Sunsets and Crows

Your hair, far heavier than you were used to, brushed the small of your back and pooled around your thighs, prickling your scalp with a weight that made your neck ache. Your skin was smooth and unmarked, untouched by the small violences of human life from before. It pulled across your joints differently as you tried to stretch, the movement ricocheting with discomfort.  

You gasped, scrambling. 

“Where-?” your voice croaked, and you froze, slapping your palm over your mouth to try and push the words back inside.

Because it wasn’t your voice.

The word came from your mouth, shaped by your thoughts, but the sound was wrong. Too smooth. Too rich. Honeyed in a way that scraped at your nerves. You swallowed hard and tried again, just to be sure. 

Your pulse kicked up, sharp and panicked, when it came out with the same unfamiliar richness.

You shoved the silk aside and bared your legs, raking your hands over your skin, searching desperately for something, anything, you might recognise. The jagged scar on your knee from that summer you’d learned to ride a bike. A freckle. A mole. Even a single, stubborn stray hair. 

There was nothing.

It came back in pieces. Memories racing through your brain a mile a minute. The deal. That voice, filling you with awe and terror. The cup pressed into your hands and tilted back to empty the burning sweetness down your throat.

Everything was foggy, thoughts and memories sliding over one another, bumping against memories you didn’t own as you slowed your breathing and tried to focus.

You breathed in, slow and shaky, taking mental notes of your surroundings. In and out, as you noticed the softness of the silk underneath you. In and out, as you finally recognised the soft sway of the ground beneath you. In and out. In and out. You were on a boat. In and out, as you smelled the sticky-sweet fragrance in the air. It helped, forcing your attention outward instead of allowing your focus to spiral inward. But in doing so, the rocking of the boat and the leftover effects of whatever had been in that cup finally caught up with you. 

Is it too dramatic to throw up? 

You lurched forward, leaning over the edge of the boat and gripping the rim as the world spun before your eyes. The water below was beyond black. The surface was oily and iridescent, shifting like the surface of a raven’s wing or the heavy, bruised belly of a thundercloud. It pulsed softly, a slow current moving beneath the thick, endless river as if something vast was breathing underneath it.

Another wave of nausea curled through your stomach at the sight. You forced yourself to look away, to focus on the boat.

The beautiful little vessel that carried your panicking form.

The ferryman stood at the helm.

His form was obscured by layers of dark fabric that seemed less worn than settled, as though time had simply arranged itself around him and stayed there. Where his face should have been, shadow pooled dense, deliberate and entirely withheld from shape. 

Your eyes couldn’t hold onto him. Every time you tried, your vision slipped like a black spot that your mind had no information to fill in, or simply refused to categorise. 

He didn’t react to you. Didn’t acknowledge your staring, your panic, your borrowed breath. His hands remained steady on the pole, guiding the boat forward with slow strokes.

You’d read enough books to know a little about the ferryman of the underworld. 

You’d thrown up in the back of a taxi once and had to pay the driver more than you made in a week. That had been humiliating enough. You had a feeling that throwing up in front of an ageless, ancient ferryman would go down much, much worse.

You tore your gaze away from him and positioned your head over the side of the boat once more, just in case. 

You looked down into the water, mesmerised by its depth, by the way it seemed to swallow the light. It was almost beautiful, calling out to you, begging you to break its surface with the tip of a perfectly manicured fingernail. 

You let your hand tease the edge of the boat, edging closer and closer to the surface of the water.

Something moved beneath the surface.

You jolted back with a sharp breath, heart slamming painfully against your ribs as the water stilled again, dark and glossy as oil. The hair on your arms stood on end as your stomach twisted. 

What was that? 

You leaned forward once more, slower this time, cautious and chastising yourself for letting your guard down already. Your hands gripped the edge of the boat firmly as you peeked into the water.

Two green eyes met yours beneath the surface. You froze, leaning further over the side as the rest of the shape resolved beneath the water. A figure just out of reach of the light, suspended as though the river were holding it in place rather than pulling it under. It was distinctly human.

“What if they need help?” you whispered, fingers tightening around the edge of the wood.

You lifted your hand once more and beneath the surface, the figure lifted theirs. Your breath caught, muscles winding tight in preparation for fight or flight as goosebumps erupted on your skin. Slowly, testing the impossible, you raised your hand higher. 

The reflection followed. 

A choked sound tore through your throat as your hand flew to your face. The whole boat rocked,  forcing your hands back onto the rim. Beneath you, the water rippled violently, tearing the image into fragments of silk and shadow before pulling it back together into that slick black mirror. 

The eyes that stared back at you from beneath the hull were too bright, too aware. They weren’t yours at all. They were hers. Persephone’s. 

Persephone’s features, luminous skin, inhuman beauty and obsidian hair rippled across the river’s surface, and for one wild, breathless moment, you thought she was actually beneath the water, watching you. Waiting.

Your hand flew to your face as if you could wipe her away, smearing her off your skin like wet paint. But beneath your frantic fingers, the high structure of the cheekbones, the full line of the mouth, and the delicate ridge of the nose were undeniable. They were hers. 

There was no one to see your quiet panic, not a single soul to bear witness as the Queen of the Underworld cupped her cheeks and pinched her skin in a desperate effort to ground herself. 

You were entirely alone on a boat in the middle of the Styx, drifting slowly toward the dark heart of the Underworld with no way to stop it.

Gods, you were fucked. 

Charon still hadn’t acknowledged you, and for that small mercy, you were grateful. Something about him made your skin crawl. He was older than memory, a creature built from bone and the silence he wrapped around him like a second skin. He witnessed centuries through gold pressed into his palms and souls ferried along their final journeys with each defined glide of his pole against the depths of the water. 

All of it slammed into your mind without warning, violent and absolute.

His name. His oaths. The exact number of coins placed on the eyes of the dead, and the names of every soul who had ever tried to cheat him. The golden routes through Elysium and the twisting, jagged paths of Tartarus.

You knew it all. And none of it belonged to you.

The way the knowledge invaded your skull made that painfully clear. It pressed against the fractured seams of your thoughts, slotting itself into places you hadn’t opened. Persephone’s memories threaded through you like ivy through old stone. A firm invasion that was impossible to stop.

She’d said you would share the memories, but you hadn’t realised she meant it so literally.

