The Dark Queen (The Dark Queens Book 5) (13 page)

She swallowed hard, tempted beyond imagining. But she also knew her scheming grandmother well, and though she sensed nothing bad, she did sense that Calypso was hiding something from her.

“You’re not telling me everything, though, are you?”

A corner of Caly’s lips tipped up. “No, my darling. I’m not. But you’re going to have to trust me. Can you do that?”

She was tired.

Deeply.

To the very pit of her soul. Tired of the politics. The power. The darkness in her heart. Tired of fighting Snow White, tired of trying to get the people to—maybe not love her, but not fear her either. In short, Fable was tired of the life she lived.

Closing her eyes, she nodded as silent tears trekked down her cheeks. “I’ll come. Wherever you want me to go, I’ll come.”

“Then stand up, my love, and follow me.”

Owiot

H
e stood before the enormous man.

The Greek Lord of the underworld—Hades himself.

The god was an imposing figure dressed all in black, and standing before him with his arms crossed and glaring heatedly down his nose at Owiot.

For his part, he had no idea how he’d wound up here. All he knew was that he’d been walking amongst the stars one second, and the next he’d been snatched away by magick. Extremely powerful magick at that.

He’d expected maybe to find brimstone and madness surrounding him, but he stood instead in a forest full of shrieking screams and towering trees. Surrounded by several other men all blinking around in wide-eyed shock and wonder.

Hades clapped and the world shook. Even the shrieks ceased.

“Welcome,” Hades boomed.

But his welcome had hardly sounded welcoming at all.

“You’re here for one purpose. To find your forever mates. I don’t care if you don’t want to be here, my bride says you’re destined to be here, and that’s an end of things.”

A few of the men blustered at that, several were gods themselves and puffed out their chests with hubris and disdain at Hades’ high-handed treatment of them. But they were all lesser gods, like Owiot himself was, and when it came to a battle between lesser and greater, greater always won.

Well, all but one was a lesser god. The blond haired male looked Viking or Nordic. With his ice blue eyes and ruddy complexion he was definitely some form of Scandinavian god. Owiot vaguely recognized him as some sort of fertility god, but considering they were a dime a dozen, it didn’t really pay to keep close attention to who was who. The only one that really mattered was Aphrodite, and he’d already had the distinct pleasure of meeting her face to face.

The Viking didn’t seem as put out by the idea of being forced to play a game the way most of them were. He had his massive arms crossed over his massive chest and wore the type of secretive smile that said he found all of this more amusing than annoying.

“In a few moments, I will cloak you all in shadow. You will not get to choose your women; they will choose you.”

“Oh, come on!” One man snapped. There was something about that male that was very off-putting to Owiot.

Not in his looks either. He had blond hair and green eyes with a skin tone much like Owiot’s own—a burnished shade of umber. But every so often, when the light would strike him just so, there’d be a flicker of something very dark and very wrong in that male’s eyes.

Hades lifted a brow. “You have something to say, Syrith?”

Syrith gave a cocky grin, shrugged, and said, “No. Nothing at all.”

Hades narrowed his eyes, clearly not believing the male’s easy acquiescence. “And how are your parents? Ragoth and Zelena? Still good I hope, so much catching up to do.”

Syrith went instantly still, narrowing his eyes into razor-thin slits. Something about the mention of his parents had done it. Owiot couldn’t help but wonder why.

“Fine. Just fine,” Syrith practically hissed.

“Good. Happy to hear that,” Hades said, and somehow Owiot had a feeling the Greek god had just won a small victory, though he couldn’t fathom how.

“Now, as I said,” Hades pressed on, “the women will be here shortly. They will choose you, guided by their inner muse. Do not flinch. Do not try to approach the women in anyway, if you do, I will kill you. And that is no bluff, trust me.”

This time, when he said it, he looked directly at Owiot. And in his eyes glinted something dark and violent.

Owiot hadn’t even known he’d be coming here in the first place, let alone that he’d be paired up with some female of unknown origins. But he’d always been quick to learn the world around him first before making any snap judgments. First impressions weren’t always the right ones; they were simply the ones that stuck with you longest.

