Page 35 of Love and Death
I’ve been given the gift of death, and, with it, the chance to change fate.
10
CERBERUS
Standing in the middle of the empty arena, my jaw hardens as I once again scan the dusty floor.
I have scoured the halls, the rooms, the stands, and even the surrounding streets. Hell, I must have retraced my steps a dozen times, but still, I cannot seem to find any evidence that Hazel’s father was ever here.
Even his scent eludes me.
I do not know what I was expecting to find here, but I certainly did not expect to findnothing.
I snort, and a puff of dust escapes my nose in frustration as I take a step back. Something crunches softly beneath my foot, and I immediately freeze.
Crouching, I brush away a layer of dirt to reveal a torn bit of crumpled paper. I turn it over in my hand before lifting it to my nose and taking a deep breath in.
Hazel’s scent is unmistakable. Warm and bright, like a soft summer’s day.
This must be part of the note I gave her just before the trial started … But if this still carries her scent, then why can I find nothing of her father’s presence ever having been here?
Now that I think of it, I have yet to find evidence of anyone else having been here either. It is as if someone has tried to have the whole place scrubbed clean.
Strange.
My lips press into a thin line as I rise to turn in a slow circle, as if some new evidence might suddenly materialize in answer. I do not have time to scour the entire Underworld for this mortal, no matter how much I may wish to do so for the girl’s sake.
Raking my hair back from my forehead, I take in another deep breath before exhaling it slowly in an attempt to re-center myself.
Hell, it would feel so good to shift right now, to lose myself to the beast, but gods know that is the last thing I should do right now … if only for the little lamb’s sake.
For that is what she would become, a sacrifice.
Though my blood still boils just beneath the surface of my skin, knowing what a shift might mean for the girl is enough for me to keep the monster at bay.
At least, for now.
The paper crinkles in my hand as it tightens into a fist, drawing my attention back to the present.
I wonder what happened to the rest of the note. No sooner than I think this do I push the thought aside.
There are far more important things to worry about right now than a scrap of paper. Shoving the bit that Ihave into my pocket, I turn to leave the arena just as my whole body suddenly stiffens.
Lifting my nose to the air, I sniff. Immediately, the hairs at the nape of my neck bristle at the faint but still familiar scent.
“Persephone, show yourself,” I shout, but only silence is given in answer.
I wait a few more seconds before letting out a grunt of annoyance. I do not have time for her games.
I start to leave again, only for something to draw my attention, a flicker of movement, just too quick for me to pinpoint, at the edge of my vision. I jerk my head toward it, but there is only empty space as far as I can see.
“Persephone,” I shout again, this time in warning, “You cannot hide your presence from me. What do you want?”
My voice is still echoing through the arena when the scent of her hits me—heady, cloying, and so thick it coats the back of my tongue.
I was wrong. This is not familiar to me.
The soft scents of spring have been replaced by bloom on the edge of rot. She no longer tastes of life, but of wilt and decay.