They came in flashes. Truth dropped into your mind like coins into a fountain, rippling outward until they subtly reshaped you. 

And with each new memory came rage.

Persephone’s anger burst through you, cold, coiled and long-suffering. All at once, you understood her. You felt her terror of a husband carved from shadow, hatred and rot, a skeletal thing that had snatched her from the light and tethered her to his decay with pomegranate seeds. You felt the grief of a thousand stolen springs, and the crushing exhaustion of never fully belonging anywhere.

And deeper still, beneath the anger sat something else, something older than every memory.

Power.

It licked along your spine and curled at your fingertips, a whisper of dormant seeds beneath your skin and roots itching to break the earth beneath your feet. Life and death tangled together so tightly in your veins that they could no longer be separated.

You clenched your hands. The boat kept moving. Charon made no sound, offering no gesture beyond the steady, rhythmic push of his pole through that endless dark water.

The deal had been made. The ambrosia had sealed it. You had swallowed it down and hoped you’d wake from a bad dream. 

Instead, you’d woken up inside a myth, trapped in a prison made of moonlight and smoke.

The wind shifted. 

You caught the sweet, heavy scent of datura, underlaid by a chilling vibration in the air. Somewhere on the shore ahead, something monstrous began to howl.

You didn’t realise that your journey was over until the boat ground to an aching halt beneath you. 

It groaned as it scraped along the shore, a long, splintering sound that vibrated through the hull and sent your balance off centre. 

When you stepped onto the riverbank, the ground almost gave way beneath your weight. Each move towards surer ground coated your sandals in grave-damp loam, until they caught and slipped with each tentative step. The filth crept up the hem of Persephone’s dress, your dress, the crimson fabric darkening where it dragged along the embankment, clinging and staining into something that looked uncomfortably like dried blood.

A dull, sickly light hung in the sky, distant and unmoving. It offered no warmth, no sense of passing time, and no golden rays to chase away the deep, bone-settling chill of the riverbank. 

You expected to shiver. You braced yourself for goosebumps to break across your skin, but your body didn't care. The cold was absolute, yet Persephone’s flesh remained infuriatingly warm and perfectly smooth, completely indifferent to the dead atmosphere around her. 

The world below was washed in withered greens and bruised violets, hues leached of warmth in the coldness of the light. The landscape was entirely flattened by shadows without shape, grey and damp and drained.

And somehow, against all of it, you stood out.

The light glazed your skin, catching like starlight in your dark hair and glowing against the lustre of your flesh. Persephone’s beauty was unnatural in its absoluteness, sitting heavy and conspicuous, a perfect crown you had no right to wear and no way to remove.

It was all far too frightening to dwell on.

Before you, the Underworld stretched out across the valley, vast and strangely beautiful in a way that made you ache for what it had once been. 

As you looked out over the hills and valleys, Persephone’s memories filled the gaps, whispering names and weaving knowledge of the landscape directly into your skull. The Styx carved its way down from the mountainside, dark veins splitting and forking as they fed into Lethe, Phlegethon, Cocytus, and Acheron. They converged into a massive lake at the heart of everything, wide enough to swallow cities. In your mind, you could almost see it as it used to be, the waters beating like a pulse, spilling life into the barren earth beyond.

The silence enveloped everything. No distant murmur of souls, no ravenous screams rising from Tartarus to echo over the roar of fire and water.

There was only the wind, whispering low through the ruins as though even the air was afraid to speak too loudly.

A voice stirred inside you, bitter and sharp, curling unpleasantly through your thoughts.

Let it rot for all I care. 

And it had. 

The Asphodel Meadows lay collapsed across the landscape, smeared into a stretch of grey ruin. Withered flowers bent toward cracked soil, their stems brittle and bowed. Grass rasped dryly in the breeze, lifeless and colourless. Nothing bloomed the way it should have.

Rot had consumed it all until the entire underworld lay shrivelled and dead, just like your flower shop.

The onslaught of rage brought a throbbing pulse to your skull that forced your eyes closed in a silent plea for it to stop. But it was relentless.

The ghosts of her memories pressed at the edges of your mind, urging you to look, to take in the divine life that had once thrived here. The design was still there, buried under stagnant earth, faded and cloying like perfume on old silk, desperate to be remembered and restored.

There had been beauty, there had been mercy, there had been something more.

The image of it rose up behind your eyes, unfocused impressions of meadows with soft, crushed velvet grass and blossoms scattered like pale stars. Wind carrying the scent of rain, blooms and herbs, offering solace in a place built for endings. The warmth of sunlight on your skin.

But even that had spoiled. Petals blackened at the edges, air turned sour, and the ground split wide, roots bursting throught the dirt like ribs out of old skin.

Let it die. 

He does not deserve life. 

Not from me. 

Your heart lurched, a wave of grief rising too fast, too sharp, catching painfully in your throat. It didn’t feel like yours, and that only made it worse.

A voice shattered the image before you, leaving only the resonance of her voice echoing through the air. “Your majesty, are you going to stand there all day?” 

She stood on the path ahead, emerging from the place between the banks of the river and the beginning of the mountain pathway. She was young, hauntingly so considering her presence in the realm of the dead. Someone caught in the transition between an adolescent and a woman, without the finality of either. She had clearly lingered for so long in that state that her beauty had taken on the permanence of a statue cracked with the veins of wisdom and hardship. 

Her dress was woven from fine silk, flowing like smoke behind as she walked towards you. With a stillness you’d never seen before in the land of the living. Settled, patient, unafraid of the passing of time.  

You didn’t know her, but Persephone did. 

Eurydice’s name bloomed inside of you, detached with a familiar professionalism you had grown used to before you had given up your job to manage the shop. 

Eurydice, Persephone’s lady-in-waiting.

She bowed. The incline just enough to be proper, just enough to show she was choosing not to do more.

“Welcome home, my lady,” she muttered, dry, polite, and unmistakably suspicious as she fixed her gaze firmly on you. It was too sharp, too measured and calculating, her head tilted just slightly, like she was studying a smudge in a painting that shouldn’t be there.

You felt as though all your secrets had been laid bare before her, as if she could see right through you, and there was nothing you could do about it. 

Your mouth opened, and nothing came out. 

Where were Persephone’s memories now? Surely there should’ve been a script, a routine, a phrase, a shred of history to mimic. But there was nothing. Eurydice’s face wasn’t attached to a single clear memory of conversation at all, just a lingering sense of quiet, icy contempt. It was as if they’d barely spoken. 