“Any questions?” Hades asked, looking and sounding bored.

Syrith raised a finger.

“No one. Good.” Hades smirked because clearly he’d seen Syrith raise his hand. “Then go away.”

And so saying, a thick veil of shadow descended on all of them. Shadow so deep and impenetrable it wasn’t natural, but concocted by dark magick.

There was another side effect of the shadow; it canceled out any noise outside of his own sphere of it. Owiot could see the vague shapes of the other males, but could no longer hear them.

He was just noting that when he sensed, he was no longer alone.

“I wanted to speak with you privately, Owiot.”

Turning, recognizing the voice of Hades, he dipped his head. “About?”

It would do no good to demand Hades release him. The major gods of any pantheon were always capricious and willful; it was never smart to get on the bad side of any of them. No, instead he’d wait this out knowing that eventually he’d uncover the truth of things.

Hades, tall and imposing, had scaled himself down to size, so that he no longer towered over Owiot, but instead stood only a few inches taller. He was attempting to be approachable, a tactic Owiot himself was familiar with as his god form was far too imposing for most anyone to gaze upon long.

“It is against the rules of this infernal game to reveal the female who’s been chosen for you.”

Owiot set his lips, waiting to hear the god out.

“But”—Hades inhaled deeply before steepling his fingers—“there are mitigating circumstances near and dear to my heart with your chosen mate. Circumstances that force me to break my woman’s rules, and should she learn of this, she’ll no doubt try to drown my bubble butt arse.” He snorted, sounding amused, but then quickly turned serious again. “Your chosen mate is my granddaughter, Fable.”

Why did that name sound so familiar to him?

Being of the Native American pantheon, Owiot wasn’t as familiar with other smaller pantheons, but the Greeks and Romans were extensive and hard to ignore on a bad day. He’d heard her name before.

Something to do with curses and death and violence—none of it, had been good. Which made him wonder why they thought pairing her with him would be a suitable idea.

Hades closed his eyes, and Owiot was taken aback by the raw honesty that the Greek god revealed in just that simple gesture. His granddaughter meant a great deal to him, and Hades was worried. Very much so.

“Why have I been chosen for this...game?” Owiot asked slowly, taking his time with framing the question, knowing that sometimes you didn’t get more than one shot to learn something.

Hades eyes glowed with hell flame, and Owiot knew it was well within the god’s power to shield his emotions from him, but he wasn’t doing it. It was that small reveal that had Owiot finally curious about his “chosen mate.”

“Because you can mend her.” Was all Hades said.

Owiot thinned his lips. “I’m not certain that you truly know who I am, Lord Hades—”

He held up his hand, stalling Owiot’s words. “We know exactly who you are and what you do.”

“So if you know, then you understand that I bring nothing but sorrow to whoever I’m with.”

He gave a bitter chuckle. “Oh, believe me, I’m aware. But feeling sorrow, keenly, it is not always a bad thing. Sometimes it’s only through accepting the sadness that we can start to heal.”

No one had ever told him that before. When his brothers and sisters would go on their great hunts, Owiot was never asked to attend. They loved him, but no one liked him, not really. No one liked to be reminded of all they’d lost, of all they’d once had. No one liked to feel the blade of sadness pierce their soul; constantly reminding them all the mistakes they’d made throughout the entirety of their long-lived lives.

Even Owiot himself grew weary of the suffering.

“It is a cruel fate you’ve inflicted upon your granddaughter.”

“No.” Hades smile was soft but sad. “No. We’ve chosen correctly, for you both.”

“If you feel you’ve chosen correctly, and yet still you come to warn me, then I can only imagine that your next step now is to threaten me if I don’t make your granddaughter happy. Am I correct?”

Chuckling under his breath, Hades winked. “Something like that. Brimstone. Fire. Hail. Cerberus ripping your heart out.”

Being threatened with bodily harm shouldn’t have made Owiot chuckle, and yet it did. Despite the fact that he didn’t want to be here, and wasn’t sure he was ready to meet the
fable
herself, he liked the Lord of the Underworld more than he might have imagined.

“Just be good to her, Owiot. Treat my little flower kindly; it is all I ask.”

