Till Death Do Us Part: A Paranormal Why Choose Romance (Vows Duet Book 1)

Chapter 47

2,725 Years Ago

I do not know how long I’ve been traveling along the winding cave path, but it feels like an eternity. I regret my too-small shoes now, especially with how my feet slide in them as I walk the slight descent of the route as it brings me closer to the Underworld.

At least the strange looking torches strategically placed chase away the dark with their flames.

Just as I feel as if I may need a rest, I come to an impressive threshold built of ominous black stones that glow in the torchlight, the path turning pitch black as it continues through. I know this is it—this path was not the entrance; it was only the path to get me to the entrance. All of my effort so far was only the beginning, and I can only imagine how much more will be required of me before I make it to Hades himself.

If I can make it to Hades.

The all-consuming darkness beyond this point does not look promising.

But I have traveled too far to turn back now. I clutch at my lyre tightly, almost like I’m warding off whatever I will find in there.

With a shaky breath, I step forward. The air turns frigid the moment I have passed through the stone entrance, reminding me that this is the Land of the Dead, not meant for the likes of me. Gritting my teeth, I force more steps until I am plunged into total darkness, the torches behind me ceasing to penetrate to where I am. I reach out with both hands and feel, finding the wall of the cave, allowing it to guide me.

Just about the time I hesitate, my eyes straining to see even the slightest shape in the dark, I round a bend, another torch coming into view. Relieved, I hurry toward the light. Just as I reach it, a low rumble ahead of me freezes me in my tracks.

A gust of rancid air whips around me, making my lip curl. The hot, disgusting smell makes me want to turn my head and press my face to my shoulder, to shield my nose against it. But I stay frozen in place, unable to fathom moving, for fear of drawing more attention to myself. The only part of me that does move is my eyes, growing wide with each subsequent shake of the ground.

A paw appears first, the size of a chariot wheel in width, slapping against the ground and making loose rock and sediment tremble in its wake. Claws click and scratch, announcing the arrival of a second paw, moments before a snout emerges from the dark beyond.

No. Not a snout.

Three separate snouts.

Cerberus.

My stomach clenches with fear as each mouth of the three-headed dog snarls at me, flashing teeth that look sharp enough to slice through me and dripping with drool. The ground shakes again as Cerberus leaps forward, slamming down right in front of me, each head barking at a different interval. Next to me, he seems even taller, at least triple my height. I squeeze my eyes closed as saliva sprays, coating my skin.

The Underworld’s guard is about to eat me before I make it to Hades.

Mind racing, I try to fathom a way out of this. I have no weapons; no god-like power that might give me an advantage. All I have is borrowed clothing and my lyre. The lyre will splinter into nothing if used to defend myself, but I have never needed force to be powerful.

I wrestle a hum out of my chest and Cerberus’ ears—all six of them—perk, growls dying in their throats. I open my eyes and wish I hadn’t, spying the large serpent that makes up his tail, as well as the smaller snakes that line his back like bristled hair. All of them present with sharp-fanged mouths hissing.

My hand, still hovering mid-reach to the torch, lowers. Slowly, as to not prompt the beast to attack, I reach for my lyre as I continue to hum. The tune is melancholy, steeped in grief, but there’s an element of pure horror in my vocals, too.

One of the head snaps at me, coming close to taking off my arm, as I lift the lyre. I ignore the scratch made by the tooth that nicked me, blood welling in the gash and seeping down my arm. My hums turn to words, my fingers finding placement on the strings. The first pluck has Cerberus sitting back on his haunches, the middle head cocking to the left as he watches me.

The song pours out of me, like the others I have been playing in the taverns, full of mourning and misery. I do not hold back, putting every ounce of desperation into my new song, allowing my eyes to close, losing myself in the music. I ignore the puffs of air that assault me every time Cerberus breathes and the way the ground shakes with movement from giant paws.

When I finish, the last notes echo around us, but that is the only sound that greets me. Cautiously, I open my eyes, blinking rapidly when I spy the ferocious monster napping in front of me. I am so close, I could reach out to swipe a hand down the beast’s muzzle—any one of the three. I cannot say that I often aim to put my listeners to sleep with my music, but there is an extreme relief that it did this time. Especially because every one of those snakes are still, draped over the mammoth dog’s bones.

“Beautifully played,” a deep voice says, jolting me from my study of Cerberus. I seek out the owner after ensuring the monster is still asleep, finding a dark-skinned man standing just past the beast’s rump, a lit torch in his hand. His appearance is startling, like skin stretched over bones and nothing else. “It has been some time since I have heard such talent…”

His voice trails off at the end with a question, wanting to know who I am, and I hesitate. I’m not sure who this man is, but I do not think this is who I am looking for.

“Orpheus,” I say in response, gesturing toward myself. “Thank you for your kindness.”

“Is not kindness, but truth,” he replies. “I am Charon, the ferryman of the Underworld, tasked with ferrying souls across the River Styx. Yet you, Orpheus, are not dead.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I would beg an audience with Hades.”

