The Darkest Fire (4 page)

Kadence had been unable to hold back her entreaty. Geryon stood several feet away, panting shallowly, his cheeks cut and bleeding, his hands dripping with his opponent's lifeblood.

His dark eyes were more haunted than she'd ever seen them.

“Come to me,” she said again. She motioned him over with a wave of her fingers.

The first time, he'd given no reaction. As though he hadn't believed he'd heard her correctly. This time, he blinked. Shook his head. “You wish to…punish me for my actions?”

Silly man. Punish him? When he'd saved her? Yes, part of her was angry that he'd kept her from the fight, that he'd threatened—vowed—to leave without doing what they'd come here to do. But part of her was relieved.
I am not a coward. Not anymore
.
Next time, I will act. No matter his wishes, no matter mine.

“Kadence,” Geryon said, and she realized she had been staring at him, silent.

“I would never punish you for aiding me.”

Again he blinked. “But…I killed. I hurt another creature.”

“And you were injured in the process. Come, let me attend to your wounds.”

Still he resisted. “But you would have to put your hands on me.”

He said it as though the thought should be loathsome to her. “Yes, I know.”

One hesitant step, two. At that pace, he would never reach her. Sighing, she closed the rest of the distance herself, twined their fingers—experienced a powerful jolt, gasped—and led him to the rocks. “Sit. Please.”

As he obeyed, he tugged his hand from her and rubbed where they'd been connected. Had the same jolt pierced him? She hoped it had, for she did not want to be alone in this…attraction. Yes, attraction, she realized. Physical, erotic. The kind that prompted a woman to leave her inhibitions and invite a man into her bed.

Whether that invitation was accepted or not was a different story.

Reluctant as Geryon was, she was positive he would turn her down. And perhaps that was for the best. Her lovemaking tended to scare men away. Because when the pleasure hit her, she could not control her nature. The chains she'd erected broke, unleashing her will with a vengeance.

Physically, her lovers became her slaves. Mentally, they cursed her, knowing she had stolen their freedom of choice, unwitting though it had been. She had never bedded the same man twice, and, after three tries, had stopped altogether. One she had considered bad luck. Two, a coincidence. Three, undeniably her fault.

How would Geryon respond? Would he hate her? Probably. Already he knew the horrors of being bound to someone else's will. She would not doubt if freedom was the most precious commodity in his life.

Sighing, she tore several strips of cloth from the bottom of her robe and knelt in front of him, between his legs. His shaft was hidden by a short skirt of leather and metal filigree. A warrior's cloth. Perhaps it was wanton of her, but she wanted to see him
there
. She licked her lips, thinking maybe, perhaps, what if she–

As if he could read her mind, he sucked in a breath. “Don't,” he said.

“I'm sorry. I—”

“Don't stop.”

Don't stop
. Did he mean for her to move his armor out of the way? Or simply to clean him as she'd promised? Already he was nervous, on edge, and had resisted even the slightest of handling. Afraid to risk a mistake, she leaned in, reached up and mopped the blood from his face with one of the strips of cloth.
Acting the coward again, are we?

His delectable scent filled her nose, a midnight breeze that inexplicably reminded her of home. A sprawling, opulent home she had not been able to visit since reluctantly agreeing to oversee the fortification of hell. How she missed it.

“In all the years I have known you,” she said, carefully avoiding the deepest gash, “you have never left your post at the gate. Do you eat?” At first contact, he had jumped. But she maintained a steady, casual rhythm and he gradually relaxed.

Perhaps one day he would allow her to do more. Would she enslave him, though, as she had the others?

“No. There's no need.”

“Really?” Even she, a goddess, needed food. She could survive without it, yes, but she
would
waste away, becoming a mere shell of herself. “How, then, do you survive?”

“I'm not sure. I know only that I stopped needing food the day I was brought here. Perhaps the fire and smoke sustain me.”

“So you don't miss it? The tastes and textures, I mean?”

“It's been so long since I've seen even a crumb that I rarely think of food anymore.”

