Damon – POV
The hall that led to the witches' chambers was dark—lit only by braziers burning blue-black flame. The stone beneath my feet trembled with every step I took, as though it, too, sensed what now lived under my skin.
Hades was awake.
Not fully—not yet—but enough. Enough that the shadows clung to me, enough that the air tasted of power, iron, and old magic.
As I crossed the threshold, the witches fell to their knees.
All of them.
Even the high priestess, a woman old enough to have witnessed kingdoms crumble, pressed her forehead to the cold stone floor. Her robes spread around her like spilled ink. And for a heartbeat, I saw the rawest thing reflected in her eyes as she dared to look up: reverence.
"Lord Hades," she breathed, voice trembling. "You have awakened."
A thrill rippled through me—through us. My wolf snarled at the submission, my vampire purred at the scent of fear, and the god inside me, newly conscious, coiled in satisfaction.
