Hades' Cursed Luna novel Chapter 107

Eve

For a moment, any word was stuck in my throat. I could only stare. His scent had morphed; instead of his usual smoky cedar, it was replaced with one that made my stomach turn—blood and ash and decay.

I reeled back, my eyes almost falling from their sockets. My mouth was agape like a fish gasping for water, but as quickly as whatever had taken over him had come, it receded in the blink of an eye.

I was left utterly stunned while Hades quietly guided me out of the ring and out of the room. I could not even resist; I was too shocked to struggle against him.

The walk to the bedroom was silent except for the soft tread of our footsteps against the floor. My heart hammered wildly in my chest, but my body refused to react beyond that. Every part of me was locked in stunned paralysis, replaying what I had just witnessed.

The blackening of his eyes.

The distorted voice.

The overwhelming scent of decay.

It was as if reality itself had shifted, revealing something dark and ancient lurking beneath Hades’ surface. From the short time I had known Rhea, I could say that I was somewhat conversant with the aura of Lycans. What I felt this time was different, and it filled me with an insurmountable amount of dread. I recalled my first day here and how he had lit a cigarette with his finger. Pyromancy was not an ability that Lycans possessed. Suddenly, it dawned on me: Hades was not just any Lycan—he was an anomaly.

The decay... He was called the Hand of Death for reasons far less vague than I had earlier thought. He was a creature that didn’t just flirt with death but embodied it.

The term Hand of Death was more than a title—it was a warning.

He opened the door to the bedroom and gently ushered me inside. His touch was firm but strangely careful, like he was handling something fragile. I didn’t resist, my legs carrying me on autopilot to the edge of the bed.

"Sit," he murmured. His voice was his own again—low, gravelly, but steady.

I obeyed without a word, lowering myself onto the mattress. My gaze followed him as he moved across the room to a tall dresser. He pulled open a drawer, retrieving a sleek black phone.

"Hades," I finally whispered, my voice hoarse and trembling.

He paused, his fingers still hovering over the screen, but he didn’t look at me. "Not now, Red," he said softly, though there was an edge of steel in his tone.

I watched as he dialed a number and pressed the phone to his ear, pacing the room with tense, purposeful strides.

"Dr. Kerrigan," he said when the line connected. "I need you at the estate immediately." A pause. "No, not a consultation. I want you here in person. Full discretion."

Another pause. His jaw clenched. "Ten minutes."

He hung up and placed the phone back in the drawer before turning to face me. His expression was unreadable, his usual stoicism now laced with something I couldn’t quite place—concern? Guilt?

"You didn’t have to—" I began, my voice weak. I was talking like I was not in a world of pain, but there was something that distracted me from that agony. Him.

"I did," he interrupted, crossing the room to stand in front of me. His towering form blocked out the growing light from the window, and I had to crane my neck to meet his gaze.

"You’re hurt," he said simply, his tone matter-of-fact but carrying an undercurrent of something raw. "And I won’t let it go untreated."

My fingers twitched, brushing against the throbbing ache in my shoulder, and I flinched involuntarily.

"That’s not what I meant," I said, my voice firmer this time, though my hands were trembling in my lap. "You… what happened back there?"

For a moment, he said nothing. He simply stared at me, his stormy gray eyes searching mine for something. Then he crouched down in front of me, his hands resting on his knees.

"It is none of your concern," he muttered. "Forget about it."

I blinked at him like he had grown a second head. In what world did he live? How could I simply forget about that? "Forget about it?"

"Yes. We are even. You have no right to pry when you hide things from me."

His words stung, and for a moment, I couldn’t find a response. Touché. But I had an inkling that this would not be the last time I was face-to-face with whatever he was hiding.