The Dragon Legion Collection(39)

It made perfect sense. It wasn’t their son’s fault that he and Petra hadn’t remained together. His son was Pyr, like Damien, and deserved a dragon’s education. The Pyr could use another dragon warrior in their corps. The firestorm, Damien was certain, had brought him to the underworld to retrieve his son.

Which meant it must be possible.

As Damien watched, a flat boat left the far shore. The hooded ferryman pushed his pole into the river, guiding his boat toward them. There was only darkness within the shadows of his hood and his fingers gleamed because they were bare bones.

“Charon,” he whispered, without intending to do so. Despite himself, Damien scanned the distant bank, seeking a glimpse of Petra. She’d been the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen—when she was alive. What did she look like now? How would he feel when he saw her? Just the possibility made him want to know for sure.

He doubted she’d surrender their son easily. Petra had always been stubborn.

But she was a mother. Surely she would sacrifice her own desires for her son’s welfare?

Damien didn’t know what to expect from her. He eyed the cold dead land on the other side of the river and remembered Petra’s passionate nature. He could doubt, but he guessed the darkfire would continue to bring him to this place until he accepted the opportunity it offered.

With that, Damien’s decision was made.

A dog began to bark then and was joined by the barking of two others. Damien narrowed his eyes to see the three-headed dog Cerberus on the far shore, its teeth white and sharp as it barked before a pair of gates.

“We’re in the realm of Hades,” Peter whispered in horror from behind him.

“All seven of us,” Drake said.

“That’ll be six, now,” Damien said, taking a step toward the shore. “This would be my stop.” He reached into his pocket, glad to find that he had two coins for the ferryman, and looked across the river. As he stepped closer to the shore, the dead who lacked the fare for the ferryman milled around him. They were no more substantial than a dark mist, but he shivered at the press of them on every side.

He still had a few moments to figure out how to get past Cerberus.

Never mind how to leave Hades alive.

Petra would be another challenge altogether. His son would certainly be with her, a babe in arms who wouldn’t be easily surrendered. Petra was loyal to those she loved, and a part of Damien regretted losing that distinction.

To his surprise, he felt a flicker of anticipation and a quickening of his pulse as the ferry drew closer. It made no sense. He knew what Petra was. He knew she’d been only an interlude in his life, a connection that couldn’t be sustained. The firestorm had brought them together to ensure his son’s conception, no more than that. He couldn’t be looking forward to seeing Petra again.

He was thrilled by the chance to save his son, no more than that.

As soon as Damien had stepped onto Charon’s vessel, he felt the flash of the darkfire. He glanced back at its brilliant light, then it faded to nothing.

The other Dragon Legion Warriors were gone.

He swallowed and paid the ferryman, knowing the way forward was the only possible way out. He still had a few moments to figure out how to get past Cerberus.

Never mind how to leave Hades alive.



* * *



Boredom was the worst part of being dead, as far as Petra was concerned. The underworld was locked in twilight, perpetually on the cusp of evening. It always felt like the middle of winter, although there were no seasons. The trees were stark and barren, the air was damp and chilly. The shadows stayed the same depth and darkness and hue. The underworld was colorless and devoid of sensation. Every single moment was identical to its follower and its predecessor. She and all the dead were frozen in time—yet Petra was trapped in the most awkward state of her life.

She was at the full term of her pregnancy.

On the one hand, it was a consolation that her son hadn’t been abandoned in the world of the living as an infant. With Damien gone and her family far away, there would have been no one to care for him in her absence. On the other hand, it was devastating to her that he had never taken his first breath. She’d never seen the son that she and Damien had conceived, never held him, never named him. She carried a reminder of everything she had lost and couldn’t forget whose fault it was.

She cursed Damien regularly—for his charm, his good looks, his heart of ice.

If his heart had been made of stone, their partnership might have had a chance.

Petra’s state might have been uncomfortable, if she’d still felt her body. In this realm, she was numb, or even less aware of sensation than that. The dead had no appetites, no occasions, no celebrations, no work, no craft. They had no purpose, no pain, no sorrow and no joy. She alone was restless and impatient among the dead. She alone yearned for novelty, for a quest, and yes, for vengeance.


But then, Petra had always been different. She was used to the sense that she didn’t fit in. The difference was that she’d once had hope that she’d find a partner, that the old saying of her kind would be fulfilled and she’d have a companion forever.

She’d been so sure that partner was Damien.

She’d been so wrong about him.

A strange blue-green spark lit at her feet with sudden brilliance, then disappeared as if it had never been. She wondered whether she’d imagined it, because it was both unlike anything she’d seen before and unlike everything else in the underworld.