Charon scoffs. “Boy,” he reprimands, though he doesn’t appear to be any older than me. “Hades does not take kindly to the living making demands of him.”

“Please,” I plead. “I must speak to him about my wife. . .”

Charon cocks his head, lifting a brow. “Nor does Hades take kindly to the living demanding to speak of those in his care.”

I nod. “I will shoulder the consequences of my presence.”

The ferryman considers me, then gives me a tight nod. “Follow me.”

My heart pounds as I step around the sleeping Cerberus, having to step clear over a hind leg to get to Charon. Silently, he leads the way, his torch illuminating the dark that tries to claim us. I blink in quick succession as the air around seems to shimmer, and then my feet are glued to the ground as I stare at the scenery that has appeared around us.

A river with a simple boat run aground on the bank stands in front of us, Charon’s footsteps not faltering. I glance around, wide eyed, noting that the entrance we arrived through is gone, only a solid stone wall behind me now.

“Come now, boy,” Charon calls, pushing the boat into the water. “Trust me. You do not want to swim.”

I hurry to him, boarding the boat when he gestures, holding it steady in the river current. As he steps in, I look over the side, into the water below. Some sort of white, opaque fish swim in long graceful strokes, mesmerizing me. I lean closer, attempting to see what kind of fish it is exactly.

I let out a grunt as Charon snatches up my tunic, hauling me backwards so that I sprawl along the bottom of the boat. But not before I see a human hand shoot from the water, grabbing at the spot I had just occupied.

“Fool!” Charon curses. “The tortured souls here would be all too happy to drag the living down into the depths of the River Styx!”

“Sorry,” I gasp, righting myself. “I thought they were fish.”

He lets out a dark laugh. “I am sure these souls wish there were fish in these waters.” He pushes the boat off the bank with a pole, sending us floating on our way. “These are the souls who were never given funeral rites. They had no coins to pay the fee to cross the river to the Underworld, and when they tried to swim...” Glancing back at me as he steers us along the flow, he shrugs. “When they swim, the river claims their souls instead.”

I swallow hard, glancing over the side of the boat at the water again. What I thought were fish are the souls of the damned, endlessly searching for peace in this cursed river.

“I had no coins,” I say, eyeing a soul who breaches the surface of the water as we slip by in the water. “Yet you have given me passage.”

Charon nods, but does not look at me again. “My job here does not include the luxuries of music. Your song was enough to pay for your passage this time.”

I feel a stroke of guilt that so many are bound to this river when all I did was play a simple tune, but I cannot worry about that now. I am here for a single purpose and cannot afford to be distracted. I make myself comfortable, arranging my long legs so that I can recline against the rear of the boat.

Charon does not make small talk as we continue, steering us along the river. Occasionally, hands breach the sides of the boat, reaching for me, and he spears them with his pole with no remorse as they fall back into the waters with a splash.

If I thought the walk from the surface above to the threshold of the Underworld was a long journey, the boat ride seems to take centuries. My eyes grow heavy as the boat rocks from side to side.

I awake to the harsh jolt of the boat running aground and lurch up from where I have fallen asleep against the boat. I scramble to my feet, clutching at my lyre, eyes wildly searching like Hades might be right here at this very moment.

Yet…he is not.

Three paths wait for me past the boat, as I step out onto the fringes of the river at Charon’s behest.

Charon points toward the middle path, similar to the one I entered on. “That way. You will know when you are there.”

“Where do the other two go?” I ask curiously, catching his eye as he uses the pole to shove off back into the water.

He gives me an eerie grin. “One is nowhere you’d want to go.”

With that, he leaves me, somehow steering the boat upriver, against the current, without issue. I turn and study the three paths before deciding to follow Charon’s instruction to take the middle route.

It is only a few steps down the passage before I find myself in a great room, full of glittering gold and more polished black stone like that of which made up the entrance. I halt at once, my breathing shallow as I realize what room I have entered.

The others here turn to me with varying degrees of interest, and there is no doubt that these are not normal beings. I release a shaky exhale as I force myself to move further into the space, nodding my head in deferment and respect as I pass various minor gods and goddess. I ignore their open curiosity, especially those that stare with open derision for a mere mortal such as myself.

“Orpheus,” a voice calls, unyielding. “Son of Calliope and Oeagrus. Why have you disturbed this realm?”

As if responding to his words, the others around me part down the middle, allowing me to see across the room to the black throne, glittering with black gems and rich rubies. The god on that throne needs no introduction, his red eyes studying me closely with every bit of malice I would imagine the God of the Underworld would have.

I am reminded of my total lack of self-preservation when a murmur goes through the room as I step forward and fall to one knee before Hades.

“I am Orpheus,” I agree. “Son of Calliope and Oeagrus. And I am here to request for the soul of my wife”—my voice breaks—”Eurydice, to be returned to me.”