100 Years Later; Pandora’s Third Death  

The days before Persephone returned to his Underworld were always full of anxiety. She’d shown she’d never love him. Every time she returned, her mind remained on her mother, Demeter, and the sunlight that warmed her skin. Being cursed to spend six months of the year in his Underworld was a fate she loathed. He didn’t have the power to change that, even though he wished he could. He’d find peace if she could look at him with anything other than disdain. He had three days, six hours, and twenty-four minutes before her return. Which meant he had that long to stew in emotions that always overwhelmed him. 

“When are you going to move on?” Hypnos’ voice sounded behind him, and he stifled his jump. “You know that Demeter would never allow her to love you.”   

He refrained from snapping at the god. Taking a deep breath, he said, “As if I were unaware of that. I have tried, but she is… she is born of perfection.” 

“At least one woman can divert your attention,” the sleep god yawned. 

“Don’t,” he hissed, stepping closer to Hypnos. “You know what happens with forbidden fruit.”  

“All I know is that forbidden fruit is the sweetest,” the bastard said with a smirk. “Maybe it’s time to eat.”   

“What are you…” he trailed off, suddenly feeling her. She was in the Underworld.   

“My dreams are never wrong,” Hypnos said, reminding him of the prophecy from so long ago. “You did ask me not to share the details, though.”  

“Tell me.” He growled, snatching Hypnos by the throat. It didn’t wipe the grin off his face. “Now.”   

“She’s damaged, and her soul could benefit from rest. Offer her that chance, and you may both find healing.” He leaned into the grip at his throat, unfazed by the pressure. He’d never feared Hades, and that was why they were friends.  

It had been three of her lifetimes since he’d forced her out of the Underworld. He’d avoided her since, having Hypnos send her on her way. She never left his mind. She’d even replaced Persephone in his Slumber. “Why have they cursed me? I have accepted every punishment with dignity. This might break me.”   

“Or it may heal you.” Hypnos placed a gentle hand on the wrist at his throat. “I need to sleep now or risk going comatose. Word to the wise: you both need this.”   

Then there was a pile of sand slipping between Hades’ fingers. He’d disappeared to his realm, known simply as Slumber. He gathered the sand with a snap of his fingers, transferring it to a bottle. Potent enough to put a Golden God, or any high-powered god, to sleep, Slumber Sand could be deadly in the wrong hands.  

He reappeared on his throne, knowing that Kharon’s ferry would be arriving any moment. The smoke of his throne settled just as the boat docked, and he sensed her before he saw her. He could feel her presence in the air.  

She stepped off the ferry, and their eyes locked. Emotions tore through him; some he was unsure how to define. Her expression was not that of love or infatuation. No, that was the look of countless heartbreaks and battles that left her broken. Someone had hurt her. Again.  

“Is that fear I see, little pixie?” he teased as she approached him. 

She smiled softly. It didn’t reach her eyes. “I wondered when I would see you again.” 

Sobering, he said, “All mortal things die. You were destined to see me again.” He wanted to reach out to her, pull her against him, and tell her that she’d be safe with him.   

Shaking her head, she said simply, “Don’t pretend.”  

He stiffened. Those two words meant the Fates had cursed her, too. He hoped his desire would be one-sided and she would be immune. She needed him the same way he needed her.   

“What did you do to deserve this?” he asked as he trailed his hand down her cheek, taking in every trauma she’d suffered. “Follow me.”   

She grabbed his wrist, and he looked at her. “Don’t make me leave. I can’t go back yet.”  

What she didn’t realize, and what he painfully knew, was that he couldn’t let her leave. The thought of sending her away was a pain he couldn’t yet endure. “No, little pixie. I’m not making you leave. You simply cannot stay amongst the souls, not with that immortal glow about you.”  

He grabbed her hand and tugged her behind him. She followed, and he hid his smile. When they got to his office, he’d give her a body. Her soul wouldn’t keep trying to leave with a physical form.  

The door shut behind him, and he released her. He didn’t move to turn on a light. Fiery red illuminated the room from the massive windows that overlooked Tartarus, where damned souls spent their eternity. Everything else was done in shades of brown. 

“There are so many books,” she mused as she approached one of several bookshelves. Her fingers drifted over the shelves, touching knick-knacks and leather-bound books. When he approached her, she watched him from her periphery. She didn’t look directly at him. “I miss having time to read.”  

“That must be why Athena chose you,” he said casually. He stopped just behind her. “You’re drawn to knowledge.”  

