Bound by Crimson Vows

Chapter 1: The Unholy Union

Percy stood on the precipice of eternity, his raven-black hair a stark contrast to the blood-red dress that clung to his lithe frame like a lover’s desperate embrace. The fabric shimmered under the flickering torchlight of the underworld hall, a daring choice for a wedding gown, but Percy was nothing if not a storm of defiance. His eyes, sharp and untamed, darted through the crowd of gods and demigods, each face a mask of impatience or intrigue. He muttered to himself, 'Okay, okay, okay, you gotta walk now,' as if sheer willpower could force his feet forward.

Step by trembling step, he approached the altar, the weight of divine eyes boring into him. On one side stood Atticus, the King of the Underworld’s enforcer, his presence a cold blade against Percy’s nerves. On the other, Gabriel—Hades himself—stood like a statue carved from midnight, his solemn gaze a storm of unspoken promises. Percy’s stomach churned as their eyes locked; he wanted to bolt, to escape the chains of this union with a man whose reputation as a ladies’ man was whispered even among the stars. But running wasn’t an option—not with his mother’s scowling face burning into him from the crowd.

Gabriel’s lips curled into a smirk as Percy stopped before him, the younger man’s unease a palpable heat between them. 'You look like you’re about to face a hydra, darling,' Gabriel drawled, his voice a low, velvet rumble that seemed to stroke Percy’s skin. 'Is marrying me truly such a monstrous fate?'

Percy’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he shot back, 'Don’t flatter yourself, Hades. I’m not here to be tamed—I’m here because I don’t have a choice. But let’s get one thing straight: I’m not some blushing bride you can bend to your will.'

Gabriel chuckled, the sound dark and dangerous, his gaze raking over Percy’s form in that crimson dress. 'Oh, I wouldn’t dream of bending you, Percy. I’d much rather see you snap—and enjoy every second of it.' His words dripped with challenge, a promise of battles yet to come, both in and out of the bedroom.

Percy’s cheeks flushed, but he refused to look away, his voice cutting like a blade. 'Keep dreaming, then. I’m not here to play your games or warm your bed on command. If you think you’ve got me figured out, you’re in for a rude awakening.'

Gabriel stepped closer, the air between them crackling with tension, his breath hot against Percy’s ear as he whispered, 'I look forward to it. Let’s see how long you can resist before you’re begging for more than just my name on your lips.'

Percy’s breath hitched, his body betraying him with a shiver as Gabriel’s words ignited a fire he wasn’t ready to acknowledge. The crowd faded, the weight of Atticus’s judgmental stare irrelevant as the space between them shrank. Gabriel’s hand brushed against Percy’s, a deliberate graze that sent a jolt through him, and Percy hated how much he wanted to lean into it—how much he craved to test the boundaries of this god’s control.

As the ceremony loomed, Percy knew this was only the beginning. The heat of Gabriel’s gaze promised a night of unraveling, of pushing and pulling until one of them broke. And as the first sacred words were spoken by Atticus, Percy felt the undeniable pull—wet heat pooling in anticipation, his mind already racing to the moment they’d be alone, where words would turn to action, and defiance would meet desire in a clash of raw, unbridled need.