The Dragon Legion Collection(40)

Was this a delusion?

Would it be better or worse to be insane as well as dead?

Petra refused to think about that. She searched for the spark and was delighted when it glimmered at her feet again.

This time, it reminded her of a similar spark, one of brilliant yellow that had set her heart afire and changed her life forever.

The spark of the firestorm had launched all of her woes.

When the blue-green spark appeared a third time, Petra pushed the firestorm from her thoughts. It wasn’t relevant anymore. Damien had abandoned her and was never coming back. She was trapped in the underworld forevermore. The novelty of the spark was just a welcome distraction.

The spark disappeared, then lit again a dozen steps away.

The pattern repeated, a fifth light appearing briefly beyond the fourth.

Petra decided it was an invitation and followed it.

She waited where the last light had shone, impatient in her anticipation. When the next blue-green spark appeared, Petra followed the trail. She was intrigued by the way the spark seemed to wait for her, the next illumination occurring once she’d reached the last indicated point.

This was the most interesting thing that had happened since her arrival here.

It was the only interesting thing that had happened since then.

She couldn’t help remembering the hot spark of the firestorm. She could see again the glow of it in that tavern, the way light had danced between her and the most handsome man in the place. A stranger. She remembered how she had blushed and how he had smiled. She remembered how he hadn’t looked away, how he hadn’t been afraid of her, and her strange conviction that he was the one. She remembered how well she’d sung that night, how sinuously she’d danced, because she’d been performing for him alone. She could recall the heat of desire that had filled her when the firestorm had flared, her sense of the inevitability of their partnership. She would have done anything for Damien—and in fact, she had done a great deal.

Not that he’d appreciated any of it. Petra’s hand fell protectively to the ripe curve of her belly.

She wouldn’t think about his rejection.

She would think about passion. She would think about that first sweet hot kiss, and how his glorious seduction might just have been worth paying any price. She’d remember how the firestorm had flared and burned between them, how magical and powerful it had been, how lovemaking had been beyond anything she’d ever experienced. She wouldn’t think about the way her adoration of Damien had eclipsed everything else in her life.

Because it made her feel stupid.

Bitterness filled Petra’s heart and she found herself walking more quickly after the blue-green sparks.

The lights stopped abruptly at the gates of the underworld. The dark pillars of stone rose high then made an arch overhead, casting a cold shadow over the ground. A dead vine with blackened leaves twined around the stone. There should have been a breeze here from the river that flowed beyond the gates, but the air was still and stagnant.

Petra shuddered and tried not to look at the dark surface.

On the far shore were thousands of ghostly forms, milling aimlessly along the side of the River Acheron. They were the ones without a coin for the ferry, the ones Charon refused to take to the realm of the dead because they could not pay. They waited endlessly for a transition that would never come. Petra remembered their sense of despair and how it had engulfed her as she’d passed through their ranks.

She shuddered again.

Cerberus was barking furiously, as if he’d happily devour whatever or whoever arrived in the underworld. The three-headed dog that guarded the gates against trespassers—and kept the dead securely inside—was large and fierce. He didn’t usually bark so much, though. Petra peered around the pillar of the gates with curiosity and sure enough, Charon was guiding his barge to this shore.

But he wasn’t just bringing the dead. The man who stood at their fore, scanning the shore, was very much alive.

If Petra’s heart had still been beating, it would have stopped. It was the very man who had been filling her thoughts.

Damien.

She immediately felt flustered, as she seldom was. Why would he come here, when he was still alive? There was no doubt of his state, given the vibrant color of his skin and the flash of his eyes. He was no corpse.

Could he have come for her? Petra knew she shouldn’t hope for a different ending to their story, but she had sung too many love songs not to be a romantic in her heart. She chided herself silently for not having learned her lesson when she had the chance. Would he be repulsed by her? She knew she didn’t look as she had when they’d been together.

One thing was certain: Damien couldn’t intend to die in this realm. No, he must have some heroic feat planned and despite herself, Petra was curious as to what it might be. She watched from the shadows, halfway hoping he’d fail. It would serve that cocky dragon right.

Damien didn’t look as if he considered any possibility other than success. He was so trim and handsome that Petra felt a traitorous yearning. She’d forgotten just how attractive he was, and the way he could look so resolute. He’d looked like that when he’d first met her and the firestorm had burned—but she’d been the target of his attention.

She felt a strange warming within her, but it must have been an illusion or a memory. The dead felt nothing.

Even if she could have sworn her heart was fluttering.