Spring's Descent : A Sinful Seasons Novel

by C.L. Briar

power derived from an emotional release. Sex was the most common, but mending a heartbreak, forgiving those who have wronged you, all contained power.

Much to my mother’s dismay, I thought the entire idea of being a man’s breeding toy was totally fucked.

She’d wanted me to be her perfect daughter, one pure and above reproach.

“You’re a ray of beauty in a dismal world,” the stableboy panted, his body writhing up and down as I moved.

Don’t get me wrong, if I were an immortal, I’d run from the one thing that could kill me, too.

was the type of man that relied on others for protection, his wealth and high rank in the Green Coven sheltering him from life’s bitter realities.

I’d been many things in my short life—weak, useless, a complete fuck up—but never broken.

She might chip away at my body, force me to scream and cry, but I’d never let her see how wounded my soul was.

I would never be anything other than a hole for Cyrus to fill and a power source to exploit—both in name for my mother and body for my would-be husband.

Six. They couldn’t touch me—not the real me.

hated the way I was too weak to prevent my voice from shaking. Loathed that my only options were to bind my body and soul to my mother’s fuck boy or meet my fate in The Underworld.

I wondered if all people were like that. Able to flash a smile and a few soothing words for the public but commit vile acts in the shadows.

Death was powerful, but without life to offer balance, it was an unstoppable void, ravaging not only my realm but that of the living as well.

“I would rather die as myself than live as another.”

“We should go out.” I snorted at the rapid change in topic. “To where? Her Royal Bitch-Witch is pissed at me for the stableboy and my refusal to marry Cyrus. There’s bound to be extra eyes on our building tonight.”

It sounded good on the surface, but if he had his way, we’d be little more than breeders for the men. Our bodies theirs to use.

They were convinced I would fail. When I did, when every soul in The Realm of the Living was forced to The Underworld, Zeus would create a new generation of humans. Like a spoiled child exchanging his old toys for new ones.

The potential of a fight—one that could quite possibly be my last—or the need to flee… it felt like a small flicker of life in my monotonous routine.

Shock gave way to disgust in the next second as I realized just how far Demeter would go to ensure her reputation and power remained intact.

I should turn around. I should be fighting for her. With her. And if my lack of powers were the reason I was killed, then I would die beside the only person who’d ever cared about me.

But I was a coward. Turning around would seal my fate. I’d be Cyrus’s toy until he was finished with me. He might wait until my awakening to lay claim to whatever powers manifested, but once that was done, he would kill me.

There was meant to be a balance between life and death, each proving problematic if left unchecked. But there was no light for my darkness to feed on.

Demeter had insisted on calling her ‘Korae,’ but Persephone was so much more than a meek maiden. Names held meaning for our kind. By keeping her true name hidden, Demeter tried to strip her of her identity. Of her destiny.

She was life, held in the embrace of death, returned to The Underworld where she belonged.

Down girl. Why was it always the murderous ones that turned me on?

There were great advantages, such as heightened senses: sight, smell, even the ability to heal. But death corrupts. Unlike earth magic, which sought to give, death magic demanded a sacrifice. It consumed, feeding on life like fire on gasoline.

“Could you slow down?” I called, hiking up the tattered ends of my dress. I was jogging along the path toward Tartarus, nearly naked, and trying to catch up to a demon. How had I ended up here?

Regardless of being a demon of The Dark Faction, despite everything I’d been taught, Aidoneus had prevented pain.

I hated relying on others… but even more, I hated that I wasn’t strong enough to stand on my own.

Dandelions were strong. They'd developed the ability to survive and grow just about anywhere. Rocky terrain or the lush fields, frost or heat, they always managed to persevere.

Other witches my age liked roses or lilies, both of which were fine, but they didn’t have the resilience that dandelions did.

Traitorous tears fell as cries shook my chest. I was stupid to have hoped for anything other than pain from her.

Its leaves thickened, the roots burrowing deeper as it wound further up my calf, desperate to hold me to this place. This one weed was holding me to this life, tethering its existence to mine.

“Just because something is small does not mean it’s insignificant.”

His pupils dilated as he inhaled deeply, drinking in my fear and panic as if it were his favorite wine.

“There’s nowhere in this world or any other you can go that I won’t follow.”

Like the sparks of our individual flames had joined, transforming into a raging bonfire. But where my body felt hot, his was cool, the two opposing sensations clashing with one another.

His full lips were parted, eyes searching my own for the answers to a riddle neither of us knew.

I could still feel something subduing my magic, like a faint dusting of snow, but with Persephone’s power coursing through my veins, I was able to summon my true form.

To sink my cock into her pussy so deep that I’d brand her body and soul as mine, forever.

Demeter thought changing her fate’s-given name would keep her from her destiny, but my little witch was too stubborn for that. She had responded to her true name, if not consciously, then by instinct.

I watched as she took in our surroundings, like a doe caged by a wolf.

She swallowed as fear and excitement warred within her. “Hot springs?”

“Your true name is Persephone, The Destroyer. You’re not a meek, naive maiden as your mother’s chosen name suggests, nor were you ever meant to be.

It was beautiful in a harsh sort of way, though I supposed all things in The Underworld were like that.

I hated everything he stood for. Everything he’d done in his long, terrible existence, but that selfish, stupid part of my heart yearned for him anyway.

His two fingers grazed the underside of my chin, tipping my head up until my eyes locked with his. The gesture was so tender, conveying the type of intimacy that I’d always craved but never conquered.

The way he spoke to me felt like we’d known each other for years.

A goddess built for me to ravage.

It seemed my Persephone liked her pleasure tempered with a bit of pain.