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

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. Yet again. But part of her was relieved. As the demon had struck at him, she had felt power bloom inside her. Such magnificent, beautiful power. Born of fury, perhaps, but born nonetheless.

       I am not a coward. Not anymore. Next time, I will act. No matter his wishes, no matter mine. He deserves that. Deserves to have someone look out for him.

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

      “I would never punish you for aiding me. No matter your actions. If you learn nothing else about me, learn that.”

      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. Does the thought bother you?” Please don’t let it bother you. “I mean, I have done so already and you did not seem…I mean…”

      “Bother me?” 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 an electric 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. As he had done for the kiss. And perhaps that was for the best, she decided now. 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, though? Would he hate her as the others had? 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.

      And that was as it should be. Natural. Normal. Both of which he probably craved as well.

      She would be more trouble than she was worth.

      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. Despite everything. She licked her lips, thinking maybe, perhaps, what if she did peek? That would not destroy his life and…

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

      “I’m sorry. I—”

      “No. Don’t stop.”

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

      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? Still the question plagued her. If there was a chance that she wouldn’t…What are you doing? She’d already told herself she could not risk it, but hope was a silly thing and refused to leave her.

      “No,” he said. “There’s no need for me to eat.”

      “Really?” Even she, a goddess, needed food. She could survive without it, yes, but she would waste away, becoming a mere shell of herself. That was why baskets of fruits and breads were brought to her once a week—along with lectures about her many failures. “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 someday. 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, but that did not mean he would refuse her…other things. And he’d seemed to enjoy having her hands on him.

      Careful. “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? Butterflies took flight in her belly. “Are you…do you like me?”

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

      Those butterflies morphed into ravens, flapping their dark wings wildly. “Then I would like very much if you would kiss me at last.”

       CHAPTER TWELVE

      KISS HER? “I SHOULDN’T. I can’t.” What are you doing? You just told yourself you would not pass up an opportunity like this again. Geryon’s gaze strayed 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