mouth than Persephone stood on her toes and they met in a bruising kiss. The pomegranate fell at their feet and the ancient surface of the dock erupted with life. Russet moss and bone-white fungi spread in a carpet; along with any sort of live thing as might grow in his realm.
Their realm.
He felt her power well up, even as they consumed each other. The Underworld belonged to her now, as well.
Hades was no longer alone.
The immortals behind them gave up waiting after a time, and departed through the æther, or with Kharon across the Styx. The Lord and Lady of the Underworld had attention only for each other.
*
Persephone careened past the double doors and into the great hall, grinning and out of breath. The Throne of Tears beckoned from the far end, and she ran to it, catching herself with her palms on its arm.
The chase proved far more sporting when made on foot. No rifts, no æther. Just predator and prey.
Hades followed on her heels, sliding into the space out of the darkness of the hallway. One foot in front of the other, he closed the distance at a deliberate prowl, the line of his mouth wicked with promise. She stood up straight and fixed him with wide eyes and mock horror. Covered her breast with palms in a pantomime of dismay.
Catch me, Darkness. Again and again.
His steps brought him onto the dais, black eyes intent on his quarry. Persephone’s heart whumped in her chest, some ritual drum, and not from her sprint through the halls of the palace. Here was Hades, her immortal consort, come to claim his bride again. Chest and shoulders dwarfing hers, dark hands ready to circle her arms, her throat. The perfect euphoria of trust—trust and delicious fear—had her thrumming with need and ready to end the game. There was only so long she could play at evading the thing she wanted most.
He took a step forward and she took one back, the air all but crackling between them. Two more moves in this dance and Persephone felt one of the throne’s stalagmite columns pressing between her shoulder blades. When Hades closed the gap, she gave up her flight and smiled, sliding her arms around his waist.
“You’ve caught me, Husband.”
He peeled her hold away and brought her wrists overhead against the cool, damp stone, holding them in place with a hand. “So I have. Wife.”
The word still made her skin prickle, from nape to knees. In the last moment, as he tilted his face down to hers, Persephone thanked the Fates.
And then she was meeting his kiss. Challenging with tongue and teeth. He was wedging a thigh between her legs and filling his free hand with the curve of her backside.
She rolled her hips against him now, her part as the fleeing coquette forgotten. His hands were everywhere, palming a breast, thumbing a nipple through the drape of linen. Her moans were in his mouth, the only place left for them to go.
Amid delirium, the supporting column of stone slid away and the polished arm of the throne was at her backside. Hades herded her back and she sat, knees parting around his hips. Every breath of air might as well have left the room for all the urgency with which they stole it back and forth from one another’s lungs.
Hades had her face in his hands, and Persephone fumbled, blind, at the fibula to his chiton, tossing it aside as soon as she’d ripped it free. Fabric fell and his chest was bare. The naked soles of her feet pressed to the backs of his knees to bring that scalding heat close.
They ate and drank of each other as though the next equinox would arrive on the morrow and force them apart again. Her head fell back, submitting her throat to the destruction of his tongue, the ungentle claim of teeth. He was going to mark her, and she pressed into it, whining to have a cup filled even as it appeared to be bottomless.
Yes. Yes. His.
His hand was on the back of her neck, the points of his nails anchoring in her skin as he came up to own her with all the volatile possession she’d ever needed to see in two eyes.
“Mine.”
Pure and dark as obsidian, his one word called her thoughts into reality. Now she knew. Persephone knew what it was to be loved by the lord of the third realm.
He was pushing the drape of her peplos over her knees now, his free hand seeking, demanding. The moment his fingers found slick arousal, Hades Clymenus forgot seduction. He had found the chaos of need.
His hips drove her thighs wider, chiton no more out of the way before his erection slid against the wet promise of union. Her husband would be pushing inside before she could breathe.
No!
“Hades!” She had a hand on his arm, gripping muscle. “My love.” There was something unhinged in that gaze, but the endearment was enough to stop him. “Please,” she said, every last nerve burning hot, “this is not what I … you know what I need.”
He searched her face for a heartbeat, and then sucked in a hiss of air through his teeth. The growl that came after, welling from deep in his chest, was all the warning she had.
Hades hauled her to her feet and spun her by the shoulders, the stone arm of the throne bruising the bones of her hips as he trapped her. Fabric tore and his cock was there, sliding between her legs even as rough hands dragged at her ruined peplos.
Oh, yes. Yes, he does know.
A palm was between her shoulders, pressing down, bending her forward over the seat of his power. He was there. He was there, hard as granite, pushing and meeting no friction whatsoever. She arched, pressing back to surround him, coming up on her toes.
“Please, please, Husband.” She sought their coupling, shameless, but he filled her at a tortuous pace, his self-control complete, whatever she’d seen in his eyes only moments ago.
“You can beg as you like, Beloved,” he said as he sank in to the hilt. She could hear the depravity in his smile, even as she stretched around his cock, lust slicking her thighs and the cleft between her cheeks.
