Kiss of Darkness (The Dragon Legion Novellas) (3 page)

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 eyes 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.”

Damien’s eyes flashed, although Petra wasn’t sure if his reaction was anger or desire. She was less sure it mattered. That blue-green light swirled around them, intoxicating her with its circling patterns. It leapt between them and touched her skin intermittently. It should have distracted her but instead, it made her world smaller, tightening her focus upon Damien.

They could have been alone in the underworld.

“You knew Cerberus would attack me,” he said, then gestured to his leg. “Was this what you wanted?”

“I knew I wouldn’t be able to speak to you unless you shed blood.”

Damien blinked in surprise, then shoved a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know that.” His eyes narrowed and Petra knew he was thinking about what he had seen, weighing his experience and observations against her words. She’d never met a more analytical or observant man and a part of her wanted his attention turned upon the riddle of her again.

“Because you don’t pay attention to stories,” she chided. “You never have.”

“They’re not real.” He was dismissive, just as he’d always been. “I’m interested in truth.”

Petra folded her arms across her chest. “So, you’ve given up on prophecies?”

Damien inhaled sharply and she saw that he wanted to take a step back. The glimpse of his trepidation only made her angry with him again. “Stories are as real as you and me,” she informed him, then arched a brow. “Or do you prefer to think of every kind other than the
Pyr
as just stories?”

Damien grimaced, which didn’t surprise her, then avoided the question, which was even less of a surprise. He bent to press the flat of his hand against his wound, as if he’d close it by sheer will power. “I always hated snakes,” he muttered.

Petra refused to feel sorry for him.

At least, she refused to give any sign that she felt sorry for him.

“Then you should leave. This place is thick with them.”

He glanced up. “Why are there so many?”

“Darkness, the underworld, lost secrets and hidden desires. It’s all the business of snakes.”

He almost smiled and Petra was shocked by how alluring she found him. “And I’d know that from listening to stories.” His words were low, teasing, in the same tone he’d always used in bed. He looked up, a knowing glint in his eyes, and if Petra could have blushed, she was sure she would have.

“Just because they’re stories doesn’t mean they don’t contain facts,” she said as she’d said a hundred times to him before. To her surprise, Damien said the same words simultaneously. She loved the sound of his voice mixing with hers and was impatient with herself for being so easily seduced.