She cursed Damien regularly—for his charm, his good looks, his heart of ice.
If his heart had been made of stone, their partnership might have had a chance.
Petra’s state might have been uncomfortable, if she’d still felt her body. In this realm, she was numb, or even less aware of sensation than that. The dead had no appetites, no occasions, no celebrations, no work, no craft. They had no purpose, no pain, no sorrow and no joy. She alone was restless and impatient amongst the dead. She alone yearned for novelty, for a quest, and yes, for vengeance.
But then, Petra had always been different. She was used to the sense that she didn’t fit in. The difference was that she’d once had hope that she’d find a partner, that the old saying of her kind would be fulfilled and she’d have a companion forever.
She’d been so sure that partner was Damien.
She’d been so wrong about him.
The strange blue-green spark had seemed a dream come true. It lit at her feet with sudden brilliance, then disappeared as if it had never been. She wondered whether she’d imagined it, because it was so unlike everything else in the underworld.
Had she just imagined it?
Would it be better or worse to be insane as well as dead?
Petra refused to think about that. She searched for the spark and was delighted when it glimmered at her feet again.
This second time, it reminded her of a similar odd spark, one of brilliant yellow that had set her heart afire and changed her life forever.
The spark of the firestorm had launched all of her woes.
When the blue-green spark appeared a third time, Petra pushed the firestorm from her thoughts. It wasn’t relevant anymore. Damien had abandoned her and was never coming back. She was trapped in the underworld forevermore. The novelty of the spark was just a welcome distraction.
The spark disappeared, then lit again a dozen steps away.
The pattern repeated, a fourth light appearing briefly beyond the third.
Petra decided it was an invitation and followed it.
She waited where the last light had shone, impatient in her anticipation. When the next blue-green spark appeared, Petra followed the trail of flashing lights. She was intrigued by the way the spark seemed to wait for her, only illuminating its next one when she’d reached the last indicated point.
This was the most interesting thing that had happened since her arrival here.
It was the only interesting thing that had happened since then.
She couldn’t help remembering the hot spark of the firestorm. She could see again the glow of it in that tavern, the way light had danced between her and the most handsome man in the place. A stranger. She remembered how she had blushed and how he had smiled. She remembered how he hadn’t looked away, how he hadn’t been afraid of her, and her strange conviction that he was the one. She remembered how well she’d sung that night, how sinuously she’d danced, because she’d been performing only for him. She could recall the heat of desire that had filled her when the firestorm had flared, her sense of the inevitability of their partnership. She would have done anything for Damien—and in fact, she had done a great deal.
Not that he’d appreciated any of it. Petra’s hand fell protectively to the ripe curve of her belly.
She wouldn’t think about his rejection.
She would think about passion. She would think about that first sweet hot kiss, and how his glorious seduction might just have been worth paying any price. She’d remember how the firestorm had flared and burned between them, how magical and powerful it had been, how lovemaking had been beyond anything she’d ever experienced. She wouldn’t think about the way her adoration of Damien had eclipsed everything else in her life.
Because it made her feel stupid.
Bitterness filled Petra’s heart and she found herself walking more quickly after the blue-green sparks.
The lights stopped abruptly at the gates of the underworld. The dark pillars of stone rose high then made an arch overhead, casting a cold shadow over the ground. A dead vine with blackened leaves twined around the stone. There should have been a breeze here from the river that flowed beyond the gates, but the air was still and stagnant.
Petra shuddered and tried to not look at the dark surface.
On the far shore were thousands of ghostly forms, milling aimlessly along the side of the River Acheron. They were the ones without a coin for the fare on the ferry, the ones Charon refused to take to the realm of the dead because they could not pay. They waited endlessly for a transition that would never come. Petra remembered their sense of despair and how it had engulfed her as she’d passed through their ranks.
She shuddered again.
Cerberus was barking furiously, as if he’d happily devour whatever or whoever arrived in the underworld. The three-headed dog that guarded the gates against trespassers—and kept the dead securely inside—was large and fierce. He didn’t usually bark so much, though. Petra peered around the pillar of the gates with curiosity and sure enough, Charon was guiding his barge to this shore.
But he wasn’t just bringing the dead. The man who stood at their fore, scanning the shore, was very much alive.
If Petra’s heart had still been beating, it would have stopped cold. It was the very man who had been filling her thoughts.
Damien.
She immediately felt flustered, as she seldom was. Why would he come here, when he was still alive? There was no doubt of his state, given the vibrant color of his skin and the flash of his eyes. He was no corpse.
Could he have come for her? Petra knew she shouldn’t hope for a different ending to their story, but she had sung too many love songs to not be a romantic in her heart. She chided herself silently for not having learned her lesson when she had the chance. Would he be repulsed by her? She knew she didn’t look as she had when they’d been together.
One thing was certain: Damien couldn’t intend to die in this realm. No, he must have some heroic feat planned and despite herself, Petra was curious as to what it might be. She watched from the shadows, halfway hoping he’d fail. It would serve that cocky dragon right.