There was a hand on her left arm, hauling back, stealing her support on one side. Then the right, and he had her wrists at the small of her back, banded together in an iron grip. With the circle completed this way, something supporting fell from her, dragging her stomach through vertigo as it went.
Hades took her with the grinding patience of the Phlegethôn. Ravaging at the speed of molten stone, never allowing their separation, breaking and reforming her until her eyes rolled back, and the noises rattling from her throat were the songs of infinite surrender.
Their entire world existed in the places where their bodies joined. The roll of his hips grew sharp at intervals. Her shoulders strained backward against the rhythm, the pull of his grip on her arms. He snapped into a thrust, and then another, grunting as he abandoned his will.
“Sýzygos! Yes!”
We won’t last. Too much. Too much!
The Lord of the Dead drove into her, battering her hips against stone. She welcomed the pain again, perfect when it crashed together with the joy, death overtaking life overtaking death, on and on without end.
Too much! Everything! Yes!
The throb came, a deafening rush, and she took him home in that first violent clutch.
“Hades! I love you!”
Her flesh and her cries ended him.
“Persephone!”
He jerked against her, root-deep, and she fluttered around him, wailing, drinking him down. Every muscle in two immortal bodies went tight, and every distraction fled blinding clarity.
Her husband seeded her. That’s what this was. Surge after hot surge sought her womb, and Persephone’s womb was the earth. The next Day of Balance she would come to term, this year, and every year. She would bear the progeny of Death, up through the soil, reaching and green, this year, and every year. And when her offspring withered and fell away to dirt, she would come seeking their renewal in the arms of her Consort.
This year, and every year.
Tension dissolved and Hades loosed her arms, leaning over her back. He shifted hair from her neck and his kisses fell on damp skin, there and over her shoulders. A hand came around her hip and splayed over her belly, lingering even as he remained inside her.
“This year and every year,” he said, the promise brushing her ear. Persephone choked back a sob. He’d seen it, too.
The Fates had been clever, indeed.
He shifted to allow her up, but kept her pinned against the throne, still buried to the hilt. Intimate flesh slipped and stretched, raw from completion, and Persephone shuddered. The sob heaved into laughter.
“Tell me, Wife.” A knuckle traced down her spine, and she could feel the trap of that smirk.
Oh yes. Every year.
“Hades,” she said, her own mischief curling her lips, “My Lord Husband … do you still have the little bells?”
*
Persephone journeys at every equinox. Can you not see her passing?
When the year begins on the Day of Balance, her children cry out, green mouths open wide to the skies. The buds and shoots of Spring explode from every vale and branch, petaled trumpets sounding her return to the realm of her birth. They grow for her every year, ripen to fruit and split at the rinds, their love overflowing.
Can you see her leave at mid-year? They called this equinox The Fall, as the goddess once did, from one realm to the next, destined to meet her love. The trees remember her wedding veil; can you see them turn yellow in her honor? Ah, but after the celebration of marriage … what are they to do? Their leaves can only blush a furious red at each year’s passionate reunion. When Persephone descends once again, this year and every year, to find her Lord Hades beneath the earth.
*
We hope you enjoyed The Eighth House!
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About Eris
Eris writes subversive romance for people who hate romance novels. Her stories are the stomping grounds for bada** heroines, untamable alphas, a spectrum of sexuality and a serious disregard for convention. Much like her namesake, Eris likes to make trouble.
When she’s not staying up into wee hours writing, Eris also likes to read, baby-talk her cats, exasperate her husband, and obsess about writing some more. Somewhere in the middle, there will be pizza.
Also by Eris Adderly
The Skull and Crossbone Romances:
The Devil’s Luck – Lust and discovery, betrayal and secrets in the age of sail. Oh yes, and pirates. Dirty, dirty pirates. A young widow from Bristol is ready to sail for the Colonies, but fate seems to have other ideas. A full-length erotic bodice-ripper novel to satisfy your thirst for adventure and pleasure on the high seas.
The Decline and Fall of Rowland Graves (A Devil’s Luck Vignette) – A tragic, Gothic romance novella, with a dark, Halloween twist. The origin story of the villainous surgeon who menaced Hannah aboard The Devil’s Luck.
The Maid and the Cook (A Devil’s Luck Vignette) – A light-hearted, bawdy pirate romance novella following Brigit, the widow’s maid from The Devil’s Luck, and her adventures down in the galley when she catches the unexpected eye of the ship’s cook.
After Exile Series
Book One: An Emperor for the Eclipse – A man they call ‘exile’ and a woman they call ‘witch’ meet their fate on the steps of the imperial palace. Neither will ever be the same. A dark, romantic fantasy.
Blushing Books Publications
Gallows Pole – A notiorious highway thief makes a dangerous bargain with a hangman in eighteenth century England. A dark, historical erotic romance novella.
Find Eris Online
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