You nodded because that was all you could do, reaching for that cold detachment that Persephone wore like a shield in her memories. 

“Things look… different,” you said. 

Eurydice's lip twitched, as though she’d just confirmed a private suspicion, a subtle hint of amusement sharpening the edge of her mouth. 

“This way, my lady. We should get you ready for your evening meal. Hades doesn’t like to be kept waiting. As I’m sure you know.” 

Hades. Fuck. 

The name hit you like a physical blow, revulsion rippling through your mind at the thought of the monster waiting at the end of the path. It was impossible to tell if it was your own fear or Persephone’s disgust that made your stomach roll, slow and nauseous, as you blinked back the urge to throw up once more. 

You weren’t sure you knew anything anymore, never mind the preferences of the God of the Underworld. 

If you were being honest with yourself, you were painfully out of your depth, grasping at fragmented memories that slipped through your fingers the harder you tried to hold onto them, half-wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole. 

Not that there would be anywhere left to go. You were already in the Underworld, and you were fairly certain there wasn’t an Under-underworld waiting beneath it. 

The crunch of footsteps snapped you out of your spiral. You looked up to find Eurydice already descending the mountain path, leaving you behind without a second glance. 

You hurried after her, tentative and clumsy on the narrow, crumbling trail carved into the hillside, though your borrowed body adjusted with far more grace than you felt inside. 

You’d expected the Underworld to be a bleak, screaming void of fire and lost souls, something unmistakable fitting its myth and legend. Instead, it reminded you of weekend walks in the countryside, under a grey sky that threatened a downpour, where you’d end up running to seek shelter in church ruins or local pubs, whatever happened to be closer.

Low, cracking stone walls lined the path, their shapes echoing the drystone masonry of old British hamlets, once proud, now sagging under the weight of a ruin that spanned centuries. They would have felt almost quaint if you weren't currently walking through the land of the dead. 

The terrain flanked either side of the path like the rolling hills of the countryside, only far bleaker. Plateaus of barren soil fell away into nothing, distant gates and line boundaries half-lost to centuries of death, open pits that seemed to swallow the light. 

More names came to you. Tartarus. The Fields of Punishment. Elysium.

It was unnerving, having someone else's memories dripped into your skull like that. Some came in flashes with emotions strong enough to turn your stomach, white others arrived quieter, almost peaceful. But as you descended further into the realm, they turned hazy, as though Persephone had actively spent years trying to forget everything she knew about this place. 

The details hovered just out of reach, like words on the tip of your tongue. The harder you reached for them, the more they slipped away, retreating into the darker recesses of your mind. You could hardly blame a captive for wanting to escape from the memories of their cell.

Eurydice moved ahead of you with practiced ease, sweeping through the winding paths as if she’d walked them a thousand times. You struggled to keep pace, your thoughts lagging behind your feet.

The path narrowed as you descended, cutting through the mountainside like a scar, stone pressing in closer and closer on either side. The space constricted until your chest felt tight, and for a fleeting moment, you had the wild urge to turn around. To run back up the path and demand to be returned to your home, to the river, to the boat, to anything that felt less permanent than the pressing claustrophobia of walking into your own prison.

But if the path down had been steep, the way back would be impassable. The land offered no allowance for hesitation, and before you knew it, the ground was levelling out, opening onto a plateau where a gate marked the end of your journey and the start of your confinement. 

Cage. 

The word carried a bitterness that made your stomach knot, a long, slow resentment that had been carved deep and left to fester. Persephone’s resentment. 

A cage built for a Goddess, what would that do to someone like you? 

How could you carry yourself like her, speak like her, and convince the entire realm of the dead that you were its queen, when you were merely wearing her skin like an ill-fitting crown? Worse still, you were the one thing that was forbidden to reside in this world, a living mortal.

You’d have to be a fool not to regret everything you’d done to get here. 

The gate itself grew directly from the earth beneath it, ancient magic threaded through the black iron vines that crawled out of cracks in the flagstones. They twisted and knotted together into a monstrous arch surrounded by a smothering mist, looping and coiling, spiking upward into vicious points that promised a slow, bloody death to anyone foolish enough to try to climb their way out. 

You knew instinctively that once you passed it, there’d be no leaving without permission. 

Beyond the gate, the road continued into the heart of the underworld, a fractured ribbon of stone winding forward, vanishing into a barren treeline where nothing stirred. No birds, no forest creatures. No sound except the faint whisper of dry wind through the treetops. 

Somewhere beyond them stood the palace of Hades, where Persephone had endured thousands of years of mistreatment. 

You understood then, from the clenching of your stomach and the ripple of unease that came over you that the Underworld didn’t need bars or chains to keep things inside. The laws of the world of gods were enough. The realm itself was a masterful design of isolation, able to pin it spoils in place and never release them from under Hades’ thumb. Persephone was a victim of those rules, too. 

The palace of Hades was her prison. 

A low rumble shuddered through the flagstones, bypassing your ears entirely to vibrate through your bones and settle heavy in your gut, the feeling akin to thumping bass.

Both Eurydice and you drew to a halt. The handmaiden was tense, every muscle pulled taut as if bracing for some kind of impact as the mist ahead shifted. 

Persephone’s memories stirred, but yours lagged behind, tripping over themselves and stumbling into strange forms you couldn’t understand.

Thump.

The sound was heavy enough to make your teeth click together. 

Thump. 

With each heavy tread, a beast emerged from the mist, dragging its enormous frame into visiblity. The thing was too large to take in all at once, a bulk that felt intrusive in the space it occupied, as though the land had been forced to stretch to accommodate him. His paws hit the stone with a drum of collapsing weight, claws scraping, cracked and splintered from centuries of use. Each one capable of cleaving the living in half. 

Cerberus.

His fur was dark, almost black, matted with ash and age, streaked through with grey dust and something darker that might once have been blood. All three sets of eyes locked onto you, their golden depths telling the story of lifetimes passing the same way mountains did, as a witness to too many horrors. His calculating gaze was far too intelligent for a wild beast, ancient in the way things refuse to age when they’re not allowed to die. 

Two of the heads finally looked away from you, and you released a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. One head swept its gaze over the plateau with cold, mechanical precision, mapping out the anomalies. The second snarled, low and wet, its lips pulling back to show teeth the length of your fingers as a growl sent beads of saliva airborne to land against the ground with wet smacks.

