The same curiosity that had damned Lucas and landed him in Hell bled into his eyes. He tilted his head. “And how do plan to accomplish that feat?”
By sacrificing the one thing his beloved mate yearned for. “You need not concern yourself over my plans. It is between me and the Triad.”
Lucas grunted. “Then prepare to lose everything.”
Arawn turned and continued down the corridor without responding. He feared the demon was right.
And it was his own fault. He chose love over duty.
Chapter Two
Arawn jogged the flight of stairs to the tower Minerva had claimed as her private sanctuary. Each step quieted the screams reverberating in his head. The weight on his shoulders lessened, and peace filled him. Love mixed with his gratitude for the relief she offered him. He let the softer emotion swell his chest and strengthen him. He would need it for the days ahead.
At the top of the winding stairwell, a heavy oak door blocked the inhabitants of the Underworld from the entrance to Heaven. He paused with his hand on the doorknob and listened. The gut-wrenching sound of her sobs reached him, faint but unmistakable. A difficult and self-centered woman, Minerva was often viewed as cold by those who didn’t know her. Arawn knew her, and he understood her pain.
Love hurt. The more people she allowed into her heart, the more she bled.
He opened the door. Minerva sat in the center of the room, her head on her knees and arms wrapped tightly around her legs.
Thick white candles encircled her. Within the ring, green grass formed a soft carpet—her dominion. Beyond the burning tapers, cold stone made up the floor of his domain, the one she preferred.
Duty demanded she play the role she’d been chosen to fill, despite the repercussions to her. His love for her required he save her from the heartache she experienced while satisfying her obligation. He couldn’t, however. She was meant to bleed for love lost, just as he was meant to live with the screams of the wronged echoing in his head. The best he could give his mate was a shoulder to cry on and his touch. Only he could deaden her pain.
He shut the door behind him. The click resounded in the room. She lifted her head and met his gaze. Swirling lines of molten silver set off her piercing gray eyes. From them, silver tears formed twin trails down her cheeks.
“My love.” She held out her hand. More droplets of silver dripped from her palm where she’d dug her nails into her flesh.
He went to her, stepping over the tiny flames, then dropped to his knees. With care, he cradled her injured hand and brought it to his mouth. He licked away her spilled blood, healing the wounds and taking her agony into himself.
He met her gaze. “Tell me of the lovers who have caused your suffering.”
“Not merely lovers. Souls paired by my hand. Events have ripped them apart tonight. One has died. The other mourns.” She turned tired eyes on him. “And I am once again crying for them so they may have another chance.”
He sat on the soft grass and lifted her, settling her over his lap.
“They are old souls?” They had to be. The Triad took away her ability to pair mates a millennium ago. Arawn didn’t know why. She’d never shared the reason with him. Since he refused to disclose his arrangement with the demons, he had no right to demand her secrets.
“One of the first seventeen.”
He closed his eyes on a long exhale, finally comprehending her pain. “One of your handmaidens.”
She wrapped her arms around him and laid her damp cheek against his chest. “Yes. My third maiden.”
“I am sorry.” He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “Did she get to spend a lifetime with her male?”
Minerva leaned back and glared at him. Rage turned her eyes into glowing silver discs. “A single night.”
She shoved from his embrace and strode to the edge of the circle. The moment she stepped over the boundary of the ring, the blades of grass withered. Her hair darkened. The swirling lines of molten silver turned black. And fury clung to her where moments ago softer emotions had.
Her outward appearance reflected her soul, and in this moment, she embodied the darker aspects of the love. Those facets made people paint the earth in the blood of their enemies who dared harmed those they loved. Only revenge soothed Minerva when she got like this. Arawn understood his mate well enough to know she’d get retribution too.
Love could be as gruesome as it was beautiful and was probably the most fearsome force in the world. It was no wonder the other gods handled Minerva with care. None wanted her vengeance focused on them.
With a wave of her hand, the candles tipped, igniting the brittle grass. Flames raced toward him. He stood but didn’t rush to escape the fire singeing his feet. He couldn’t die, not permanently at least, and pain meant little to him.
He waited while she stood in silence, clenching and unclenching her hands.
Finally, he asked, “Your maiden’s male was killed?”
“No. She was. Dagda has murdered all my handmaidens, save my first maiden. He’s allowed her to live.” Eyes squeezed shut, she hung her head. “For now, at least. I have no doubt he will end her life once she’s served her purpose.”
Although he hated hearing the name of the once-beloved fairy king come out of his mate’s mouth, he didn’t correct her. She loved the male once. She had the right to call him whatever she wished.
“I will send my hounds to your remaining maiden. They will guard her.” His dogs, along with his horse, Deliverance, retrieved the souls of those humans who died at the hands of the fairies. Stained by their touch, the mortals were often too traumatized to move on. Arawn offered them peace in the resting fields until
