His hand wraps around mine, anchors me to reality, and that single, simple touch is heaven.
“It’s getting better,” I try to say. I’m vaguely aware that the words come out as gibberish.
Another bolt of worry hits.
“Help her!” he orders someone in a voice that is all King of the Underworld. So much authority. So much power.
“We have to let it work,” someone says in a voice that quavers. “My apologies, Lord Hades.”
So much fear from them. Because of him. Him trying to protect me.
“Hades,” I whisper.
He lets go of my hand, and I whimper a protest. Then his palms cup my face. “I’m here,” he says.
That touch, the closeness of him, that voice… It’s all I need.
A final rush of that relief-giving sensation flows into me, through me, and it feels as though my body is being soothed and cleansed and rebuilt from the inside. Starting from my bones and working its way outward.
Followed by…fear.
Not my fear. I’m not afraid. I’m relieved. What is happening?
“Elysium save me,” I hear him whisper. Feel his breath brush my lips. “Is she—”
“I feel…better,” I mumble, exhaustion already reaching for me. But a different kind. The type of sleep that heals instead of traps you in your own tortured body. “Much better.”
That odd sensation has receded, so the emotion that barrels through me isn’t that. And it definitely isn’t mine. I’m sure of that now.
Shock and relief and dawning realization are followed by worry-tinted, supremely masculine satisfaction.
It moves like a lightning bolt through my chest—there in electrifying clarity, then gone, leaving me buzzing.
Not my feelings…
That was Hades. I felt what he was feeling.
How?
81
I Promise You
I frown, Hades’ hands still on my face. That can’t be right. Feeling Hades’ emotions like that. Am I hallucinating? More dreams?
Someone in the room coughs. “I’d say that worked remarkably well, Phi,” they say. A low, male voice. Charon, I think. He’s the only one I’ve heard call Hades Phi.
There’s silence.
“Lyra?” Hades says, still close to me. “Can you open your eyes?”
I really don’t want to. My body is drifting away, the exhaustion easing into something more like comfort.
“Please.” Hades never begs, but he’s begging me now.
I force my eyes open, squinting against the light of the single lantern in here, and his face comes into vague focus.
He releases a small breath that probably only I hear. “Thank the Fates. I didn’t want to do this until you woke up.”
“Do”—I have to clear my throat because it’s like talking through gravel—“what?”
He holds up a bronze chalice where I can see. It’s simple, with his symbol of the bident and scepter engraved on it. “I’m trying something dangerous.”
That doesn’t sound good. I frown as his face sways before mine. “What?”
“You’re not getting any better, Lyra. So I gave you some of my blood.”
My lips hitch in an attempt at a smile. Ichor, the golden blood of the gods, famed for its ability to do…just about anything, as humanity tells it. “I’m…a goddess.” Then it hits me what he’s saying, and my eyes widen as much as they can while I’m barely keeping them open. “Oh. That was…why…I’m better now?”
He shakes his head. “No. That was so you can survive the next part. Hopefully.”
Next part? What’s he talking about?
He holds up the cup again.
Oh. Right? What about it?