Damien didn’t look as if he accepted any possibility other than success. He was so trim and handsome that Petra felt a traitorous yearning. She’d forgotten just how attractive he was, and the way he could look so resolute. He’d looked like that when he’d first met her and the firestorm had burned—but she’d been the target of his attention.
She felt a strange warming within her, but it must have been an illusion or a memory. The dead felt nothing.
Even if she could have sworn her heart was fluttering.
Would Cerberus rip her faithless lover to shreds?
Petra couldn’t decide if she wanted that to happen or not. She’d been angry with Damien for so long, but one sight of him was making her remember other emotions. Did that mean she’d learned nothing? If nothing else, Petra would like to see Damien’s reaction to not getting his own way for once.
Damien leapt from the ferry, as fearless and strong as ever. Petra watched openly. He turned a cool glance upon the hellhound of Hades just Cerberus lunged toward him, jaws snapping. Damien glared at the dog, something cold in his eyes.
Petra knew that expression, and was thrilled that she would see him again in his dragon form. Damien could shift shape to a dragon of dark green, so strong and beautiful and virile that the sight of him made her mouth go dry. His scales were so deep a green as to be almost black, and each one was tipped in gold, as if it had been dipped in the molten metal. His eyes became more golden when he changed shape, and he was altogether magnificent. His dragon form was a perfect expression of the best part of his nature, his power and commitment to a cause, his ability to fight for justice.
And a hint of what they had in common.
Petra narrowed her eyes, waiting for the pale blue glow that would surround his figure just before he changed shape. He’d taught her to never watch him change and to close her e
yes at the first glimmer of blue.
She was ready and waiting for that light to appear.
Except it didn’t.
* * *
Damien was astonished.
He couldn’t shift shape.
That couldn’t be right! He’d summoned the change from deep within himself, just as he was leaping from the ferry to the shore, but nothing happened. There was no pale blue light. There was no surge of heat through his body, no tumult of the change.
He landed on the dark mud of the shore in human form, shocked.
And fearful of the hellhound’s bite. What had happened to him? He pulled his dagger and kicked the dog in the chest, darting backward as he tried to shift shape again.
No luck.
Damien looked back to see the dead sliding from the barge to the shore. They were a dark shadow of indistinguishable faces, a crowd in which he could discern no features. They jostled him slightly, like a cold bank of fog, and he heard the clatter of their belts and swords. Charon waited, his pole driven into the mud of the shore, Damien’s promise of extra payment having stayed his departure.
For the moment.
All Damien had to do was get past the dog, enter the underworld, find his son and get back to the river. He heard the dead on the far shore of the river wailing for the ferryman and saw the strange glimmer of blue-green darkfire dance over the dark surface of the water.
Had the darkfire set him up?
Cerberus stood with all four feet braced against the ground, barking and snarling. The dog’s eyes burned bright red as it awaited his next move. The dog let the dead pass untroubled. The gates to the underworld arched high and dark, a shadow against the night, twenty paces away.
The hellhound was the largest dog Damien had ever seen, as tall as his chest, and all lean strength. It was black, darker than midnight, its eyes lit with an infernal flame and its teeth numerous. That it had three sets of teeth was less than ideal.
Damien tried to shift shape again, with no success.
The hellhound lost patience. It leapt toward him, teeth bared. Damien stabbed with his dagger but missed the dog’s chest. Cerberus bit him with ferocious power, its teeth sinking deep into Damien’s thigh.
Damien shouted in pain, but the dog clenched its jaws more tightly. The pain was excruciating as it tore the flesh, and Damien feared the dog would eat him alive.
He punched that head between the eyes, glad to see the light dim slightly in its strange eyes. The dog loosened his bite enough for Damien to kick the beast away. He backed away, his dagger held high, as the warm rush of his own blood streamed down his leg and soaked his pants.
The dog snarled.
The blood was slipping into Damien’s boot when he realized the scene before his eyes had changed—or that he could see it more clearly. The dead surrounding him had faces now, and he could distinguish them from each other. The hellhound was more detailed to his view. He saw the silver in its fur, the blood on its jowls, the mane of snakes on each of its three heads. The snakes were black and glistening, like a thousand garter snakes rooted to the dog’s heads. They reared up and hissed at him like cobras, though, their eyes glinting and their fangs bared.
Damien felt a trickle of sweat run down his back.
He hated snakes more than anything in the world.
The hellhound leapt for him again and Damien lunged with the dagger. He missed the dog’s head, but sliced off a hundred snakes from one head. Their bodies wriggled on the ground even after they were cut free, a sight that made Damien’s blood run cold. He focused on the dog just as it bit for him again. He swung the dagger and missed once more, then kicked the hellhound between one set of eyes. The beast lunged at him again, its claws digging deeply into Damien’s chest and knocking him backward.
He fell and the hellhound leapt atop him. It was heavy, so heavy that he couldn’t force off its weight. One set of jaws locked around each arm, holding Damien captive.
