The Infernal Fury

“I particularly like what you’ve done with the red,” he says.

I don’t turn back. I already knew he was there. He’s been sitting there for the last twenty minutes. We’ve been literally watching paint dry in total silence.

“Sure,” I say.

“I think it adds a bit of fun to it,” he continues.

“Yeah that’s what I was going for,” I say. “Fun.”

My self-portrait and I are locked in a staring competition. The red that he finds so ‘fun’ are tears of blood running down my cheeks. An expression of pure despair on my face. On that one, not my real one. My real one is trying not to roll my eyes at his very presence.

“Can I have it?” he asks.

Hades doesn’t exactly have footsteps like everyone else does. You know where he is because of the ice-cold shiver that runs down your spine. It gets more intense the closer he gets. Most other people find it more than off putting. Some find it downright terrifying. It’s actually one of the few things I like about him. Makes me feel just a little alive and that’s refreshing for a change. My teeth chatter, but my eyes don’t leave my artwork. He’s very close.

“I want it,” he whispers into my ear.

“Are you trying to be sexy or creepy right now?” I ask.

He chuckles. It’s deep, and even though I don’t want to, there’s a tiny bit of a smile playing at the corner of my lips.

“Answer the question,” he says.

“Yes, my magical, mystical Lord of Darkness, you may have the painting,” I say.

It means nothing to me, simply a way to fill time when you have no choice but to use it up. Painting is one of the few things I find remotely cathartic anymore, but I don’t like finishing them. It means you have to start over. I am so sick of starting over. His lips brush against my cheek and they remind me of cold lemonade on a hot day. The last time I had that was a lifetime ago.

“Thank you, my Cha Cha,” he says, with the swivel of his hips against mine. “Shall we do a little dance? Celebrate?”

My face rounds on his. Can anyone actually stare down the devil and win? Because I’ll be damned if I don’t try.

“Cha,” I say, with a shake of my head. “Just one Cha. And no dancing.”

“Are you sure?” he asks. “Because there’s a twinkle in those beautiful black eyes that’s begging to be spun around a dance floor.”

He takes a step even closer to me. Has me looking up at him from the stool I am perched on. My chin almost to his chest. He smiles.

“You can get on your knees and tell me about it if you want,” he says.

“I’m not exactly the begging type,” I say.

“That’s a shame,” he says with a shrug.

Alright. He’s a little bit handsome. I’ll admit it, but not to him. He doesn’t need the confidence, and God knows what he’d do with that little piece of information from me. He sweeps me off the chair in one move. Very careful to make sure I find my feet safely considering what he does for a living. His hand is on mine. He pushes me out, pulls me in close with a twist. My head snug under his chin. My back to his chest. We’re fricken dancing. I squirm against the cocoon of him. His firm muscles snug around me don’t budge.

“A little Cha Cha for Cha Cha,” he says.

“I hate you even more for saying that,” I say.

“Shh,” he croons. “We’re having a moment.”

I’m not going to fight him. He’d probably enjoy that, and I won’t give him the satisfaction. I’d also probably lose. I do the next best thing. I go totally and completely limp in his arms. Dead weight. He barely has time to tighten around me enough to keep me upright, but he does. He shuffles us from side to side at the pace of some unheard melody in his head and my ankles mop the floor with my feet dragging slightly behind them.

“This is beginning to feel very non-consensual,” he says, with genuine distaste in his voice.

“That’s because it is,” I say, and let my head loll back until my eyes connect with the ceiling. I should get a job as a professional rag doll. I am actually quite good at this.

He lets go.

Ow.

The floor is hard and I definitely didn’t need this lesson to know that. He steps over me with his attention back on my painting. Hand outstretched, he stops himself at the very last second from making contact with the canvas. He traces the outline of my face in the air.

“Guess we’ve decided on creepy then,” I say, inching up on my elbows.

He ignores me. Snaps his fingers and my painting disappears all together. Neat trick.

“If you’re not interested in a little fun,” he says. “Then it’s time to get down to business.”

This time I do roll my eyes.

“If that’s why you’re really here, then you’re a little premature,” I say, standing up and brushing the dirt from my legs.

“Maybe I’m an optimist,” he says, turning and piercing me with his eyes.

“That may be so, but even the pessimist in me doesn’t want to take my chances in hell,” I say. “I intend to answer the next call.”

He eyes me up and down for a moment. Opens his mouth, but words don’t come out. Like he has something he wants to say but changes his mind at the last second.

“Maybe it’s not as a bad as you think,” he finally says.

“Yeah well better the devil you know, right?” I say. “For now I am sticking to Earth.”

That little remark gets a chuckle out of him.

“For now,” he says.

Those two words sound part threat, and part invitation. And I don’t know which is worse. He steps towards me, hands coming up as if to grab at me, but there is none of the fun to his expression that was there when he was trying to get me to dance. My feet take me back a step.

“What are you doi--“.

It’s like a damn knife to the heart every time. My knees refuse to support me while the pain of a new life lost shatters through me. Hades catches me before the ground does. He holds me while the worst of it crashes against the confines of my body and threatens to tear me apart. Bloodlust follows everywhere it touches. A need for vengeance. To hunt down the one who has killed a supernatural and provide them the same fate. Ignoring it for the last twelve times has left me weak. This time I have to give in. My fingers curl into my palms involuntarily and my pointed nails pierce my skin, unable to stop the desire to sink into flesh.

“Thirteen,” Hades whispers into my ear.

I push him off with a snarl and give into my instincts. It’s time to follow the scent of death. It is time to kill.