With her task done, Proserpina gently tugged off of her gloves and half-turned away from him, the shadows already growing to take her home… but Alastor suddenly held his hand out, his fingers very nearly touching the shadow as he stood up, as if intending to follow her.

At that, Proserpina wordlessly commanded the shadows to disperse all at once before it stole his. She glared at the stormy skies, her gaze tired and accusing because she was so certain that somewhere out there in the clouds, way up high in Mount Olympus... there was a certain goddess of love laughing while watching Proserpina's current dilemma.

Then again, it could be Eros for all she knew…

"Are you deaf or are you dense?" Proserpina snapped, not bothering to look behind her, "I am not interested."

"Is this because I'm a werewolf?"

–Excerpt from Chapter IV: Touch Me Not

Descent is created by Ataraxia, an eGlobal Creative Publishing signed author.

DescenT

"Information may inform the mind, but revelation sets a heart on fire." 


"This is stupid; this is not going to work..." Sean had bemoaned for what seemed to be like the hundredth time. Harry didn't know–he didn't bother to count.


A few hours later, as soon they found a hotel to stay in for the morning on the city instead of going back to the North like the rest of their pack mates had done, Alastor had insisted searching anything about the goddess of the shadows on Sean's laptop as soon they arrived.


"Can't I just go home? My wife is going to kill me..." the older man complained again as he leaned on the back of the couch, watching the two read some sort of scholarly article about the god of the dead and his wife... and no mention of Proserpina.


"You already called Lizzie and we all she's cool with it." Harry reminded him.


Chapter 17: Three Vs