Hades' Cursed Luna - Chapter 136

Chapter 136: Neither Ellen Nor Eve
Eve

I leaned into his touch, if only to steal a little more warmth from him, to hold onto this fragile moment where I wasn’t Eve or Ellen—just the broken pieces of both.

“I don’t want to hear that name,” I whispered, barely able to push the words out. “Not from you.”

Hades stiffened slightly, his thumb brushing along my cheekbone in slow, careful circles. “Then what should I call you?”

The question lingered between us, weighted with more meaning than either of us dared acknowledge.

I hesitated, but only for a breath.

“Call me Red,” I said softly, leaning closer until my lips nearly brushed his again. “Your Red.” To think that nickname had once unnerved me.

The possessiveness in those two words slipped out before I could stop them, but I didn’t regret it. I wanted to be his. In this moment, I needed to be something other than the fragile lie I’d wrapped myself in.

Hades exhaled, a low rumble vibrating from his chest as his forehead pressed against mine.

“Red,” he murmured, the word curling against my skin like smoke—dangerous and intoxicating. His grip tightened again, and I felt the embers smoldering beneath his touch, the fire that only he could wield.

I shivered, but not from the cold.

“Mine,” he added, almost as if testing the weight of the word.

I didn’t correct him.

I didn’t want to.

Instead, I kissed him again—slow, deliberate, as if sealing the words between us with every brush of my lips.

Because in his arms, I wasn’t Eve. I wasn’t Ellen.

I was Red.

And for now, that was enough.

“And I might have to let Jules out,” he said quietly.

It took a moment for me to process his words. “Let her out of what?” I asked, dreading the answer already.

He was silent for a moment before letting out a nervous chuckle. “I might or might not have thrown her in a cell for hurting you.”

“Hades!” I all but screamed. “You did what?” Horror settled heavily in my gut.

“I thought she hurt you. She was over you when I came in,” his voice dropped lower with each syllable, like he was afraid of my reaction.

“Hades…” I let out his name in a frustrated sigh.

He pulled me closer, cradling my face. “I was worried,” he murmured.

“And infuriated,” I remarked.

“Aren’t I always?” he asked. “But you did not see what I saw. I was… terrified,” he whispered, an almost-confession.

I smirked. “I thought you had no fears,” I teased.

“I don’t,” he grumbled childishly. “I just… don’t like the idea of someone else having the chance to hurt you.”

His words were gruff, but the way his forehead pressed against mine betrayed him. Hades—the Lycan king feared by all—was afraid of losing me.

I softened, threading my fingers into his hair. “I wasn’t in danger,” I reassured him quietly. “Jules was just—”

“Hovering over you like a vulture,” he interrupted, his grip tightening as if remembering the sight all over again.

I sighed, resting my head against his chest. His heart thudded steadily beneath my ear, a rhythm I could lose myself in. “She wouldn’t hurt me.”

His silence told me he didn’t believe that.

“I’ll talk to her,” I promised, though I wasn’t entirely sure how that conversation would go. Jules was still a puzzle I hadn’t unraveled. I felt her sharp edges sometimes, the bitterness she carried just beneath her skin—but I wanted to believe she wouldn’t betray me.

Hades’ lips brushed the top of my head. “I’ll let her out in the morning.”

“You’ll let her out now,” I countered, tilting my head up to meet his gaze.

His eyes narrowed. “Red—”

“Now,” I said firmly. “Before she decides she should hurt me for throwing her in there.” I joked.

His growl was soft but indulgent, like he was already regretting letting me have my way. “I still don’t understand why she didn’t call for help when she saw you that way,” he murmured. “Not to mention that she was thirty minutes early.”

I mused, recalling the last incident between us—the coded entries she had kept. What would have happened if I had written them in code? I tried not to think about it. “She must have had her reasons,” I replied.

He was quiet for an unbearably long time. “What if she tried to kill you?”

I stiffened against him. “She would never—”

“Like your sister would have never?” he countered.

I pulled back, my heart clenching. “She is not Eve,” I said.

