Heph: Modern Descendants 3, page 7
“She is so beautiful,” I muttered, catching up to Hestia and watching the locks of Phyre’s cherry hair flow in the wind, her concentration firm, her stance tight, highlighting the features of her small stature. “I want her, Hestia, like I’ve never wanted another soul. I feel it burning inside me. We belong together. Bow and arrow. Candle and flame. However, you want to look at it.”
“I don’t want this to end tragically for either of you.”
“How will it? I can’t die.” My threshold for this conversation grew rather thin.
“No, but she still can.” My heart plummeted to the earth with the thought of a world without Phyre.
“I…I don’t understand. She has to be a goddess, to contain such power.”
“Any fire burns out eventually, Hephaestus. It’s nature. Unless that fire is perpetually nourished, the flame extinguishes.”
What if I loved her? I wanted to ask. What if my love fed the blaze within her? Would she live forever like me? I ended up not asking as we stepped closer to her target practice.
“You look wonderful, honey,” Hestia’s motherly encouragement broke Phyre’s concentration. She lowered the bow and arrow, aiming them at the packed ground. Her eyes immediately went to the bandage on my neck. My hands slipped into my jeans pockets to prevent the need to cover it.
“Did you need something?” Her quiet tone ripped at my heart. She’d been hiding from me again. Her eyes shifted downward as she toyed with the arrow against the bow.
“We were just taking a walk,” Hestia offered. I couldn’t take my eyes off Phyre. Her sagging head. Her shrunken shoulders. I wanted to wrap her up and cradle her against me. We didn’t have to kiss. She didn’t have to touch me. I just wanted to hold her and soak up her sadness.
“Can I try?” I nodded toward the bow and arrow.
“Try? Surely, you know how to do archery.” Her agitated tone proved she was unimpressed with my potential mastery.
“I’m not very good.” I teased, smiling weakly.
“You make tools and weapons for a living.” Her striking blue eyes narrowed at me.
I shrugged. “Just give me a shot.”
Handing over the bow first, I positioned the offered arrow along the sight, tugging back on the string and taking aim. Her set was too small for me, and in my fear of breaking it, I didn’t pull hard enough. The arrow shot and missed the center, but hit the outer white ring to the left.
“You missed.” Stating the obvious, I turned to see her hip hitched and her arms crossed over her chest. Hestia shook her head with a puzzled smile and turned to head home without me.
“It’s perception. At least I hit the target. I’ll try again.”
Setting a second arrow on the sight, I gently tugged the string, pulling tighter this time and taking what appeared as better aim. The arrow shot through the white ring a second time, only this time on the right.
“Close,” she snarked.
“I like the odds. Getting closer, but not quite there yet. What’s that saying?” I set another arrow, raised the bow and aimed. “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.” The arrow flew, hitting the black ring, but at the top of the circle. “Or is it practice makes perfect?” Another arrow flew, another peg to the black strip, only this time to the bottom of the circle.
She snorted and shook her head, but on further inspection she started to see the perfect design I was forming. A final arrow sailed straight for my last destination: dead center of the red bull’s-eye.
“It only took you five tries.” Sarcasm dripped from that magenta-plum mouth, and my lips needed a reminder of her fruity mix of flavors. I didn’t understand her power. The remorse in her tears after she hurt me proved she hadn’t done it intentionally. She feared what happened, and her hesitation to be near me stood as evidence.
“Well, you only have five arrows.”
“Someone broke my sixth one.” She bit her lip, suppressing a smile.
“Someone shot my tire with it.” I couldn’t help the curve to my lips in response to the brightening of her pale face. “And my aim is perfect. I hit my mark with each try.” We walked toward the arrows protruding from the target. She stalked toward the target and hastily yanked out the first arrow.
“That was north,” I said confidently.
“What?”
“My design. The top was north.” As she reached for the bottom one, I explained, “South.”
I stood behind her as she stretched left. “West,” I said. She grabbed the one on the right, and answered herself, “East.” She stepped back to stare at the one in the middle. “And the center?”
