Gena Showalter: The Darkest Fire

Geryon hesitated only a moment before following her, breathing deeply of her honeysuckle scent along the way.

To Geryon's surprise, no one jumped from the shadows as he walked; no one waited to punish him for daring to leave his post. Was he truly free? Dare he hope?

The goddess didn't face him when he reached her, but traced a fingertip along a thin, jagged groove in the middle stone. A groove that branched into smaller striations, like tiny rivers flowing from a churning ocean.

"It's small, I know, but already it has grown from what I saw yesterday. If the demons continue their abuse, it will continue to grow until the rock splits completely in two, allowing legions to enter the human realm."

"Were a single demon released upon the unsuspecting world," he muttered, "death and destruction would reign." Whether or not a punishment would be delivered to him, he would help her, Geryon decided. He could not allow such a thing to happen. Innocence should never be taken from the undeserving. It was too precious. "What would you have me do?"

She gave a startled gasp. "You'll help me? Even knowing you are no longer bound to the prince?"

"Yes." If she spoke true and he was free, he had no place to go. Too many centuries had passed, his home gone. His family, dead. Besides, he might crave the very freedom the goddess promised but he feared trusting her. She might not intend malice, but Lucifer certainly would.

With the prince, there was always a catch. Free today did not necessarily mean free tomorrow.

No, he dare not hope.

"Thank you. I didn't expect—I—Why did you sell your soul?" she asked softly, tracing the crack again.

There was a beat of silence.

"What would you have me do?" he repeated rather than answer. He did not wish to admit the reason for his folly and the subsequent humiliation.

Her arm dropped to her side, and her expression softened. "I am Kadence," she said, as though he had asked for her name rather than instruction.

Kadence. How he loved the way the syllables rolled through his mind, smooth as velvet—gods, how long since he'd touched a material so fine?—and sweet as wine. How long since he'd tasted such a drink?

"I am Geryon." Once, he'd had a different name. Upon arriving here, however, Lucifer had dubbed him Geryon. Guardian of the Damned, it translated to, which was what he was and all he would ever be.

Some legends, a demon had once jeered at him, proclaimed him to be a three-headed centaur. Some, a vicious dog. Nothing compared to what he was, so he did not mind the stories.

"I am yours to command," he said, adding, "Kadence." Tasted even better on his tongue.

Breath caught in her throat; he heard the hitch of it. "You say my name like a prayer." There was astonishment in her tone.

Had he? "I am sorry."

"Don't be." Her cheeks flushed prettily. Then she clapped her hands and brought the conversation back to what should have been their primary concern. "First we must patch these cracks."

He nodded but said, "I fear the wall is already compromised. Patching will merely strengthen it for a time." But might not prevent an eventual fall, he did not add.

"Yes. Knowing demons as I have come to, they will return and inflict more damage." Once more she turned to him. Once more she lifted her gaze to him, kernels of fear swirling where there should only be satisfaction. A crime. "Geryon," she began, only to press her lush lips together.

What was left of his heart skidded to an abrupt stop. She was just so lovely, her gentleness and goodness setting her apart from everything he represented. He wanted to duck his head, hide his ugliness from her. "Yes?"

"I should not ask this of you, but I know not what else to do."

"Ask me anything you desire." He would see it was done, no matter the consequences. "It will be my pleasure to aid you."

"I pray you remember those words. For after we've repaired the wall, we must enter hell—and hunt the demons who would destroy it."

For hours Geryon worked at repairing the wall, pleading with Kadence all the while to remain behind. Demons were dangerous, he said. Demons liked their prey alive and fresh, he said. What he did not say was that she was fragile, breakable. No, he did not need to say it; she read the thoughts in the ever-growing warmth of his eyes.

Through it all, she refused to allow him to go alone. She had not bartered something that would surely earn her the wrath of the gods, only to send him on a mission he could not hope to win without her.

While the demons were not hers to command, she could force them to bow to her. She hoped. Besides, she might appear fragile and breakable, but she possessed a core of iron.

Something she'd finally proven to Lucifer earlier.

As a child, she had been an indomitable force. A whirlwind that trampled anything and everything in her path. It had not been intentional. She'd simply followed the quiet urgings inside her head. Dominate. Master. When she'd realized she had chipped away at her own mother's strength of mind, turning the once vibrant goddess into a lifeless shell, she had retreated inside herself, afraid of who and what she was. Afraid of what she could do, unintentional though it was.

Sadly, with those fears came others, as if she'd opened a doorway in her mind and placed a welcome mat out front. Fear of people, places, emotions. For centuries she had acted like the mouse Lucifer had called her.

Underneath the fears, however, she was still the goddess she'd been born to be: Oppression. She conquered. She did not cower. Please, do not let me cower. Not any longer.

Only a few moments ago, Geryon had reluctantly pried apart the boulders blocking the cavern from a yawning pit—only a small slit—flames and scaled arms instantly reaching out. He had entered first, commanding both to recede. To her surprise, they had obeyed the instant she came through. Part of her wanted to believe they had done so because they'd been afraid of her. The other part of her knew they'd feared Geryon.

"Ready, goddess?" he anchored himself on a ledge of the wall. He was to the left of the gate, she on the right. "Ready?" he insisted, reaching toward her. To protect her? Aid her? They were hanging onto a massive rock, after all, a fiery pit waiting to catch them should they fall.

"Yes." Finally, I will know his touch. Surely it will not be as divine as my body expects. Nothing could be. But just before contact, he lowered his arm and inched further away from her. She sighed in disappointment and tightened her grip on the wall, balancing her feet on the thin ledge as best she could.

"This way." He motioned toward the crack with a tilt of his chin.

"All right. And Geryon? Thank you. For everything." Usually she whisked herself to Lucifer's palace without ever opening the gate, too afraid to fall into this smoldering pit and explore the wasteland waiting below. Not today. She couldn't.

"You are welcome." He pushed the stones back together.

She waved her hand over them, leaving traces of her power there. Because there was no longer a guardian stationed out front, the extra fortification was needed—despite the fact that providing it weakened her.

As fragments of her power adhered to the stones, she was careful to maintain distance from them. Supposedly Geryon was the only one who could touch the gate without consequence. Well, besides Hades and Lucifer. Anyone else, the stones heaped untold pain and horror upon.

She had never dared test the supposition.

A thought occurred to her, and she tilted her head, studying her companion. Without Geryon at the gate, who would open the stones to allow damned souls inside? Perhaps Lucifer had already appointed another guardian. Perhaps? She chuckled without humor. He had. He couldn't leave the gates unguarded. The knowledge that Geryon would not be the man she saw every day…saddened her. For when the wall was safe, Geryon could leave but she would be stuck here.