SHADOWLESS LOVE

The shower sputtered to life, cold water streaming down my body, washing away the sticky remnants of blood clinging to my skin. The icy chill was grounding, though it did little to quiet the storm in my mind. The rhythmic drip of water from above echoed through the backyard bathroom, a space I'd built to keep this side of me far from prying eyes—especially my four-year-olds.

The smell of iron still lingered, mixing with the faint musk of damp wood. It wasn't unpleasant, not to me. If anything, it was nostalgic. It called to the darker part of my soul, the part that grinned at chaos and drank in power like nectar. A part I pretended didn't exist when pulling pancakes out of the pan for a four-year-old.

A chuckle escaped my lips as I ran my hand through my hair, the cold water trailing down the scars that marred my chest. Each one was a story, a reminder of who I was and could never stop being. The cracked and fogged mirror on the wall reflected a shadow of the man my son believed me to be—a simple father, a good man, a lie.

Monsters don't retire. They don't "get better." They adapt.

Wrapping myself in a towel, I burned the bloodied clothes in the steel drum tucked into the corner of the yard. The fire crackled, dancing in the growing dusk. The backyard was cozy, deceptively serene, with its string lights casting a warm glow over the weathered wooden bench and the creeping vines. A small swing swayed lazily, caught in a breeze.

Even devils crave a touch of heaven.

As I stepped into the house, the smell of pancakes wafted through the air, warm and buttery, mingling with the sound of laughter. The living room was inviting chaos—plush cushions spilling off the couch, toy cars abandoned mid-crash, and a small blanket fort in the corner.

"Didn't I say no pancakes for a week?" I called out, feigning irritation as I hung my damp towel on the back of a chair.

"Stop whining, Papa! Uncle Cass makes the best pancakes!" came Bubu's voice, his giggles ringing from the kitchen.

I sighed, shaking my head. The legendary Hades, a man whispered about in the darkest corners of the underworld, couldn't enforce a simple pancake ban. A true disappointment to my name.

Walking past the couch, something caught my eye. A brown package sat neatly on the coffee table, innocuous yet out of place.

"What's in the package, Cassian?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

The man in question leaned against the kitchen doorway, holding Bubu on his shoulders like the world's most unqualified babysitter. His grin was a little too wide to be innocent. "Shelly dropped it off. Said it was urgent."

Shelly. My fixer, my shadow, my last line of defense against the vultures circling my past. She never sent anything without a reason.

Dropping onto the couch, I tore into the package, its contents spilling into my lap. The note on top caught my attention first. The words were simple, but they carried the weight of a hurricane.

Cassian wandered over, but Bubu still perched on his shoulders like a miniature king. He peered down at the paper, his curiosity plain.

"What's it say, Uncle?" Bubu asked, his small voice pulling at my heart.

I folded the note carefully, setting it aside. My lips curled into a smirk, the kind that had once made grown men tremble.

"No more school for you, Bubu," I said, scooping him off Cassian's shoulders before the tears could start. I pressed a kiss to his mop of brown hair, his soft giggles muffling against my chest.

"Why?" His wide hazel eyes searched mine, hope blooming in their depths.

"We're going to live with Grandpa," I said, watching his face light up like the Fourth of July.

"GRANDPA!" he squealed, throwing his arms around my neck.

Cassian snorted. "The old man's going to spoil him rotten. Bet he's already got a pony waiting in the driveway."

"Probably," I muttered, my smirk deepening. "And a new stepmother or two."

Cassian laughed, his eyes glinting with amusement. "So, no more café owner cosplay, huh? Back to business?"

I glanced at the note again, its contents still buzzing in my head:

The President was assassinated at 10:27 AM. Not yet public knowledge.

The House of Ivanov has extended a marriage proposal.

"It's time to go home," I said, my voice low and charged.

"To Helheim?" Cassian asked, his grin widening.

"To Helheim," I confirmed, the smirk twisting into something far darker, far more familiar.

The king was returning to his throne, and the Helhim would tremble once more in fear and anticipation.