I reached around her and pulled the arrow toward me, and then handed it to her. One finger rose for her attention, and then placing my hands on her shoulders, I moved her to stand before the target. Closing in on her, I pressed her back, and she stumbled against the target.
“What the…”
“Hold onto the arrows,” I commanded softly, noting that she had several clutched in each hand.
“Heph?” She questioned me, lying oddly angled on the target.
“Look at me.” The gruff demand came out harsher than I intended. She huffed, trying to hold her ground, but she was going to be my visual explanation. “Lean back against the target and spread out your arms.” I slipped my hands in my pockets again to show I would not force her. I needed her to trust me. Blue eyes met mine as she settled against the circular canvas circle. “Spread your arms out.”
“Heph,” she warned, eyes narrowing again, and fingers gripping harder around the arrows.
“Just play along for a few minutes.” My tone pleaded. I only need a minute. Exhaling deeply, she licked her lips. She had no idea what that movement did to me, but she was about to learn. Her arms unfurled slowly, and she lay outstretched.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Heph, this is awkward and…”
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
Her eyes didn’t blink. She stared at me and her throat rolled as she swallowed hard.
“Keep gripping the arrows,” I commanded, holding up my hands in surrender. “Trust me. I’d never let anything hurt you,” I repeated one final time. Bracing forward, my hands rest on either side of her head.
“You say it took five tries. I’ll take as many tries as I can get, but I have perfect aim on my prize.” Leaning closer, the throbbing length of me brushed at her core.
“You’re my target, Phyre. My compass.” I kissed her forehead. Her eyes remained open, watching me, questioning. “My north with your intelligence.”
I brushed over her right wrist with my lips, letting my nose trail over the sensitive skin and inhaling the scent of her. “My east with your determination.” Her lids closed and then rolled open, lazy and sweet.
“My west with calm patience.” I shifted to her left and kissed her other wrist. Then I knelt down before her. Her head rose but her body remained plastered to the target. My eyes never left hers as I lowered to the seam between her thighs. Her breasts rose and fell. Her breath hitched. Holding her focus, I breathed warm air over her core, sending the heat through her jeans.
“My south for sensuality.” I kissed her there. When I pulled away, her head had fallen back and her eyes closed.
“There were five shots,” she croaked, swallowing hard. She hadn’t looked up at me, but faced upward at the sky like a sacrificial lamb. Just watching the peace on her face did things to my insides, like setting the blood to flow, my heart to beat, and my excitement to grow. I stood slowly and lazy lids opened.
“The last shot was the center.” I bent to kiss over her heart, covered by layers of flannel and cotton, but beating under there nonetheless. “You’re my aim. My target.” I wanted to reach out my hand and drag her to me. I wanted to hold hers, to show her I wasn’t afraid of her, but it was too soon. Instead, I stepped back with the soft burning at my wrist and slipped the heavy band covering my skin upward, exposing dark ink over the vein. I shared it with her.
“You’re my compass. My home.” A tattoo of the ancient mariner’s dial covered my wrist. We stood in the northwest and my previous wanderlust nature knew how to discover north in a forest, but this compass tattoo pointed directly at her, the dial trembling at true north for me. Phyre was my destination, my destiny. My skin lit to life, glowing slightly with the direction before me. We remained silent a moment, her eyes staring at the antiquated instrument.
“That compass is alive?” Her voice trembled in wonder.
“This compass recognizes home.” My voice faltered with the acknowledgement. On my own skin, I held the answer to all my dreams, my hopes of one day finding the girl for me, as Solis promised one day I would. Before me she stood and the ink recognized her, her magnetism imbedded in my veins. With awkward sliding, she straightened and stood. She didn’t reach for me, like I wished, but her mouth warred with a smile. I nodded in the direction of the house. It was time to head back. I retrieved her bow from the ground and faced her. White-knuckled, she clenched the arrows, still held in each fist, now pressed against her chest, and like the arrows drawn to a target, I followed her home.
phyre
I was his aim, his compass, his home. The words spun inside me, twisting my insides with pleasure and anxiety. He was those things to me. His nearness gave me comfort, while unnerving me. I’d felt safe all these months at Hestia’s Home, but I hadn’t felt complete. At times, I still felt scattered, unstable, and restless. Heph soothed that wanderlust in me. He centered me, and I wanted to learn more, experience more, but the thought of hurting him held me back.