The third remained fixed on you, its head tilted slightly as if assessing the legitimacy of your presence in its master's realm. Its nose wrinkled, teeth baring in a warning snarl you were painfully familiar with. 

He was bigger than you had ever imagined, bigger than the stories of the mortal world could have hoped to convey, bigger than anything had a right to be. The kind of beast that wasn’t built for companionship, but for permanence. A living barricade designed to keep the dead in and the living out. 

Yet seeing that bared-teeth warning pulled at a familiar heartstring in your chest.

Beneath the muscle and bone, beneath the snarling mouths and the weight of his purpose, there was a thread of something old and aching. A loyalty that had been honed by centuries of relentless work. 

Was he Hades’ prisoner too? A kindred spirit?

Eurydice’s hand shot out, fingers digging into your arm, stilling you before you realised you’d even taken a step. A deep warning growl rolled through Cerberus’ chest, loud and resonant like thunder trapped behind his ribs. Eurydice was rigid with fear beside you, breath shallow and sharp. 

She took a deep breath. “Damned dog! Go on. Get out of here. Let your Queen through!” 

She pointed to the side, ordering him from his station.

Cerberus didn’t obey, but his tail twitched in something that looked suspiciously like a wag.

You could only watch, standing there, caught between awe and a feeling dangerously close to fondness, even as he snarled and grumbled.

He took a step closer, low and deliberate. His heads dipped one by one as he sniffed the ground, crossing the invisible threshold between guarding and threatening. 

It seemed he had found what he’d been searching for. All three pairs of eyes fixed on yours, and it felt like standing in the heart of the storm, waiting to see which way the wind would turn. 

Eurydice’s grip tightened in panic, locking you in place beside her. 

But a dog was still a dog, after all, regardless of the heads and reputation carved into myth. 

You had always loved animals, all animals. The feral ones, the broken ones, the ones that growled and snapped and learned too early that teeth were safer than trust. 

There were so many frightened animals that came into the shelter you volunteered at. You’d seen the look in their eyes countless times, the fear under the surface, the resignation that bearing teeth and biting was their only way of surviving. Only for the shelter to label them as aggressive or unadoptable ‘lost causes’, sealing their fate on the kill-list. You’d learned to look deeper, to try and understand them, to gain their trust until they felt comfortable. By the end of it, they would happily crawl into your lap, tails wagging or purring and refusing to let you go until they’d had their fill.

You knew how to handle them, and knew how to handle this, too. You took a breath and stepped forward. 

Cerberus backed away half a step, teeth bared on all three heads and foam glistening at the corners of his mouths. His hackles were raised and trembling with barely contained fury. His breath washed over your skin, hot and damp and smelling like stale earth. 

Take it slow. Calm voice, calm breaths. You are not afraid.

“What’s got you all riled up, huh?” you murmured, voice low and even, the tone you’d used for sick strays and half-wild things with infected eyes and matted fur, creatures that didn’t recognise kindness anymore, but still remembered the sound of it.

Cerberus snarled, the middle head lurching forward with a warning snap, sending a glob of foam to splat against the fabric of your skirt. 

Eurydice stood frozen to the side. 

He would never hurt a god, goddess or one of the dead, deep down you knew that. Cerberus’ purpose was to keep souls in and mortals out, but the part of you that was human wondered if having a mortal soul might make you the exception to the rule. 

Still, you pressed on. You took another step forward, cooing in a low, calm voice, and when he seemed ready, you tried the oldest trick in the book.

“Sit.” The command was warm and steady. Firm but not aggressive, the way you’d learned a command should be. 

The word seemed to pull tight in the air like a leash. Cerberus froze, his snarling ceasing as his heads cocked in unison. One blinked and another let out a noise that died in its throat. 

A moment passed, where the two of you looked at each other in a silent war of who would back down first. 

Cerberus almost nodded, the middle head dipping as he conceded his defeat and lowered himself to the ground. His hind legs bent first, tucking beneath his massive frame with a small, almost awkward hop, and the stone shuddered beneath his weight as he sank down. 

It was progress, quick progress at that. The growling had stopped, which gave you full permission to move closer.

“Good boy,” you whispered, doing just that.

All three heads tilted toward you. The middle one, with a nicked ear and a scar down the muzzle, let his mouth hang open, tongue lolling out as he began to pant.

His tail twitched with the barest of wags and you knew you’d won entirely. 

You reached out, palm open and confident, letting him take in the familiar scent of Persephone’s skin. The middle head leaned in, tentative at first, as if he couldn’t quite believe what you were offering and then, fully pressed the enormous weight of his skull into your palm with a rumble that reminded you, with a sudden ache of homesickness, of happy rotties back at the shelter.

The other heads immediately took notice and the barrage began. One shoved forward, knocking the other aside to wedge himself against your arm and nuzzle affectionately into your skin. The third snarled jealously and forced his snout beneath your palm, baring his throat in unmistakable submission.

“Oh,” you laughed, breathless, the sound strange in your ears. “So you’re greedy now, are you, sweetheart?”

They jostled and bumped like puppies in a litter, batting at each other for space. The low vibrating rumble in his chest deepened into that unmistakable sound of contentment. His tail wagged with enough force to make the ground tremble with each heavy slap. 

“Settle,” you chuckled, scratching one of his chins and patting his behind. “There’s plenty of me to go around.” His tail wagged harder. 

Cerberus curled closer, massive shoulders pressing into your side, breath ruffling the hem of your robes like wind through the dead grass.

Behind you, the silence was absolute. No rustle of fabric, no intake of breath. You glanced back to find Eurydice watching you, her features schooled into a terrifying non-expression, her eyes sharp with cold, unyielding suspicion. 

Eurydice let out a low huff of disbelief, her gaze tracking the absurd, rhythmic slap of Cerberus' tail against the flagstones. Her head tilted, dark curls falling over one shoulder. “He has never done that before.”

Your fingers froze against the coarse black coat, the smile dying on your lips. The warmth in your chest curdled into ice as the silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, and the sheer magnitude of your mistake crashed over you. 

“Well,” she added flatly, “you're certainly not Persephone, but you must be the goddess of something if he’s reacting like this to you.” 