Damien was incredulous. He couldn’t die here, not before he even entered the underworld. He couldn’t fail at his quest before it began.
But he couldn’t shift shape, and a man was no match for a hellhound.
Damien didn’t surrender easily. He thrashed and fought, even though his efforts made no difference. The dog’s teeth dug deeply into his flesh, making his blood run freely. The snakes bit him, too, tormenting him with a thousand needle bites. The eyes of that middle head shone brilliant red with intent, then the dog bared its teeth and bent to rip out Damien’s chest.
He was powerless to do anything but watch.
Why had the darkfire betrayed him?
Damien roared in frustration, still struggling to shift. He moaned as he felt the hellhound’s hot breath on his chest.
And then the sound of a woman’s voice floated to his ears.
She sang in the same voice that haunted his dreams.
Petra!
He glanced up and the sight of her was like a knife to his gut. Petra was just as lovely as she had been before. Her hair flowed in dark waves over her shoulders and she was deliciously feminine. But Damien was startled to see how pale she was, more like a ghost than the vivacious woman he’d known.
Dead. Of course. But no less alluring for all of that.
And she was singing to save him. Maybe that was a sign that his mission could succeed.
Damien felt the teeth of Cerberus graze his flesh and decided he’d take hope where he could find it.
* * *
As furious as she was with him, Petra couldn’t let Damien be torn to pieces by the gatekeeper of the underworld.
She didn’t think about the tune, just sang the first familiar melody that came into her mind. It was after the second line that she realized the choice she’d unwittingly made.
She was singing the love song she’d first sung to Damien on the night the firestorm had sparked.
But she couldn’t stop now.
That blue-green light sparked from her fingertips and leapt through the air toward Damien and the hellhound. It illuminated the shadows, showed the confusion on the faces of the arriving dead, and cast a strange light over the deadened world. Petra was surprised, for this was no magic of her own. Charon watched from inside the deep shadows of his hood, his pose utterly still.
To her relief, Cerberus paused before ripping open Damien’s chest. The head that had been bent over Damien lifted. That head turned to Petra, the red glow of its eyes dying to pale gold. The snarl on the dog’s lips disappeared and its ears flicked.
The second head of Cerberus released Damien’s arm. It also turned toward Petra as its ears flicked. The tangle of vipers in its mane slowed, swaying like grass in the wind. The animosity faded from its eyes, as well.
Petra sang even more loudly, putting all her heart into her song.
The strange blue-green light of the darkfire swirled around her, sparkling and glowing with increasing intensity as it danced between her and Damien. It was like the firestorm, but in the wrong color. Petra felt the same heat of desire as she had that first time—but it seemed even stronger and hotter.
Unpredictable and exciting.
She felt dizzy with the promise of a thousand possibilities, and excited as she hadn’t since Damien had left her. The feeling couldn’t last, but she couldn’t resist the opportunity to enjoy it.
Meanwhile, the third head of Cerberus turned, then sniffed at the air. The dog jumped from Damien’s chest, abandoning him before it sauntered back to the gates. Its movements became more sleepy with every step. Damien sat up, wariness in his expression, but Petra continued to sing to the hellhound.
It sat down before Petra, its eyes now pale gold. To her relief, one head yawned elaborately. The other heads quickly began to yawn as well, then the dog circled and laid down before the gates. It sighed as it put its heads down.
Its eyes closed.
Its manes of vipers stilled, as if they too fell asleep.
Then Cerberus began to snore.
Petra
wanted to shout with joy.
Except that Damien was striding toward her, purpose in his every step, and that dagger in his grasp. He wore strange clothing, but that didn’t disguise his muscular build, his vitality or the blood on his leg. He paused to peel off his upper garment, then tore a length of fabric from the hem while Petra stared at the perfection of his body. He bound his wounded leg tightly, but Petra saw the blood still seep through it. She saw his bare chest, his muscles, a mark on his arm, and remembered the hard press of his body against her.
It was too easy to recall his arms wrapped around her and his heat inside her, his lips against her ear.
Even knowing what she did of him, Petra yearned. He’d promised her a night, but he’d stayed three months. Had their partnership really been that ill-fated?
Damien shoved the dagger into his belt and threw away the torn remains of his garment. He resumed his march toward her, limping slightly, his burning gaze locking on her face. Petra’s heart seemed to skip in anticipation.
They’d either fight or make love. It had always been that way between the two of them. She was surprised to realize just how much she’d missed her fiery dragon. Ever since he’d left her, life had seemed flat and monotonous—although the underworld was even worse.
Petra eased behind the pillar, guessing his plan and not liking it. There was only one more thing he could want her to surrender to him.
“You could have enchanted the hellhound sooner,” Damien said, his low voice sending a familiar thrill through her even as his words surprised her. He arched a brow. “Or was that your way of getting even?”
Petra hoped she looked more indifferent to his presence than she felt. “I assumed you had a plan. You always do.” She shrugged as she dared to provoke him. “I guess it wasn’t a good one this time.”
Kiss of Darkness Page 2