He circled around me for days in the studio barn. The heat of the stoked fires filled the place and he wore only a short-sleeved T-shirt. My eyes often drifted to wherever he worked, and I stared at his large body. Thick hands and solid arms contrasted with his softer manners, his tender lips, and gentler touches. Often, my eyes shifted to his covered wrist, imagining the heated skin searching for me.
I was struggling with the drop of some glass, trying to form the right shape for the anticipated, bright beads. My hand shaky, my head filled with thoughts of his nearness, I hadn’t noticed when he approached me.
“Can I help you?” His voice startled me, but I didn’t flinch as he stood at my back. I stiffened to prevent leaning into him. Shrugging one shoulder was my only response. A tree-trunk arm wrapped on each side of me.
“Here.” His voice lowered at my ear as his hands wrapped over mine. “Twist it slowly. Form a rhythm.” He rotated my hand in a subtle turn-retreat-turn motion.
“Guide the fire.” His breath heated my neck, and his tone deepened. “Now, slide the rod through the flame. Gently at first. Tenderly. Slowly.” Each word he exaggerated seductively as his hands guided mine, stroking through the blue fire. “In and out,” he breathed.
I swallowed hard at the heavy innuendo, watching as our hands worked in tandem while we spun the mandrel and the glass rod. The fire molded and melted the glass into the perfect drop, reminiscent of rain.
“Eventually, you pick up the pace. You can’t rush before that, but then, then you pull out quickly and force it back in.” His hand over mine mimicked the motion, prodding repeatedly into the flames in short, sharp thrusts. My eyes rolled shut for a moment, and my head tipped back, brushing his shoulder behind me. “That’s my little spark,” he whispered, breathing over my neck, and I was lost. The rhythm between my thighs matched the torch of flame blowing before me. My hands tightened on the shaft of the mandrel and the length of the glass. Forcing them together, I imagined Heph and I colliding, the heat of the blue flame a precursor to how I could hurt him, the drip of the glass comparative to the moisture between my legs. Wet and achy, muscles clenched and vibrated with need in time with the heat, producing a thing of beauty at my hands. How beautiful could it be with Heph? Could I use fire to create instead of destroy the man behind me?
His strong hands released mine and slid up my wrists. Circling them with his fingers, he stroked my overheated skin, pushing up my sleeves. The contact sparked more desire. I wanted those fingers on other parts of me. In kind, I wanted the freedom to touch him in response. My eyes closed again briefly. My head fell forward, but my behind pressed back, his excitement evident, a clear indication he wanted me, as he said the other night.
“Little spark,” he warned, honeyed and harsh in my ear. His hip thrust forward with enough rhythm to steer me. The brief touch not enough, the friction necessary too near. My backside responded again. His cheek pressed against mine, his large hands still holding my wrist.
“Feel what you do to me?” He sighed on my skin, growing sticky and sweaty. His nose inhaled near my neck. “But the things I could do to you, they would be sweet.” Heph could undo me, and I was ready to let him take me right there against the table. Almost. His reassurance didn’t surprise me, but Heph would not push until I was ready. Heaven help when I got there, because I wanted to pull him as close to me as I could.
+ + +
Dinner was one of my favorite times of the day, as Heph’s eyes often searched for mine. Small smiles exchanged, although we didn’t speak directly to one another for days. At my station the other day, I found a quiver filled with six arrows.
May the sixth one guide you home.
He handcrafted them himself of titanium strips. He added real feathers and forged the arrowhead of steel, explaining the process to me when I went to thank him. He hesitated and pointed to the top of the quiver. While I noticed the circular design in silver, with a notch shaped like an arrow and a second shaped like the feathers, I hadn’t realized it was a bracelet. Heph removed it and wrapped it around my wrist, squeezing it gently to fit. He’d sized it perfectly. Twisting my wrist, the tip of the arrow pointed at me.
