Hades' Cursed Luna novel Chapter 77

Hades~

I stood over her, watching as she squirmed and mumbled incoherently in her sleep, her brows drawn in a disturbed expression. I lit a cigarette and took a long drag. The soft glow cast faint, wavering shadows over her face as I stood by the window, watching her. She was curled up on the small settee, looking far too fragile, clutching that damn sketchpad like it was her lifeline. Her lips moved, words slipping out in fragments, tangled in whatever dreams or nightmares haunted her. The restless rise and fall of her chest, the small tremors of her body—it all betrayed a vulnerability she tried so hard to hide.

I took another drag, letting the smoke swirl and dissipate around me, filling the silence with a faint, smoky haze. In the quiet of the room, with her soft breathing and occasional murmurs, I felt that old ache—that bitter, relentless memory of what I’d lost, of what she had stumbled into tonight without permission. She’d ripped open a wound I’d spent years burying, one that had scarred over but never fully healed. I touched the earring on my ear.

My gaze drifted to her sketchpad lying open on her lap, faint lines sketched across the page, barely visible in the dim light. A part of me wanted to look closer, to see what she’d drawn or written in those frenzied strokes. But I stayed back, letting the cigarette burn low between my fingers, its embers flaring with each quiet drag.

I told myself it was simple anger that had pushed me to grab her, to press her against that wall and show her the boundaries she’d so carelessly crossed. But watching her now, curled up like this, I felt something else—an uncomfortable, nagging sensation that tugged at the edges of my fury. It was a familiarity, a twisted reflection of my own pain, mirrored in the way she held herself, in the raw guilt and shame that had bled from her voice.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, and her hand moved instinctively, clutching the blanket tighter. She shivered, her face drawn and tense even in sleep. Her breathing hitched, a faint whimper escaping, and I knew her dreams were anything but gentle tonight, as usual.

The cigarette was down to its last bit, the ember glowing dangerously close to my fingers. I ground it out with a swift motion, eyes never leaving her as I took a step closer, drawn by something I didn’t fully understand or want to acknowledge. She was suffering—or so I theorized. But I believed she had been for a long time. There were too many signs. Yet, it could all be a part she played to serve a purpose for Silverpine. It was still a possibility. The truth was yet to be known.

My carefully laid plans had been disrupted by the occurrences surrounding her, and now I could say I knew nothing about her. No recorded phone calls, security cameras compromised, phone itself decimated. And for the first time since that fateful night five years ago, I wasn’t sure what was going on.

She was an enigma in every sense of the word. I found myself asking again and again: who exactly was Ellen Valmont, and why was she nothing like I’d ever expected? Defiant, brave...kind. It made no sense.

On top of that, she was wolfless. So many unanswered questions, theory upon theory. I fancied puzzles, but this was another thing entirely. By this time next year, Operation Eclipse would be completed. The aftermath would leave only Obsidian Pack standing while Silverpine would have to be erased. But that was only if the blessed twin awakened what I needed. Ellen had to be ready to be wielded like the weapon that she was.

But how could I handle a weapon that seemed to have a will of its own, a mind that questioned and rebelled rather than yielded? Ellen was meant to be a pawn, a tool I could shape to suit my plans for Silverpine and Obsidian. She was supposed to be predictable, straightforward, malleable. Yet here she was, defying everything I thought I understood about her, slipping through my grasp like smoke.

I recalled the resignation in her eyes when I held her to the wall. There had been no upturned nose, no frown, no icy glare. Only hurt and acceptance.

The memory twisted something in my chest that I pushed away. I sighed, the irritation settling in my chest as I bent down, slipping one arm beneath her knees and the other around her shoulders. Her body tensed instinctively at the touch, but as I lifted her, her head lolled against my shoulder, her breathing deepening once more.

Her scent was overwhelming up close—a soft, warm blend of honey and lavender that lingered in the air, wrapping itself around me like a subtle trap. It sank into my skin, clinging to me even as I crossed the room with her in my arms. I could feel it in my lungs, threading itself through my thoughts, as though it were somehow imprinted into her very essence.

Ellen’s head nestled against my shoulder, her breath warm against my neck. I cursed inwardly, feeling my control slip with each step toward the bed. I’d faced armies and storms, worlds of chaos and conquest, but nothing had prepared me for the calm yet maddening weight of her in my arms. She was so small, so damn fragile. The sharp edge of my irritation softened, blunted by an ache I couldn’t quite place.