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The storm broke over the mountains like a God’s fury, lightning searing the sky white before thunder rolled down the slopes like a war drum.
Taygete curled into herself under the jagged canopy of pine, her hands pressed tight against her ears, though it did little to drown out the sound. Each crash of thunder felt like Zeus’s laughter, hunting her still, even after Artemis had saved her once before. Her breath shuddered, uneven, as rain soaked through her hair and cloak.
Artemis knelt at her side, quiet but unshakable, the huntress’ silver eyes catching every flicker of lightning. She reached for Taygete’s trembling hands, pulling them gently away from her ears. “He will not touch you,” Artemis said, voice low but fierce, the kind of certainty only a Goddess could possess. “Not while you are mine to protect.”
Another crack split the heavens, and Taygete flinched, biting her lip so hard it nearly bled. Artemis gathered her close, arms strong, pressing Taygete’s head to her shoulder. The scent of rain and cedar clung to her skin, calming in its purity.
“He hears me in the thunder,” Taygete whispered, voice thin, breaking. “He’s always searching ...”
“No.” Artemis’ voice was sharper this time, cutting through the storm. She tilted Taygete’s chin up, kissed the fear from her lips in a touch both chaste and desperate, then pressed another kiss to her brow, her wet hair, her shivering shoulders. “Thunder is only the sky’s song. He cannot find you. He will never find you.”
Taygete clung to her, the fear still tight in her chest but soothed by the steady beat of Artemis’ heart against her cheek. The goddess kissed her again, longer now, as the storm raged around them.
And for a moment, even with the thunder above, Taygete believed her.