“That’s the sixth arrow,” he said, leaning toward me. He pulled back quickly, biting his lip, concern in those chocolate eyes.
“It’s beautiful.” My eyes prickled at the thought of such a gift.
“You’re beautiful.” Said with such genuine warmth, heat filled me. I’d heard the words before, directed at me in spiteful, degrading ways, but in Heph’s gruff voice, each word made me believe it true. I was beautiful.
I stared at the bracelet while trying not to draw attention to it, and Hestia broke into my thoughts.
“It’s almost time to celebrate. Maybe the last days of October?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
We didn’t celebrate each traditional holiday. Every dinner was a feast of gratitude so Thanksgiving seemed nightly. I avoided Christmas but a fall festival celebration sounded exciting. I had witnessed a ritual performed by the girls last year, and was eager to participate this season.
“We could invite the girls?” Hestia addressed Heph, and several sets of eyes looked up, including mine.
“Veva and Persephone?” Heph’s voice rose reverently as he mentioned each of their names and I wondered who these two were to him.
“Your little nieces?” Adara’s face lit up.
“Yes, but they aren’t little girls anymore,” Hestia nodded, patting Adara’s hand, “but yes, those girls. I suppose I have to invite each of their men, too.”
“You’d let Hades come here?” Heph’s question perplexed me.
“Hades?” Seraphine’s voice sparked, as if she recognized the name.
“Well, I don’t think I could stop him.” Hestia winked at Heph, and he lowered his head, biting back a smile. A private conversation had transpired about people I didn’t know, but the mention of their names pleased Heph. I liked his smile. His teeth were white and bright against the dark scruff around his mouth. My lips tingled when I recalled the feel of that scratchy skin around mine. While I didn’t want to hurt him, I did want to kiss him again.
That night I watched him from my bedroom window. He sat outside in the circle of chairs around the fire pit. Adara was present, so I stayed behind. She wasn’t angry with me, but she wasn’t going out of her way to speak with me. If I couldn’t have Heph, he should have someone else who could please him, but the thought clenched at my heart again. Not wanting the panic to set in, I lit a candle and watched the flame to calm me. When I noticed Adara and Hestia said their good-nights, Heph remained and placed another log on the fire. I wrapped a plaid blanket around my shoulders and rushed to exit the rarely used front door.
My intentions unclear, I tried to remain calm as I walked toward the fire pit. Something made Heph look up, and he watched me close the distance. My body trembled, my thoughts arguing whether I could follow through with my plan or not. The fire glowed brightly, the warmth invigorating. Sparks danced, and the wood crackled in the quiet of a dark night.
“It’s so beautiful,” I said, sitting opposite him. He observed me through the hazy gasses floating around the bright orange blaze.
“Yes, you are,” he said softly, not taking his eyes off of me. I swallowed hard as heat filled me. The words encouraged me.
“I wondered if we might try something.”
His eyes focused on mine, his chin rested over bent fingers. He nodded once, and I stood. Dark orbs widened with the movement. I rounded the fire to stand before him. His ankle crossed his knee, but he dropped his foot, allowing space for me to stand between his feet.
“Can you trust me, and let me try to control things?”
Shifting in his seat, he sat up straighter and leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs. His hands twitched to reach for the backs of my knees.
“Okay,” his voice croaked.
I pressed on his shoulders and he sat back, assuming my directions. I stepped over each knee and straddled his lap. His hands came to my hips and then fisted, afraid to touch me without my permission.
“You can open your palms,” I decided, and the flat of each hand wrapped around my sharp bones. I let the blanket drape over the back of me. Leaning forward, I placed my hands on either side of his shoulders, but gripping the chair instead of his body. My knuckles whitened as I worried I might set the chair on fire, but it was worth the experiment to taste him again. I took a deep breath.