She stepped around the massive curve of Cerberus' hindquarters, giving his heavy, thumping tail a wide, wary berth as she approached the heavy iron gates. Her hands gripped the dark ring-latches, muscles straining as she hauled them open.

“Persephone never showed him a shred of kindness,” she said over the creak of ancient iron, looking back at you as you pressed a quick, affectionate kiss to the scar on the middle head’s muzzle. “And she certainly never uttered the word sweetheart.”

You stood quickly, shame heating your cheeks as you hurried through the gate.

“You’ll need to fix that before dinner,” she added lightly. “Or Hades is going to see right through you.”

High above the valley, the palace windows in the tower stood open, not for air, but for watching. 

From this height, the land stretched outward in obedient stillness. Stone lay where gardens should have flourished. Ash clung to terraces that once knew green, and the rivers ran their ancient course, faithful as ever. It was a scene the Lord of the Underworld had grown used to in the years since his wife took up residence in his realm.

He watched without moving, observing what should have been a small thing, a mere ripple in the gloom. Another arrival, another soul returned to its proper place. 

Ordinarily, he would’ve looked away, but the ground reacted, the influx of energy, sending a surge of muted light through the realm. It was enough for him to almost feel the sun warming his skin once more. 

The land had shifted its focus from the oppressive weight it had carried for centuries. And so had his. 

His eyes tracked the movements of Cerberus as he huffed and growled at the new arrival to his realm, always on guard and ready to serve his purpose. 

In this place, loyalty was everything, so he truly thought he was seeing visions when all three vast heads lowered in unison. 

The sound floated upward, carrying through the dead air of the valley. It lacked the vicious edge Cerberus used to turn unwanted souls away at the gate. This was something softer, a sound he had only ever made in Hades' own presence. 

His fingers tightened against the stone sill as the full view came into focus. 

Hades didn’t need to see her clearly to know who she was. The land knew. The gates knew. The Underworld had always known its queen, even after long absences. 

His dearest wife. Persephone.

And there was Cerberus, his loyal, reliable hound, sitting at her feet. His massive body curled around her, heads pressed close, jostling, attention fixed entirely on the Queen. 

Of course, he’s seeking affection. 

Hades shook his head and took another deep sip from his crystal glass.

His realm had not decayed through violence, it had been starved. Starved of the very thing that Cerberus was searching for.

Life here had withdrawn slowly, seed by seed, until only the memory of it remained. Hades ruled what was left, and he would continue for all eternity. He too served his purpose, maintaining the laws, preserving the balance, trying desperately to hold the edges of a dying realm together and all without a shred of gratitude.

And now this.

His hound, his Cerberus, who had known only duty and obedience, who had never softened to others, yielding effortlessly under her touch. Another thing that bent towards her without effort. 

And then came her laugh.

The sound reached up to him thinly, carried on the weight of the land itself as if to torture him. Her laugh was so strong and real and alive in a way that felt out of place, surrounded by decay.

Cerberus pressed closer. 

Hades’ jaw tightened. 

a cold, curious irritation that made him pause, demanding his full attention even as he found himself unable to look away. 

How could he when the land leaned toward her? The roots stirred, buried under stone beneath her feet, reaching for that drop of life she had unknowingly let slip. The air smelled sweeter with the anticipation of it, like a bow string pulled tight, ready to snap at her command. 

It was uncontrolled, unpracticed and entirely wild.

Persephone, as long as he had known her, had maintained a steadfast grip on her power, never letting so much as a breath of her divinity slip. This was a fracture in the stone of her stubborn resolve. 

Eurydice opened the gates. 

His wifedropped a kiss on Cerberus's muzzle, and the beast practically melted, his eyes following Persephone’s every step even as he turned away.

Hades exhaled a dry rasp against the silence of the room. 

How strange.

How unlike her.

He turned from the window at last, the cold shadows of the palace closing in on him again like a familiar embrace. 

Dinner, it seemed, would require his full attention.

Thank you to my lovely beta-reader @diamondtiger for your help on this chapter! As always, I couldn't have done this without you!

Dom!Valko who loves to have you on top of him, his feet planted on the bed, hands firmly securing your waist to control your depth as he ruthlessly fucks up into you. He doesn't break a sweat, his stamina is unparalleled, having spent hours in the gym training to bring you pleasure.

Dom!Valko who loves to watch your tits bounce in time with his thrusts, tracking every single movement with a dark smirk and a sense of pride that goes far beyond just appreciation. He can't help leaving dark marks on your skin, bites and bruises proving his claim on you. The scent of his mouth all over your skin.

Dom!Valko who refuses to let you close your eyes, even when you want to screw them shut and throw your head back. He needs your total focus. "Nuh uh, puppy, eyes on me. Look at the man who's making you feel this good." He needs to see your eyes turn glassy, the way you struggle to focus as you get closer and closer to the edge.

Dom!Valko who deliberately slows down, his thrusts turning shallow to tease you, to make you beg for it. He sits up, chest coming to meet yours as his strong hands grip your waist, using his overwhelming strength to lift you up and down his length slowly. He lives for the way you whine and beg for him.

Dom!Valko who gives in eventually, pulling you down chest-to-chest as his feet plant themselves on the bed to give him leverage. His hips jackhammer wildly, his length hitting the deepest parts of you and dragging against every sensitive spot at the new angle.

Dom!Valko who smells the gush of wetness that escapes you as you hit your high with your mouths pressed together in an almost bruising kiss. He lives for the way your walls clench and pulse around him, like your pussy is trying to suck him deeper into you.

Dom!Valko whose length swells inside you before he cums, the base of his cock thickening as his knot swells. It catches, locking him in place as the tight grip of your pussy milks ropes and ropes of his cum into you. He growls the words "I love you" before his teeth find their home in his mark on the side of your neck. He means it, he loves you so much.

Dom!Valko who rolls you over afterwards to pull you flush against him. He can't retreat out of you, his knot keeping you locked in place as he buries his nose in your hair, your neck, or your chest. He can't help the way he breathes deeply, taking in the scent of his cum and sweat mixing with yours. It smells better on you than any perfume you own.

Sub!Valko who loves to be pinned beneath you, his hands resting uselessly on your thighs, gripping the sheets or tied to the headboard. He has no choice but to let you set the pace whilst he helplessly tries to rolls his hips up to meet yours. You scold him every time but he can't help it, you feel so good.

