My Dark Beast: a Hades & Persephone retelling (Wicked Retellings Book 1) by Olivia Wildenstein

Author:Olivia Wildenstein [Wildenstein, Olivia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: WildStone Publishing
Published: 2024-03-26T00:00:00+00:00

46

TARIAN

Icall upon Gaea who poured Her magic into my veins, imploring Her to buffer our fall with a forcefield, or at the very least to keep our bones from splintering upon impact.

Malachi may be able to heal Calanthe in the real world, but the mere idea of her aching bludgeons my soul, and the mere idea of his hands on her body fills me with aggression.

“Come—the bloody hell—on,” I mutter. Though my runes grow increasingly hot and bright, I cannot harness their magic to shape an airflow. “Calanthe!” Her name tears from my throat as painfully as the runes ripped off my skin.

Well, two of them.

I didn’t feel the third one lift.

I can’t believe I fucking lost a third.

Another pyrotechnic device booms, spitting sparks that slap our hammock and ignite new fires. Calanthe’s knuckles pale around the ropes, and her lids clench, rucking the delicate skin at her temples.

As fire shrinks our floating pallet, I fall to my knees in front of her and grip either side of her face. “It’s only a dream, darling. We’re not dying. It’s only a dream.”

Her lashes rise, revealing pupils barely larger than the freckles that dust her nose. Does she fear the fall? Does she fear my touch? I attempt to let go, but can’t, and not because of any magic, but because her anguish rids me of both common sense and willpower.

I trace the edge of her sharp jaw with the pad of my thumb as I repeat, “Wake up.”

A shiver distresses her body, distressing mine in turn. Heart storming, I pull back to assess the nearness of the ground and the fire’s progress. Both are too close.

I try, once more, to bargain for a divine intervention, but Gaea is deafeningly quiet. She’s abandoned me. She’s abandoned us. What malice to have placed Calanthe inside my bleak world, to have embroiled her in my rotten reality. Is her suffering my punishment for snuffing out Father’s life, or is this some wicked trial to assess whether the Blessed Son is still worthy?

Unless…

Unless this has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the mine? Could something have happened to it? Could someone have toyed with it? Tried to destroy it? Squeezed magic from its stones?

As I twist that last contemplation over in my mind, the rancid, muggy air shrivels my lungs and elicits a wet cough, which I muffle against my shoulder. If someone has meddled with the mine, it would explain my inability to break out of my catatonic state. It would also explain why my runes are leaking out of me left and right. The newest gap in my verse itches as we plummet, reminding me that I may have given one of my attackers the power to wield, but to wield what, though? My blood? Fuck. That better not be it.

“Spare us, and I’ll tell him. Please, Gaea.” Calanthe’s tremulous appeal whips me out of my head.

The ground is getting close, the people on it large enough for me to make out a few familiar faces.

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