The Royal Luna (Book 1)

32

"Hades?" she inquired, and I nodded in response. She settled into a chair near the window, gazing outside at the guards engaged in their training. "I don't understand, why would Hades want anything to do with me?" she pondered aloud, a question for which I had no immediate answer. I had only discovered their pact after I found her, and the details remained a mystery.

I approached her, removing the shirt she had stained with red paint. She took a deep breath upon seeing me shirtless, and I couldn't help but chuckle. Despite rigorous training, my physique was far from god-like perfection; I enjoyed indulging in food, and while werewolves had rapid metabolisms, they still required physical activity to maintain their condition. I didn't possess a chiseled six-pack, but I wasn't sporting a dad bod either. 

Kallisto's unabashed appraisal did not go unnoticed as her eyes lingered on my torso. However, her attention shifted to the scars crisscrossing my skin.

"What happened?" she inquired, her curiosity genuine. I debated whether to reveal the truth, ultimately deciding it was better she heard it from me rather than someone else, as past experiences had taught me.

"When you left, I made a pact with Aphrodite to find you. She couldn't assist me, given her cooperation with Aega. But then, Persephone approached me," I disclosed. Her eyes widened as the puzzle pieces fell into place. I stood before her, and she was at the perfect height for—

I lifted her effortlessly, undoing the straps of her dress, sparks of anticipation igniting the air. I fought against the magnetic pull, determined to hold back from succumbing to desire right there and then. I turned her around and loosened the strings of her corset, lowering it slightly. Then, I traced my hands over her scars, each mark holding a story. "You have a pact with Hades," I whispered in her ear, sending shivers down her spine. She gasped in response. "I can't tell you what he offered you, as you never told me, but I often see him around you, and these marks..." My fingers trailed over them, eliciting a sigh from her. "I can tell these are pact marks."

I began lightly kissing the marks on her shoulders, nipping at her skin in a tantalizing rhythm. Her body responded to my touch, and she arched, granting me greater access. I struggled to maintain control, my wolf's primal instincts urging me to mark her again right then and there. Instead, I pressed my lips against hers in a hunger-fueled kiss. Unable to restrain myself any longer, I lifted her and pinned her against the nearest wall. Our lips met in a fervent and desperate kiss, and she struggled to keep up. I relished her efforts, savoring the thrill of her surrender. My hands explored every inch of her body, eliciting soft gasps and moans from her.

As I nibbled on her mark, she let out a yelp, and I exercised restraint, refusing to mark her again. Returning to her lips, I continued to savor her, my tongue dancing with hers. Her hands tugged at my hair, urging me to deepen the kiss, and I willingly obliged. This time with a slow, sensual exploration. Our tongues danced together. 

Finally, I pulled away, her swollen lips testament to our passion, her breathing heavy. I lifted the straps of her dress, helping her tighten the corset. I kissed her forehead and led her out of the library, hand in hand. She seemed dazed, and I found myself glancing back at her repeatedly to ensure her well-being.

Upon reaching my room, she settled on the bed as I entered my closet in search of a new shirt. Opting for a plain black t-shirt, I returned to the room. When I stepped out, Kallisto was staring at the wall covered in pictures of us, capturing the ease and comfort we shared. There was even one of her in her wolf form.

"You've seen me like that?" she inquired, her gaze fixed on the pictures. I nodded, moving closer to her.

"Yes, I have. Your wild little wolf is quite swift," I remarked, planting a kiss on her temple. She hummed, a sense of unease radiating through our bond. "If you're concerned about her hurting me, she never has—neither me, nor my wolf, nor anyone within the kingdom walls," I assured her, sensing her confusion. I couldn't help but chuckle. "She was tamed," I added, watching her closely. Her gasp and subsequent reaction were both entertaining and endearing. "They had quite the time together," I teased, earning a bemused look from her.

"I don't even want to imagine that," she admitted with a playful grimace. I laughed heartily. "That's not a memory I'm eager to recall, despite not remembering anything when she took over," she continued. It was true; she wouldn't remember a thing, as if it had been a wholly different person. "I miss her, Zion," she confessed in a soft, melancholic whisper.

I sighed and pulled her close, seating her on my lap as she quietly cried in my arms. We remained like that for a while until she eventually fell asleep, cradled in my embrace. As she slumbered peacefully, I focused on the stack of papers that needed my attention.