Sub!Valko who looks up at you through his lashes, completely undone by the sight of you using him, taking everything you want with greedy rolls of your hips. His chest heaves as he takes in how gorgeous you look, how perfect you are when you have total control.

Sub!Valko who can't tear his eyes from you, his gaze wide, watery, hazy with pleasure. When you demand he look at you, he whimpers, completely locked onto your face, entirely consumed by how you claim him.

Sub!Valko who tries so hard to be a good boy and let you take control when you want it, but he can't help how overwhelmed he gets. You rake your nails down his chest, red tracks blooming on his skin. It makes it even harder for him to listen, his brain dissolving in static.

Sub!Valko who completely loses his mind when you push him around, pulling him up by his wrists to change the angle or pushing his cheek against the sheets. He is entirely at your mercy as you drop down heavily, clenching and dragging against every sensitive spot he has. He can only arch his back and cry out, utterly consumed by the savage friction of you riding him down.

Sub!Valko who smells the divine sweetness of your gush of wetness escaping as you hit your high. He wants to taste it as it flows over his tongue. His mouth salivates, eyes locked on your parted lips. "Please, need it." You take pity on him, pressing your tongue into his mouth. He wastes no time, whimpering and licking desperately to take more of you into him. If you spit in his mouth, he'll cum.

Sub!Valko who wants to bite you but can't reach. You've pinned his arms above his head, giving him no other choice but to turn his head and clamp his teeth down on the meat of his bicep, whining and whimpering almost pathetically as he cums "N-uhhhh l-love l-love you so much," he whines, releasing his cum wherever you let him.

Sub!Valko whose whines turn to sobs as you ride him into overstimulation, chasing your own high. He could easily overpower you and release himself from your torment but it feels so good and you both know each other's limits. He trusts you.

Sub!Valko whose length swells inside you, his knot growing so quickly that it surprises him when it catches, locking him immovably inside your tight grip. Your fingers twist his nipples and he arches his back and slurs out his love for you again with a cry that makes you smirk. He's completely helpless as you clench your pussy, draining every drop he has.

Sub!Valko who lies completely limp beneath you afterwards, unable and unwilling to retreat from your warmth. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, trembling and laving his tongue wetly against the mating mark on your skin, the scent of his saliva on your skin, your sweat smeared on him, his cum and yours blending together into the sweetest of aromas.

Sub!Valko who needs you to stay close to him as he comes down from the post-sex high, he feels like he's floating as you press soft kisses to his cheeks, his eyes, his lips. Your hands roam his skin, soothing all tension from him with a fond smile. To him, you look like an angel, your eyes shining with satisfaction and your claim on him so thorough.

Valko shook his head and let out a sigh as he turned back to his desk and the mountain of work that sat on top of it. It was never-ending, like a leash that kept him firmly under the control of the company he had created. 

Vanilla. 

The single word invaded his mind. 

Valko pulled the glasses off his head and pinched the bridge of his nose before paging through to his assistant. 

“Lena, I’m stepping out for a coffee. I’ll pick you up an Americano?” he asked, already gathering his jacket and putting his glasses back on and heading for the door. 

“Thank you, sir,” Lena replied. “Your next appointment is at 2:30. Would you like your lunch delivered to your office or will you be taking it out as well?”

Vanilla. 

He pushed through his office door, ducking his head automatically beneath the doorframe, and smiled down at Lena. She’d worked for him for nearly as long as he’d had EonCore Tech. She was the perfect assistant, smart, reliable, and always looking out for him.

She was especially great because her scent had long since become background noise.  Perhaps it was growing up in the same pack that made him immune to it, or perhaps it was the fact that she was a fully mated wolf, either way, she made his life a whole lot easier.

“You’re quite right, Lena. I think I’ll stay out and grab something from that little cafe around the corner. Did the kids pack your lunch again today?” he asked with a chuckle. “What is it this time? Cheese and jam sandwiches or ham and chocolate?”

Lena laughed, “Actually, they had their father’s help this time, so the pups packed me a delightful pasta salad with tuna and cheese. I believe my husband had to pick out the grapes they insisted on adding when his back was turned.”

Valko barked out a laugh, the sound rumbling through the office. Lena didn't even flinch, having long since grown used to colleagues poking their heads out whenever they heard him laugh, convinced something had fallen over. 

He was big by nature. A strong wolf, who was ramping up his standing in the world and with it, his standing in his pack, too, it was only natural that his physical side should reflect that, so he’d honed himself. Late nights after work spent on weights, cardio, and weighted cardio, it all had an effect.

Now his voice boomed, his laugh reverberated, and his wolf was still there, bigger than ever, pawing at him to take a break from the work and begin the hunt.

Vanilla. 

Why it was fixated on vanilla, Valko wished he knew. 

Vanilla. Vanilla. Vanilla.

It was infuriating, but he was a man of science, after all. He reckoned his wolf had simply fixated on the particularly delicious vanilla latte he'd picked up from the café last week. Hopefully, another dose of its favourite flavour would be enough to placate the stubborn creature, and he could finally get some work done. 

“I’ll be back at 2 pm, sharp!” Valko called over his shoulder as he walked towards the elevator. He flashed a grin to Lena as he pushed the button for the ground floor, the tip of a sharp canine slipping out just enough to remind her of her own pups before the doors slid shut. 

Vanilla.

“Yeah, yeah. I get it wolfie, let’s get you that latte.”

The streets were always quieter in the summer months. The spring sunshine had turned to blazing heat that cooked the pavements and scorched through even the lightest of clothing. It chased even the most dedicated sun-worshippers into the respite of air-conditioned cafes and malls, and Valko was no lover of the oppressive temperature. In fact, he couldn't fathom why anyone willingly spent time outdoors in weather like this. 

The short walk from EonCore to the café was usually one of his favourite parts of the day. Tree-lined streets and lighter traffic on the outskirts of Linkon offered a rare chance to think without interruption. Summer, however, stole even that small comfort. 

His shirt clung to his back from the accumulated sweat, while beads of perspiration gathered at his brow beneath a sun that offered absolutely no respite. It was unbearable. 

The little red door came into view, and despite himself, his pace quickened. He blamed the promise of air conditioning and an iced Americano. 

Vanilla.

"...An iced vanilla latte, sorry," he muttered under his breath, correcting himself with an irritated sigh. 