She wanted to feed him, she thought. Wanted to sweep him out of this nightmare and into a banquet hall with tables piled high, food of every kind gracing their surfaces. She wanted to watch his face light in ecstasy as he sampled one of everything. No one should be forced to go without such nourishment.

When his face was clean, she switched her attentions to his right arm. Angry claw marks glared at her, and she knew they had to be hurting him. Not by word or deed did he betray it, though. No, he actually seemed…blissful. “I'm sorry I do not have the proper medicines to ease your pain.”

“You have no reason to be sorry. I'm grateful for what you're doing and hope to repay you in kind some day. Not that I desire you to be injured,” he added quickly. “I do not.” Horror blanched his features. “I would hate such a thing. Truly. I only want to see you healthy and whole.”

Her lips curled into a slow smile. “I understood your meaning.” Finished with her ministrations, she settled her hands in her lap. She didn't move from her position between his legs, because an idea had taken root in her mind. Perhaps he wasn't ready for her to remove his armor—he was so sensitive about his appearance, after all—but that did not mean he would refuse her…other things. And he'd seemed to enjoy having her hands on him. “May I ask you a question, Geryon?”

He nodded hesitantly. “You may do anything you like to me.”

Had he meant the words to emerge so sensually? So husky and rich? “Are you…do you like me?”

He looked away from her and gave another nod. “More than I should,” he muttered.

Her pulse fluttered madly. “Then I would like very much if you would kiss me.”

Kiss her? “I shouldn't. I can't.” Though gods, Geryon wanted to, desperately, and found his gaze straying to her lips. They were lush and red. Glistening. His mouth watered for a taste of them. His horns, sensitive to his emotions as they were, throbbed.

Those pretty lips dipped into a frown. “Why not? You said you liked me. Did you lie to spare my feelings?”

“I would never lie to you. And I do like you. You are beautiful and strong, the finest thing I have ever known.”

“You think me beautiful? Strong?” Pleasure lit her expression. “Then why won't you kiss me?”

“I will hurt you.”

Her face scrunched adorably in her confusion. “I don't understand. You've never hurt me before.”

“My teeth…they are too sharp.” He didn't add that his hand were too toxic, his strength too mighty. Were he to lose control of himself and squeeze her, which was a possibility considering how much he desired her, she
would
be hurt. Scared, too. Perhaps even irreparably damaged.

“I'm willing to risk it,” she said, placing her palms on his thighs and burning him soul-deep.

He both hated and loved his half-armor at that moment. Hated because it kept him from skin-to-fur contact. Loved because it blocked her gaze from parts of his monstrous form. “Why?” What reason could she possibly have for wanting to place her luscious lips on something so…disgusting? Mere curiosity would not drive a female to such an act. Evangeline had vomited the moment she'd first spied his changed appearance. “I could tolerate what you were, but I can not tolerate…
this
,” she'd thrown at him.

“Because.” Twin pink circles painted Kadence's cheeks, but she didn't turn her gaze.

“Why?” he insisted. He placed his hands atop hers. Gulped at the headiness, the silkiness.

“You saved me.”

So she was grateful. His shoulders sagged in disappointment.
Did you truly expect her to desire you
? No, he hadn't expected it—but he had hoped. “It would be dishonorable to kiss you for such a reason.”

Though she remained on her knees, she rose until they were merely a whisper apart. “Then do it because I'm desperate, needy. Do it because I've suddenly realized how quickly something can be taken from me, and I wish to know some part of you before I'm—”

“Before you're…” he managed to choke out. She was desperate? Needy?

“Do it,” she pleaded.

Yes.
Yes
. Geryon could no longer resist, dishonorable or not. He would be careful, he vowed. So careful. He bent the rest of the way, softly pressing his mouth against hers. She didn't pull away. She gasped, lips parting, and he swept his tongue inside. Her taste…so sweet, like a snowstorm after a millennium of fire.

“More,” she said. “Deeper. Harder.”

“Sure?”

“More than I've ever been.”

