Gena Showalter: The Darkest Fire

It screamed and screeched in agony, its struggling soon becoming writhing. Then the scales began to burn away, smoking, sizzling, leaving only more of that ugly bone. But the bones, too, disintegrated. Ash coated the air, blowing in every direction.

Geryon stood to shaky legs. He kept his back to Kadence for several minutes, waiting, hoping—dreading—that she would say something. What did she think of him now? Would there be any more of her tending? Finally curiosity got the better of him and he pivoted on his heels.

She stood exactly as he'd commanded, her back pressed against the rocky wall. Those glorious ringlets cascaded around her. Her eyes were wide and filled with…admiration? Surely not.

"Come to me," she said.

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.