“And Lucas did not torture Lucian,” he added, an edge slipping into his voice. His grip on me tightened.

My heart skipped a beat, confusion swirling inside me. Torture? “Lucian? Who is Lucas, Hades?”

“That is not important,” he said quickly. “Be careful with Jules is all I’m saying. People are rarely as they seem.”

The name Lucas echoed in my mind, louder than it should have. I wanted to search his face for answers, but I knew that Hades’ expression would have already slipped into that guarded neutrality. It wouldn’t have made a difference if I could see his face.

“Hades,” I pressed softly, “who is Lucian?”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t meet my eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters if you brought him up.”

His grip on my waist tensed, a silent warning that the conversation was nearing dangerous ground. I could feel it—the weight of something he wasn’t ready to say.

I opened my mouth to push again but stopped.

Instead, I slowly leaned forward and brushed a soft kiss to his forehead.

Hades froze beneath me, his entire body stiffening as if he hadn’t expected it.

His voice was sharp and questioning. “What was that for?”

I smiled faintly, brushing his dark hair back into place. “Thought you needed it.”

“I didn’t.”

“Of course, you didn’t.”

He let out a startling sound that could have been a mix of a chuckle and a snarl. “First spoon-feeding me, then the cringe-worthy nickname, now forehead kisses. What’s next? Will you start breastfeeding me?”

For a moment, I could only pause in speechlessness before I struck him hard on the arm. “You and your perverted jokes!” I continued my assault as he laughed, unaffected.

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence. “What did I say now? You have enough to feed me.”

I gasped, smacking him again—harder this time, though he barely flinched. “Hades!”

He laughed even harder.

“You will be getting spanked next!” I warned.

“But it should be the other way around,” he countered.

“Hades!”

—

Hades

“She is more fragile than she looks,” Amelia said, taking off her glasses.

“I figured that out already.”

“For cases like this,” she began slowly, “I would typically prescribe something to ease the symptoms—anti-anxiety medication or mild antidepressants to help stabilize her emotional state.”

I felt my jaw tighten. “Then do it.”

But Amelia didn’t move.

She shook her head, tapping the rim of her glasses with a measured calm that immediately put me on edge. “I can’t. Not with her condition.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why not?”

Amelia met my gaze, unfazed by the warning in my voice. “Because her bond with her wolf is already compromised, Hades. Any medication that affects her neurochemistry—especially suppressants—could widen the gap between them. If that happens…”

I leaned forward, feeling the edge in her hesitation. “If that happens, what?”

She exhaled quietly, as if weighing her words. “She could spiral completely.”

A growl vibrated low in my throat, but I bit it back. “You’re telling me there’s nothing you can do? That I’m supposed to just sit back and watch her break apart?”

Amelia’s gaze softened, a small smile touching her lip as if she saw something that I didn’t. “I’m telling you that she has to get better naturally. Aiding it with medication is dangerous. The more distant her wolf becomes, the weaker she’ll feel. And the weaker she feels, the easier it will be for her to slip further into depression and obvious anxiety. It’s a cycle, Hades—and one that can’t be broken with a pill.”

I dragged a hand down my face, frustration curling beneath my skin like wildfire. I wasn’t used to this—helplessness. “Some thing must be able to be done.”

“There is something that you can do for her.”

“Me?” I narrowed my eyes at her.

Amelia leaned forward, folding her hands on the desk with the kind of calm that only irritated me further.

“Yes, you,” she said simply, as if the answer had been obvious from the beginning.

I arched a brow, waiting for her to elaborate.

“She doesn’t need prescriptions, Hades. What she needs is distraction.”

I frowned. “Distraction?”

Amelia gave a slow nod. “Simple things—mundane, even. Take her to dinner, ask about her interests, indulge in her hobbies. Make her laugh. But not with that dark humor you always fall back on.” Her eyes narrowed knowingly. “Light-hearted, Hades. And yes, I know that’s not your specialty, but you’re going to have to figure it out.”