The promise sprang readily to his lips. “I vow it.”

No sooner had the words left, than Hades vanished and suddenly Owiot grew aware of the females. Standing before the group of them was Calypso and Aphrodite, it didn’t matter which pantheon you belonged to, everyone knew of those two wild women.

Calypso’s temper was legendary, and Aphrodite’s ability to create a true love match was equally so.

But for once Owiot didn’t care what the goddesses were saying, no, his attention had been drawn like magic to the dark skinned beauty standing off to the side alone. Dressed in a cloak of midnight and starlight, her form was covered, but her face was revealed to him.

Her eyes reminded him of the golden pelts of the buffalo that roamed his planes. Her lips were painted both dark and ruby red and split right down the middle—so that one side was a vibrant red and the other a bottomless black. She was unique in looks, and different than the women of his land, but something inside of her called deeply to something inside of him.

Because it was evident to him, even from this distance, that sadness and misery were her constant, and probably only, allies. She’d lived so long with the emotions that it clung to her like second skin, a living, breathing entity of gloom and bitterness.

Owiot watched only her. No longer caring why he’d been dragged down here because all he knew was that he had to know her. He had to meet her. He had to talk with her. And deep in his soul, he knew she had to be none other than Hades’ little flower.

Meanwhile, Fable herself seemed completely caught up and mesmerized by the blue fairy who flitted a few spaces over from her. The fairy, no doubt aware of Fable’s special attention, was chewing on her bottom lip with a nervous, anxious type of unsettled look on her face.

If looks could kill, Fable would have ended the little fae, which made Owiot wonder what their history might be.

A little while later the goddesses cried out that it was time for the women to “fetch their man meat,” goose bumps rose up on Owiot’s arms because the time had finally come.

She stood by like a shy, timid little mouse. But he sensed she was not normally so. Her intelligent gaze looked intently at each and every one of them, reminding Owiot immediately of the same sort of look in her grandfather’s eyes—smart, cunning, and able to see beyond the mere superficial.

Other women ran forward quickly, snatching up their men with a touch of their hand, causing both to vanish immediately to parts unknown.

When he looked back at her, it was to note her looking squarely at him. Her gorgeous, golden eyes roved the shadows of his face as if trying by will alone to pierce through the veil Hades had poured over him to discern his true form.

His heart thundered like wild stallions in his chest, his mouth grew dry, and his ears rang as he waited with bated breath for her to come to him. One step. Two. Three. Four...and then.

She stood before him, and he was blasted by her overwhelming presence and beauty. She wasn’t simply pretty. She was heart-achingly lovely. Her features chiseled as though by a master sculptor. Vision breathed to life by the gods. She had high, slashing cheekbones, full lips that on anyone else would look far too big, but fit her face exactly right. A slender column of a throat, and skin so dark it blended near perfectly to the shadow covering him. The combination of such dark skin and equally light, golden eyes made it hard to not become enthralled. She reminded him of something...

And then he knew. The black god of the Navajo people. He was the god of the nothingness of night. An endless form of pure, ebony black. If the black god had had a female antithesis, Owiot could only imagine she would be it.

“By the gods,” he whispered, and she twitched, blinking prettily back at him.

She said nothing, only cocked her head, causing a pitch black curl to slip out from behind her hood and dangle provocatively over her shoulder. Teasing him, tempting him to touch. He swallowed hard, knowing he’d never seen such perfection in his life.

The air was laced with her scent, darkly lush and intoxicating. Like honeysuckle dipped in shadow and swirled in starlight. It was all he could do to keep his hands to himself.

“Forgive me, male,” she said.

And her husky voice wracked his flesh with a deep-seated yearning and need to be touched. She took so long he began to worry that she might never touch him at all. To go from being an unwilling participant, to now, actively desiring she reach out and take hold of his hand was astonishing. Owiot had always heard of the power of a true love match in Kingdom. How it could literally shake mountains and uproot foundations, but he’d always thought the tales nothing more than silly fluff meant to titillate the weak-minded. Now though, standing before her, and feeling the slickness of his palms, the rapid beating of his pulse, and the powerful shivers wracking his flesh he knew the stories were all true.