Finally, he pushed open the door and was greeted by the cold wall of air from their blasting air conditioning. 

Vanilla. Vanilla. Vanilla. Vanil-

Valko sighed and shook his head slightly, half in relief and half in irritation. 

The sweat on his back and brow had cooled completely by the artificial chill, but his wolf was still relentless, its internal compass spinning wildly and locking onto coordinates his conscious mind couldn't see. It was driving him forward with pure, single-minded instinct. 

Except, clearly, his wolf's instincts were a little off. Towering over the rest of the patrons, Valko looked straight over the head of the stranger who had just stepped away from the counter, carefully balancing a freshly poured drink on her tray. 

He didn't see her until it was too late.

It almost happened in slow motion. He collided heavily with her side, the impact sending the tray tilting violently. The full cup flipped, sending a massive wave of liquid flying through the air a split second before the plastic hit the floor. 

Vanilla. 

Now was not the time, wolfie. 

The tray and cup hit the floor with a deafening clatter, ice and liquid splashing across the tiles. Every head in the usually quiet café turned toward the commotion. 

Vanilla.

"Ahhh, I’m sorry," Valko said, his deep voice cutting through the sudden silence of the cafe. He instinctively reached down, his large hand reaching for the forearm of the stranger he had sent careening to the floor. 

Vanilla. 

He looked down, eyes finally taking in the stranger he had sent sprawling.

You.

Time seemed to glitch, a crackle of electricity whipping through the entire cafe, before everything narrowed back into focus. His palm was suddenly clammy again, something he only became conscious of when your fingers wrapped around his. The contrast was staggering. Your hand felt so small against his large, calloused palm, yet as you used him to pull yourself upright, his body instinctively provided a perfectly unyielding counterweight. 

The scent of vanilla washed over him.

Vanilla.

You must have ordered the very same infamous vanilla latte that had brought him to this cafe. And now he’d gone and thrown the whole thing all over you. What a twist of fate. 

“My apologies,” Valko started again, his voice dropping an octave as he tried to regain his composure. “I wasn’t watching where I was going. Are you alright?”

You blinked up at him, shifting your weight as you brushed a stray clump of foam from your sleeve. You tilted your head from side to side, rolling your neck, a practical assessment for any injuries. When you found none, your eyes lifted, locking directly onto his.

Then, you smiled. It was a small, polite thing, but it hit him like a physical blow.

Beautiful. Vanilla.

The sincerity in your expression practically blinded him, eyes sparkling with warmth and compassion. It felt entirely unfair that the woman he had just slide-tackled ended up possessing a presence that completely wiped his vocabulary clean. Inside his chest, his wolf was panting, its phantom tail thumping a seismic tremor into the floorboards. 

He knew he should say something, but the words were deadlocked behind his ribs, his brilliant scientific mind reduced to absolute, buzzing static beneath your gaze. 

Vanilla. Vanilla. Vanilla. Vanill-

“-fine, really," your voice cut through the fog, a sharp dose of reality that knocked some sense back into his brain. "Just a bit damp. It was my own fault, I wasn't looking where I was going." 

You began patting down your clothes, using a flimsy paper napkin to dab away the worst of the spilt coffee. Valko’s eyes subconsciously tracked the movement, his predatory instincts entirely hyper-focused. As you moved, the heat of your skin sent a fresh, concentrated wave of vanilla and rain straight into the air. 

Without thinking, and with the wolf inside him yearning for more of that delicious vanilla, Valko leaned in a fraction of an inch and took a deep, quiet inhale.

Your eyes instantly snapped up, catching him in the act. You looked straight through him, tracing his features with a sudden, sharp intensity. 

The realisation that he’d been caught acting like a literal hound shattered his dignity. Embarrassment flooded his system, a hot flush of red dusting the tips of his ears. His golden eyes widened in a flash of panic, his towering, imposing frame suddenly radiating the frantic, apologetic energy of a kicked puppy. 

“No, really, it was my fault,” he stammered, pulling himself together by sheer force of will as he dropped to one knee to gather the scattered tray and pieces of broken cup. “Please. Let me pay for your dry cleaning and refresh your drink. It’s the least I can do.”

“Oh, you really don’t have to do that,” you said, taking a cautious step back. 

He followed your movement without thinking, his large boots shifting forward instantly before he caught himself, planting his feet firmly so they couldn’t even try to drift in your direction. He wanted to shake himself, force himself to calm down and stop crowding your space.

His wolf needed a damn muzzle with how it was acting right now. 

Drawing in a steadying breath, Valko rose back to his full height and retrieved his leather wallet from his jacket pocket. He flipped it open to reveal his gold card, his posture shifting seamlessly back into that of a man used to commanding boardroom meetings. 

“Ahh, but I truly must insist,” Valko replied, offering a warm, deliberate smile. He made sure his sharp fangs were safely tucked behind his lips, hoping his charm was enough to convince you not to flee just yet. “What kind of man throws coffee all over a lady and doesn’t even foot the clean-up bill? Hmmm?”

You looked around the café as though searching for a way out, and his heart dropped like lead in his chest. His wolf whined, a low, pathetic sound hidden behind his ribs. 

“There’s no need to drink it with me, of course,” he added quickly, his voice softening as he fought not to overwhelm you. “But at least let me replace your drink and...” He rummaged through the leather slots, pulling out a crisp business card embossed with heavy silver lettering. He held it out to you between two large fingers. “...here. Take this. You can charge your dry cleaning bills directly to my company.” 

You released a breath, your shoulders visibly relaxing as the tension eased down the length of your spine. When your smile grew warm again, Valko felt a distinct, heavy thump against his ribs. He’d done that. He had managed to diffuse the alarm in your frame. He’d made you smile at him.

“That’s very kind of you,” you said, stepping into stride beside him as he carried the sticky, ruined tray back up to the counter. 

The young barista behind the till levelled Valko with an unimpressed, heavily judgmental look. Anyone else in Linkon City would have shrunk under the gaze of the EonCore Chairman, but café staff handling a lunch rush possessed a terrifying lack of fear. 

Valko offered the teenager a smooth, apologetic tilt of his head, retrieving his gold card. “Sorry, add the mess to my tab, please,” he said, his deep baritone perfectly calm, though a faint, sheepish warmth prickled at the very tips of his ears.

Your laugh bubbled up from behind his shoulder.