She grimaced when she finally looked at him. “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t her Warrior Champion. I would give anything to be the Champion of Knowledge or Judgement. Helen and Warin get to choose when they must fight. I am duty-bound to fight to the death.”  

He frowned. “Such a heavy obligation is difficult to bear.” He hadn’t chosen his lot as shunned god of the Underworld; Fate had dealt him those cards.  

“Yes. I enjoy being a Champion; please do not think I don’t.” She tilted her head up, staring at the ceiling for several seconds. “I am just so tired. Is it too much to be granted some semblance of happiness after an epic battle? Not pain. Not death. Just peace.” 

Mulling over his words, he guided her to the chair across from his at the desk. “I am offering you rest for as long as you need, but there will be rules.” 

“Like what?”  

“First, you need a body or your soul will slowly, yet painfully, be forced from the Underworld. Immortal souls are not meant to be bound here. In a physical form, your soul will not realize it doesn’t belong.” He drummed his fingers on the desk. “Second, you will not interact with anyone I have not introduced you to. There are strict rules against Gods and Champions having any relationship outside of the Champion bond. Being blackmailed by a god is never pleasant.” 

“You’re hiding me for another reason.” There was no accusation in her tone. She was simply matter-of-fact. 

“Whatever my reasons are, you either accept the terms, or you go back to the Upperworld.” He leaned forward to level a serious look at her. “This is dangerous for both of us.” 

“Fine,” she said, simply. 

“This is the most important rule: when I say you need to be reborn, you leave. No questions asked.” He wouldn’t admit how much it would hurt him to send her away. 

“I accept.” The simple words weighed more than she knew. They bound them together. 

He stood, coming around to her. He dropped to his knees, manifesting a filigreed gold locket. The magic that created it drew part of his soul into the delicate metallic patterns. “Wearing this will grant you a body. You’ll look as you always have; that’s the image your soul has manifested. Taking it off will start the removal process. The only other way out of the Underworld is by my hand. 

She slipped on the necklace, her fingers tracing the details. Her physical form blinked into existence, and his heart hammered. His eyes followed the path of freckles that dotted her pale features. Her gray eyes widened as she watched his gaze roam over her exposed skin. He ached to trace his fingers over the swell of her breasts where the freckles disappeared between them. Unable to stop from reaching out, he chose to tuck a stray white-blonde hair behind her ear, his touch gentle, barely a whisper as he ran his finger over the shell of her ear. 

“Perfect,” he whispered, his eyes returning to hers.   

“My original mother made me keep my hair long. It hasn’t been this long since.” Tears gathered in her lash line as she touched the braid that draped over her shoulder. 

He placed his hand over hers to stop her nervous strokes. “You’re beautiful, Pandora, and she was cruel.”  

Her cheeks pinkened, and he wanted to kiss her. Instead, he tugged her to her feet and guided her through the hidden entrance to his quarters. On the other side was the kitchen. 

“Welcome home. This is the kitchen, which is mostly for show,” he said, conjuring a platter of her favorite foods as explanation. “Don’t worry. Eating anything won’t get you cursed; it doesn’t work like that anymore.”  

The living room was next. When she saw the massive sofa and the electronics she’d never seen before, he could barely contain his amusement. Being a god did have perks occasionally, such as having access to future and past technologies.  

“If you miss reading, movies might be your next favorite thing,” he said. There was a thrill of excitement at the thought of sharing his favorite movies with her. 

“I’d like that,” she said, though she was distracted as she wandered around the room. Her fingers grazed the plush sofa.  

Her room was last. When she entered, she turned to look at him. “You’re giving me a room of my own?”  

“I’m not allowing this for anything in return, Pandora.” He took her face between his palms. “My room is next door, should you decide that’s what you want.”  

“Why am I so drawn to you?” She asked breathlessly. 

“The Fates, little pixie.” He traced his fingers downward until they rested over her sternum. “We’re being punished. This attraction shouldn’t happen, but I am powerless to stop it now.”  

“So am I.” She covered his hands with hers. Electricity shot through him. “I don’t want to stop it.”  

His desire to exist without her evaporated, and his heart clenched. He pulled her against him then, embracing her. He couldn’t kiss her yet lest he scare her away. Her arms wrapped around him, and she nestled into him.   

“You are mine,” he whispered as he brushed his lips against her crown.  

“Say it again,” she begged, suddenly looking at him with those doe eyes of hers.  

“You’re mine, little pixie,” he growled, moving his lips to her ear. He held her tighter. “May there be mercy on our souls because the Fates will have to kill me before I let you go.” 

Editor: Shannon Hensley