Centuries had passed since he'd kissed a woman and never while in this form, but he began thrusting his tongue against hers, rolling them together, retreating, then going back for more. When he felt his teeth scrape hers, he stiffened. And when she moaned, he tried to pull away. But her arms slid up his chest, one anchoring around his neck, the other caressing a horn. So sensitive was the protrusion, he had to grip his thighs, nails sinking deep, to keep his claws off her.

“Like?” she asked.

“Yes,” he managed to grit out.

“Good. Me, too.” Her lush breasts pressed into his chest, her nipples hard and searching.

She enjoyed his kiss? Tremors rocked him, their tongues beginning another dance, his muscles tightening against the strain of remaining exactly as he was. With every moment that passed, every breathy sound that emerged from her, his control snapped a little more. He yearned to toss her down, climb atop her and pound, pound so hard he would brand himself on every inch of her. Inside every cell.

“Stop,” he finally said. “We must stop.” He jerked to his feet, away from her, already mourning the loss of her taste. He kept his back to her, panting, his heart racing.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked softly, and there was a catch in her voice.

Oh, yes. You stole a heart I could not afford to give
. He'd promised never to lie to her, however, so he merely said, “Come. We have waited long enough. We have demons to hunt.”

They stopped at the first building they came to: a tavern. An actual, honest-to-gods tavern, where blood was served rather than alcohol. Kadence had known such things existed down here, but it still struck her as odd. Demons, acting as humans.

They'd had a two-mile trek from the pit's entrance to here. A two-mile trek she had spent remembering Geryon's earth-shattering kiss, cursing him for stopping it and fretting about his reasons.

Throughout her endless life, she had welcomed only those three lovers into her bed, and all three had been gods. If gods had not been able to handle her, there was no way Geryon could. But she had hoped. For once she'd had no thoughts of controlling her nature, only enjoying. Yet Geryon had walked away from her, just as the others had.
Am I so terrible? So horrible a person
?

More than the others, she had wanted Geryon to find pleasure with her because he
meant
more. She liked who she was with him. Liked how she felt when he was near. Instead, she had…disgusted him? Repelled him? Failed to arouse him in even the slightest way?

“Stay by my side,” he said as he shoved open the tavern's swinging double doors. They were the first words he had uttered since reminding her of their quest. “And keep your hood over your head. Just in case. Actually, are you versed in glamour?”

His voice was deep and rough and caressed every one of her weeping senses. Surely she did not disgust him. Surely she did not repel him. He had held himself back during their kiss, had stopped it, but when he looked at her, he made her feel as if she were the only woman in the world. The most beautiful, the most desired. A treasure, something to cherish.

He paused before entering. “Kadence?” Cleared his throat. “Goddess?”

“I will glamour myself and stay by your side,” she told him, though inside she beseeched,
Tell me why you continually push me away
.

He didn't. He nodded and stepped forward. She stayed close, as promised, mentally projecting the image of bones and scales. Anyone who glanced in her direction would think they saw one of their own. She could only hope her fear was masked as well.

Taunting laughter and pain-filled cries immediately assaulted her ears. Gulping, she sent her gaze around the room. So many demons…they came in every shape and size. Some were like the image she projected, bones and scales. Some were half man, half bull. Some were winged like dragons with snouts to match. Yet all of them crowded a stone slab. A moving slab?

No, not moving, she realized, horror claiming her in a bruising grip and nearly crushing her lungs. Human spirits were atop the slab. The demons were ripping them apart, eating their insides. Unfortunately, there was no peace for the damned. Only endless torture.

“Gods,” she couldn't help but breathe. “How can we defeat a horde of these?”

“Over here.” Geryon edged them to the side and out of the way, and she knew it was so that they could observe the happenings without drawing notice. “The creatures you see here are minions, soldiers and servants. They are not what we will be fighting.”

That's right, she thought, stomach sinking. Violence, Death and the like were Demon Lords. While minions enjoyed their prey's agony, their main focus was the fulfillment of a basic need: hunger. The Lords cared only for the agony. Prolonging it, increasing it to the depths of insanity. And the more agony they inflicted, the more screams they elicited, the stronger they became.

Oh, yes. They were far worse than anything here.