Dark Beginnings: The Darkest Fire / The Darkest Prison / The Darkest Angel. Gena Showalter

Yes. Yes. Every muscle in his body clenched. In arousal. In desperation.

      In despair.

      No. He could not risk the suffering of the innocent—why do you bother with them?—simply to sate his craving for the lovely goddess. So have a kiss? A night with her? No again.

      Finally I know true torture. He ground his teeth. Why did he bother? Because without good, there would be only evil. And he had seen too much evil over the centuries. He would not be responsible for more.

      “Guardian?” the goddess prompted. “Anything.”

       CHAPTER TWO

      DO NOT SPEAK. DO NOT DO THIS. Geryon gulped. “I am sorry, goddess.” No. Say no more. Ask for that kiss, at the very least. “As I told you, I cannot help you.” No, no, no.

      How he hated himself just then.

      Her delicate shoulders sagged in disappointment, and his self-hatred grew. “But…why? You want to keep the demons in Hell just as much as I do. Right?”

      “Right.” Geryon didn’t want to tell her his reasons for refusing her, was still ashamed after all this time. Tell her, however, he would. Perhaps then she would return to the old ways and pretend he did not exist. As it was, his craving for her was deepening, intensifying, his body hardening. Readying.

       She’s not for you.

      How many times would he need the reminder before this conversation ended?

      “I sold my soul,” he admitted. He had been one of the first humans to walk the earth. Despite his massive build and bumbling ways, he’d been content with his lot and enraptured by his mate, even though she’d been chosen by his family and, like all the other females of his acquaintance, had not desired him in return.

      A year into their marriage, she had grown sick, and he had despaired. Though she had found no joy with him, she had belonged to him, and ensuring her safety and well-being had been his duty. So he had cried out to the gods for assistance.

      They had ignored him, and his despair became unbearable.

      That was when Lucifer appeared before him. So cunning, that one was.

      To save his mate—and perhaps finally win her heart—Geryon had willingly given himself to the dark prince. And found himself transformed from man to beast. Horns had sprouted atop his head, and his hands had become clubs, his nails claws. Dark, carmine fur had covered the skin on his legs, while hooves replaced his feet.

      In seconds, he’d been more animal than human.

      His wife had healed, as his contract with Lucifer stated, but she had not softened toward Geryon. No, his selfless act had meant nothing to her and she had left him for another man. A man she had apparently been seeing all along.

      What a fool he’d been. A cuckold. All for nothing.

      “What thoughts fill your head, Guardian? Never have you appeared so…broken.”

      The goddess. His hands fisted, claws digging deep into his palms, as he refocused on her. There had been compassion in her tone. Compassion he must ignore. Unemotional, that’s how he had to be. Always. Otherwise, he would not survive his time here.

      “My actions are no longer mine to command. No matter how I wish otherwise, I cannot help you. Now please. Don’t you have duties to attend to?”

      “I am doing my duty now. Are you?”

      He flushed.

      She sighed. “Forgive my waspishness. I am frazzled.” The goddess studied him, her head tilting to the side. He shifted uncomfortably, such scrutiny unnerving given his sickening appearance. To his surprise, revulsion did not darken her lovely gaze as she said, “Your soul belongs to the dark prince?”

      “Yes.”

      “And if your soul was returned to you, you would aid me?”

      “Yes,” he repeated, the word a croak. Would she still offer him a boon for that aid?

      “Very well. I will see what I can do.”

      His eyes widened in horror. Approach Lucifer? “No, you must—”

      She disappeared before he could stop her.

      

       Inner Corridors of Hell

      “LUCIFER, HEAR ME WELL. I demand to speak with you. You will appear before me. This day, in this room. Alone. I will remain exactly as I am.” Kadence, goddess of Oppression, knew to state her wants precisely or the demon prince would “interpret” them however he wished. “And you will be clothed.”

      Were she simply to demand an audience, he might whisk her to his bed, her arms and legs tied, her clothing gone, a legion of fiends surrounding her.

      Several minutes ticked by and there was no response to her summons. But then, she’d known there wouldn’t be. He enjoyed making her wait. Made him feel powerful. Keep busy. Act as if you do not care.

      Kadence eyed her surroundings, as if studying them was exactly what she’d come to do. Rather than stone and mortar, the walls of Lucifer’s palace were comprised of flames. Crackling, orange-gold. Deadly.

      His throne was comprised of bone, ash and more of those flames. Off to the side was a bloodstained altar. A lifeless body still lay across it—minus a head. The head would reattach all too soon, however, so that the torturing could begin anew. That was the way of it here.

      No soul would escape. Even in death.

      She hated everything about this place. Plumes of black smoke wafted from the blazes, curling around her like fingers of the damned. So badly she wanted to wave her hand in front of her nose, but she did not. She wouldn’t show weakness—even with so small an action.

      Did she dare, she knew she would find herself drowning in the noxious fumes. Lucifer loved nothing more than exploiting vulnerabilities.

      Kadence had learned that lesson well. The first time she had visited, she’d come to inform both Hades and Lucifer that she had been appointed their warden. As one who embodied the essence of subjugation and conquest, there was no one better to ensure that demons and dead alike remained here.

      Or so the gods had thought, which was why they’d chosen her for this task.

      She had not agreed, but refusing them would have invited punishment. Many times since accepting, however, she’d thought perhaps punishment would have been better. Having stones thrown at her, bloody carcasses left on her doorstep in warning…they hardly compared to spending her days sleeping in a nearby cave—not a true sleep but a watchful one, her mind’s eye drifting over the different demon camps. Could hardly compare to spending her nights surveying a wall of rock.

      As the Guardian watched.

      That, however, was not such a hardship.

      For many years, his attention had unnerved her, for he was unlike anyone she had ever met: half man, half beast, all…edge. But then she’d come to find comfort in his detached gaze. He protected her from demons and souls who slipped through the gate, attacking everyone in their path. No matter the harm to himself.

      She could do no less for him.

      I sold my soul, he’d said. For what? she wondered. What had he received in return? Did he consider the trade a good one? She’d wanted to ask him, but had recalled how uncomfortable he had been with her questions about the wall. He would not have welcomed a discussion about something so personal.

      And that was probably for the best. Only her job mattered right now. How could she not have known demon High Lords were determined to escape forever?

      Had Lucifer somehow blocked her visions of this realm? He was the only one strong enough to do so. If so, what did he