Series: Willow Winters
Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 94417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
I cross the room to her, ignoring the inappropriately fast beat of my heart. Persephone does not turn her head to watch me. She does not even look me in the eye again although I wonder if the depths of darkness was only a flash… only a sign of what could be.
Thump, thump, my heart races as I get closer and closer to my queen. Heat gathers around every nerve ending.
I stand in front of her, still, for perhaps a minute, then tap my foot on the edge of the rug.
This is all that makes her lift her eyes. The hazel glistens with unshed tears. No longer the pitch black power that met me before.
Persephone says nothing.
I murmur, resisting the urge to lift her chin and force her eyes to meet mine so I may study them. “You wake the dead, my queen.”
She keeps her face tilted toward mine, so there is no ignoring the state of her, which cannot be described by any other word than pitiful. Persephone’s skin is pale. Her eyes are red and swollen. Her cheeks are blotchy from the irritation of her dried tears. Her lips, soaked in the salt, are dry and bitten. And yet, under a thin coat of sadness is rage. I love the rage. I love the sadness. I love the power that echoes beneath them both even more.
“Have you not eaten?” I question, noting she has withered. I cannot imagine she has, looking like this. Persephone shakes her head, confirming my suspicions.
Irritation sweeps its way through me. How can she expect to fight, without caring for her needs? I remind myself that she is not used to the ways of war. A young Goddess compared to I. An innocent in so many ways and although it tempts me, it infuriates me just the same.
That cannot continue, just as the rest of my realm could not continue to hear her scream. With the poison Persephone’s been given…
She must eat and nourish her body and spirit. If she is to stand beside me, she must be well.
With haste, I stride to the table in the corner. A bottle of wine and two glasses appear in the centre as if sensing my attention. With a wave of my hand, the wine appears in the glasses. Spilling from nothing. It’s a delicacy and delight, and the effects of such offerings will ease her tense body. Warm her to my intentions perhaps.
I note that Persephone appears to not watch me. I will never admit how much I loathe not being able to feel her eyes on my back. I grit my teeth and push those feelings to the distance.
As I lift the glasses, the wine sloshes into the bottom of the glass goblets and settles. I take a sip of the first, enjoying the taste for a moment. Then I carry the glass over to Persephone’s place and crouch down in front of her, offering the wine. All she needs to do is lean forward, and I will tip the glass and let the wine spill into her mouth. Goosebumps slip down her shoulder as I stare at her bare skin revealed by the thin straps of her cream silk gown.
Persephone stares at the glass of wine, then looks back into my eyes. I watch her throat as she swallows in defiance.
“Wine for the Gods.” I move the glass a fraction of an inch closer to her. The rough pad of my thumb slips against the delicate and thin glass.
Persephone glances at it again, then shakes her head. “I’ve shattered the glass a hundred times now,” she admits. “I do not care for sustenance.”
“Come, now.” I pull the glass away. My gaze travels along every inch of her skin and I cannot be bothered to have anger within me. Another emotion entirely entraps me. A deep spell of sorts, one of want and pride and weakness. I would bow to such a Goddess. I can feel her power buried so deep down. Come to me my Queen. From the depths of my soul I both beg for the taste of what she is and I remind myself to enjoy each moment that leads me to the first kiss of her power.
“My Queen,” I merely whisper. “You must drink.”
Her eyes flicker after it. I can tell she's struggling not to keep her eyes pinned on it. That’s what I want. I want that fire in her back at the surface. I crave those eyes to be dark and hungry.
If Persephone won’t accept the wine when it’s so easily offered, perhaps she’ll come after it with a challenge. A smirk pulls my lips up.
I offer the glass again, but when she doesn't take it, I move it out of her reach, watching her face for any sign that she’s truly beginning to break.