Valko turned his head, his golden eyes immediately tracking the sound to find you with your head tipped back, your expression filled with sheer, unbridled mirth. You looked devastatingly beautiful like that, he decided on the spot, with your eyes bright and entirely unbothered by the damp coffee stains on your clothing, smiling directly at him. 

Inside his chest, the wolf’s frantic panting stopped, replaced by the heavy, rhythmic swish of a satisfied tail. 

You stepped up to the counter beside him, still dabbing at your sleeve.

“I’ll have an iced-” 

“Iced vanilla latte, right?” Valko interjected smoothly, looking down at you with a confident knowing tilt of his head. His sharp wolf senses had been analysing that delicious, sweet aroma the entire time he’d been in the cafe, so he was certain his data lined up. “Make it two, please.”

You blinked up at him, a look of pure amusement flashing across your features. “Ummm, no, actually. It was an iced caramel latte. But good guess!” 

You punctuated the correction with a pair of cheerful finger guns.

Valko froze. Caramel?

“Right, of course,” he murmured aloud, his face entirely blank as his brain short-circuited. Internally, he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. Caramel? “One iced caramel latte, and one iced vanilla latte, please.”

Caramel? Valko thought, utterly bewildered. 

Vanilla. 

No, do not start, he grumbled back at the beast, pinning it down with sheer force of will. I’m literally buying the drink now. Quiet. 

He quickly tapped his gold card against the reader to pay for your replacement drink and his own ordered latte, using the transaction to hide his sudden, profound confusion. 

While the barista prepared the drinks, the tension eased into easy small talk. You introduced yourself as a hunter working as part of the Hunter’s Association’s famed Unicorns unit. He was deeply impressed and despite his internal system failure, Valko managed to avoid any further unwanted fumbles. 

He quietly repeated your name under his breath, letting the syllables roll over his tongue to commit them to memory. It was a basic data-logging exercise, he told himself. 

Your names were called all too quickly, and you took the cup with a grateful smile. “Thank you again, Mr Ao.”

“Please, call me Valko, unless you plan on visiting me for business, in which case I should refer to you as, what? Miss Hunter?” Valko laughed, enjoying the easy conversation and desperately trying to delay the inevitable goodbye.

“Ah, gosh, no, that reminds me too much of… ah, never mind,” you stammered. “I’ll be sure to send the dry-cleaning bill straight to EonCore, Valko,” you said, holding up his silver-embossed business card. 

“Please do,” he replied, his deep voice softening. 

His wolf whined, the sound heavy and longing.

“Then… I guess…” You started again, checking the time on your Hunter’s Watch.

Neither of you made a move toward the exit. You shifted your weight, holding your fresh coffee, while Valko stood like a massive, unyielding statue, completely reluctant to break the perimeter of your space. 

“I guess you're right,” he offered, desperately searching for a logical reason to prolong the encounter. 

“Then… See you around?” 

Vanilla.

“Yeah, see you around,” Valko said, the warmth of your smile melting the last of his executive restraint.  “It was nice to mate you, I, uh, I mean, meet you. Nice to meet you.” 

His ears were fluorescent from how hard he was blushing. God, he was an absolute idiot.

He stood by the pickup counter and watched you walk away, the little wave you gave him shut off by the click of the little red door. The cheerful chime of the cafe bell like his very own elegy. 

Valko felt an odd, hollow sensation settle beneath his ribs as he watched you disappear into the summer heat. 

Hopefully, your walk home wouldn’t be too uncomfortable. Maybe he should have offered to call his driver for you?

He grabbed his iced vanilla latte, trying to ignore the pang of regret that hit him, and stepped back out onto the scorching pavement. The summer heat hit him instantly, the heavy humidity pressing against his skin once again, but at least this time he had a cold beverage to anchor him. 

Valko took a long, deep sip through the straw and frowned.

It tasted like milk, sugar, and cheap vanilla syrup. It tasted like coffee.

There was no spark or hum of electricity like there had been the first time he had it. The deep, heavy ache in his jaw didn't subside, and the desperate yearning in his chest didn't quiet down. Even worse, the silence inside his mind was suddenly absolute. 

His wolf was entirely silent. 

Wolfie? he thought, probing the bond. 

There was an answering whine, a slight grumble and then nothing. It had curled itself into a tight, heavy ball at the base of his chest and completely turned its back on him, giving him the coldest of silent treatments.

Oh, you’ve got to be joking. 

Valko stared down at the plastic cup in total disbelief. He had given the stubborn creature its damn latte, and it was still throwing a tantrum?

He walked back toward EonCore, the blazing sun beating down on his neck. He adjusted his glasses, his analytical mind turning the anomaly over and over, trying to find a logical explanation for his malfunctioning senses. 

First, the fact that he’d been so utterly convinced that the stranger smelled like vanilla when she had ordered caramel. And now, this? Unless they’d changed the recipe for their lattes, Valko could find only one plausible rationale.

A cold. It had to be, he finally decided, nodding to himself. That must be it.

His immune system must be flagging from the stress of the upcoming full moon and his brutal work schedule. It was the only scientific explanation for why his nose was playing such bizarre tricks on him. 

He pulled out his phone and called Lena.

She picked up after the second ring.

“Yes, sir?”

“Lena, please book me a general check-up at Akso Hospital for tomorrow morning. I think I’m coming down with something. My sense of smell is all over the place,” Valko explained.

“Of course, I hope you’re also thinking of taking a bit of a break too? Maybe we can leave on time tonight as well? Hmmm?”

Valko laughed, rolling his shoulders to try and release the ache that was building back up in his muscles. “Perhaps you're right. Let’s take the pack out for an early dinner, I’m feeling famished.”

Lena’s chuckle rang out through the phone’s speaker, lasting far too long and sounding far too mocking for someone who was meant to be his employee. “Hey, what’s that laugh for?” Valko asked, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Did you forget that you were supposed to get your lunch while you were out?” She huffed through a laugh.

The smile fell from Valko’s face as he thought back to his cafe trip. In all of the confusion and his wolf’s insane behaviour, he had forgotten to get himself lunch.

“Ahh, right again, Lena.”

“I’ll have something delivered to the office for you, along with an Americano for myself that I’m going to assume you forgot about as well.”

Valko huffed, half-laughed and half a sigh of disappointment. “That would be great, Lena. Thank you.”