Kiss of Darkness (The Dragon Legion Novellas) (2 page)

Even given his experience, though, Damien wouldn’t have missed his firestorm—and knowing Petra—for the world.

“You were right,” Iggy whispered to Thad, whose mouth was open in surprise.

“Not again,” Drake muttered inexplicably.

Damien turned to see the blue-green light beginning to pulse in the center of the darkfire crystal.

“Run!” Ty shouted and Orion did, bolting across the square, drawn to the woman who could bear his son by the heat of the firestorm. Damien saw her smile at Orion, then the darkfire became a blindingly brilliant flash.

Once again, they were tossed through the air, and lashed by a vicious wind. Finally, Damien was cast to the ground and grunted at the force of the impact.

The darkfire faded to nothing, leaving the air as dark as pitch. It was still, wherever he had landed, and it was cold.

As cold as the grave.

Damien got to his feet, sure that his guess had to be wrong. His heart was pounding, even as he saw the deadened trees, the starless sky, the inky black river that separated them from a land filled with shadows. His heart felt heavy in this place, burdened by sorrow as it seldom was, even though his fellow warriors still surrounded him.

Petra had to be here.

Damien knew he’d made the right choice in leaving her, knew there was no point in dwelling on the past, knew there certainly was no chance of changing what he’d done. There had been the prophecy. It had all been so clear.

But why had the darkfire brought him here? He and Petra had no future...Damien had no sooner wondered than the answer became clear to him. The darkfire was giving him a chance to save his son.

It made perfect sense. It wasn’t their son’s fault that he and Petra hadn’t remained together. His son was
Pyr
, like Damien, and deserved a dragon’s education. The
Pyr
could use another dragon warrior in their corps. The firestorm, Damien was certain, had brought him to the underworld to retrieve his son.

Which meant it must be possible.

As Damien watched, a flat boat left the far shore. The hooded ferryman pushed his pole into the river, guiding his boat toward them. There was only darkness within the shadows of his hood and his fingers gleamed because they were bare bones.

“Charon,” he whispered, without intending to do so. Despite himself, Damien scanned the distant bank, seeking a glimpse of Petra. She’d been the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen—when she was alive. What did she look like now? How would he feel when he saw her? Just the possibility made him want to know for sure.

He doubted she’d surrender their son easily. No, Petra had always been stubborn.

But she was a mother. Surely she would sacrifice her own desires for her son’s welfare?

Damien didn’t know what to expect from her. He eyed the cold dead land on the other side of the dark river and remembered Petra’s passionate nature. He could doubt, but he guessed the darkfire would continue to bring him to this place until he accepted the opportunity it offered.

With that, Damien’s decision was made.

A dog began to bark then, and was joined by the barking of two others. Damien narrowed his eyes and looked across the river, seeing the three-headed dog Cerberus on the far shore, its teeth white and sharp as it barked before a pair of gates.

“We’re in the realm of Hades,” Peter whispered in horror from behind him.

“All eight of us,” Drake said.

“That’ll be seven, now,” Damien said, taking a step toward the shore. “This would be my stop.” He reached into his pocket, glad to find that he had two coins for the ferryman, and looked across the river. As he stepped closer to the shore, the dead who lacked the fare for the ferryman milled around him. They were no more substantial than a dark mist, but he shivered at the press of them on every side.

He still had a few moments to figure out how to get past Cerberus.

Never mind how to leave Hades alive.

Petra would be another challenge altogether. His son would certainly be with her, a babe in arms who wouldn’t be easily surrendered. Petra was loyal to those she loved, and a part of Damien regretted losing that distinction.

To his surprise, he felt a flicker of anticipation and a quickening of his pulse as the ferry drew closer. It made no sense. He knew what Petra was. He knew she’d been only an interlude in his life, a connection that couldn’t be sustained. The firestorm had brought them together to ensure his son’s conception, no more than that. He couldn’t be looking forward to seeing Petra again.

No, he was thrilled by the chance to save his son, no more than that.

Damien had no sooner stepped onto Charon’s vessel than he felt the flash of the darkfire. He glanced back at its brilliant light, then it faded to nothing.

And the other Dragon Legion Warriors were gone.

He swallowed and paid the ferryman, knowing the way forward was the only possible way out.

If there was a way out of the underworld at all.

* * *

Boredom was the worst part of being dead, as far as Petra was concerned. The underworld was locked in twilight, perpetually on the cusp of evening. It always felt like the middle of winter, although there were no seasons in this realm. The trees were stark and barren, the air was damp and chilly. The shadows stayed the same depth and darkness and hue. The underworld was colorless, and devoid of sensation. Every single moment was identical to its follower and its predecessor. She and all the dead were frozen in time—yet Petra was trapped at the most awkward state of her life.

She was at the full term of her pregnancy.

On the one hand, it was a consolation that her son hadn’t been abandoned in the world of the living as an infant. With Damien gone and her family far away, there would have been no one to care for him in her absence. On the other hand, it was devastating to her that he had never taken his first breath. She’d never seen the son that she and Damien had conceived, never held him, never named him. She carried a reminder of everything she had lost, and couldn’t forget whose fault it was.

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.