Having her in my arms felt like a cherished reward, especially considering that she was actually sleeping, in contrast to her brothers' nightly tormented screams. The Marshall Curse, as the legend went, involved nightly torment by the gods in dreams, purportedly to strengthen them for when they eventually assumed their true forms. The afflicted would wake up with no recollection of the torment. Kallisto's agonized screams had haunted me for years.

Almost on cue, she began thrashing in her sleep, and I immediately abandoned the paperwork. This was a familiar routine by now. After placing her on the bed, I hurried to the bathroom, wetting a cloth with cold water. I mind-linked Liana, asking her to fetch a bucket of ice. Placing the cold cloth on her forehead, I prepared for the inevitable screams that would follow. Her brothers would soon join in, their cries echoing in the castle.

It had been nearly three hours, and she started screaming once more. I filled the bathtub with the remaining ice and herbs provided by my father. He had claimed it helped her father when he experienced similar episodes. I turned on the faucet to the cold setting. Exiting the bathroom, I found her wide-eyed and fully awake.

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath, and her gaze remained locked on me, her eyes red, blood tears streaming down her face. The legend stated that bloody tears from a god signaled betrayal. Her eyes never left mine as I braced myself for whatever would come next.
She gave me a sinister smile, then launched herself at me. I caught her mid-air, her speed surprising even me. She scratched and bit at my arms as I struggled to restrain her, my resolve to keep her from harm unwavering. She trashed in my arms, drawing blood and laughing maniacally. Marking her again would control her for six months, but it would be at the cost of her hating me in the morning.

Managing to get her inside the bathroom, I observed the door she had torn from its hinges and entered the bath with her. Her body immediately relaxed, and she closed her eyes, falling into a peaceful sleep once more.

As I held Kallisto in the bathtub, the frigid water and herbs in the tub seemed to have a calming effect on her. Her once-volatile movements ceased, and she finally settled into a tranquil slumber, the tension draining from her body. It was moments like these that tested my patience and resolve, knowing that the torment she endured was beyond her control.

The bloody tears had ceased, but her complexion remained pale, bearing the signs of the traumatic episode she had just experienced. Her lips were slightly parted, her breathing returning to a more regular rhythm. I carefully adjusted her position, ensuring her comfort in the icy water, knowing it was the only way to alleviate her suffering during these episodes.

I took a seat beside the bathtub, my fingers lightly tracing the scars on her skin, each mark telling a story of battles fought and endured. The connection between us, the bond we shared as mates, allowed me to feel her emotions, her pain, and her fear during these cursed nights. It was a helplessness I couldn't shake, an ache in my heart that grew with each passing moment. As her mate, I shared her pain through our bond, an intimate connection that allowed me to feel the depths of her suffering.

The minutes stretched into hours as I sat there, vigilant and watchful, my gaze never leaving her. Occasionally, she would stir in her sleep, a shiver running through her body as the cold water continued to soothe her. It was a painful reminder of the curse that bound her, a curse that I wished with all my heart I could take upon myself to spare her this torment. I continued to trace my fingers over the scars on her skin, each mark a testament to her resilience. Some were reminders of battles fought alongside her brothers, while others bore the weight of the curses and pacts she had endured. 

As the first rays of dawn began to filter through the window, Kallisto stirred once more. Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, there was a flicker of confusion before recognition settled in. She reached out a trembling hand, touching my cheek, and I leaned into her touch, offering her the reassurance she needed. Her once-pale complexion started to regain a hint of color as her breathing steadied. Her eyelids fluttered, revealing eyes that had witnessed both divine torment and fleeting moments of serenity. I could see the struggle in her gaze, the battle between the goddess Aega's relentless assaults and her own indomitable spirit.

"I'm here, my love," I whispered softly, my voice filled with tenderness and concern. She let out a shaky breath, her fingers tracing the contours of my face as if confirming my presence. It was a silent affirmation of our unbreakable bond, a bond that had weathered countless storms and trials.

As the morning light bathed us in its gentle glow, we remained together, finding solace in each other's arms. The nightmare of the Marshall Curse was a burden we both bore, and I vowed to do everything in my power to protect her, even from the gods themselves.