Bite me

Chapter 7

~Hades~

Hades paced back and forth at the foot of the bed, where the human was sprawled, unconscious and trembling. Her black hair floated across the white pillows, like devil horns on an angel.

She'd passed out as soon as she'd realised what was happening. He couldn't tell if she was scared to move, or just downright scared of him. He didn't doubt the latter. In fact, he thought it was most likely that. Everyone found him horrifying; he carried darkness like the devil on his shoulder.

Hades had pushed passed the mutts who scared her half to death, after nobody seemed to make a move towards her, and kneeled beside inmate 54.

"Finally," he had breathed, a thousand years worth of tension suddenly leaking out of him. "Finally." He repeated.

He felt it, like a gush of wind- what he had been warned about. The creatures like him only, felt it towards her. And right then, it was stronger than he had imagined.

The lust, the protectiveness. He just wanted to hiss at all the bystanders, crawl to a corner like a caveman, and feel her skin against his.

Her beautiful body arched in his arms in limpness.

Lucky for them, Hades had always took a special interest in the adaption of humans, and knew these things weren't so uncommon with their race.

As he pulled her into his arms and slung her over his shoulder like she were no heavier that a puppet, he had given a cool gaze to the guards and spoken the words cooly, "if a single bone is broken on her body, you're all dead."

Her heat had transpired to him, relaxing his to becoming weak at the knees. King Hades was never weak.

But now, as he stood by the bed, watching her still body, he couldn't help but wonder whether Verity was right. Was it possible that something so frail and small held something like what she so apparently did inside of her?

He resisted the strong urge to touch her, feel the connection he knew was sizzling to the brim of her skin like a live wire.

But he had to resist it. Nip it in the bus before it was too late, for the ritual would only end sourly if he didn't.

What if she was ill? Diseased? He hadn't even thought about that. Her pale skin could have been mistaken for his kind if it wasn't from the roaring of blood pumping around her body. He could smell it a mile off.

Every injury her body had sustained would have to be healed by the 17th night of Richter fall season. Or this would all be for nothing.

Hades walked to corner of the room, where a small chair was placed. It was much too small to offer any comfort to his broad figure, but he sat in it anyway.

His foot tapped in erratic rhythms, his fingers drumming on his thighs. The female's breathing was beginning to come out faster, in short little rasps. Her body was tensing by the second, the effects of rest wearing off. Small, incoherent mutters came from her flinching body.

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She was waking.