She gave a startled gasp. "You'll help me? Even knowing you are no longer bound to the prince?"

"Yes." If she spoke true and he was free, he had no place to go. Too many centuries had passed, his home gone. His family, dead. Besides, he might crave the very freedom the goddess promised but he feared trusting her. She might not intend malice, but Lucifer certainly would.

With the prince, there was always a catch. Free today did not necessarily mean free tomorrow.

No, he dare not hope.

"Thank you. I didn't expect—I—Why did you sell your soul?" she asked softly, tracing the crack again.

There was a beat of silence.

"What would you have me do?" he repeated rather than answer. He did not wish to admit the reason for his folly and the subsequent humiliation.

Her arm dropped to her side, and her expression softened. "I am Kadence," she said, as though he had asked for her name rather than instruction.

Kadence. How he loved the way the syllables rolled through his mind, smooth as velvet—gods, how long since he'd touched a material so fine?—and sweet as wine. How long since he'd tasted such a drink?

"I am Geryon." Once, he'd had a different name. Upon arriving here, however, Lucifer had dubbed him Geryon. Guardian of the Damned, it translated to, which was what he was and all he would ever be.

Some legends, a demon had once jeered at him, proclaimed him to be a three-headed centaur. Some, a vicious dog. Nothing compared to what he was, so he did not mind the stories.

"I am yours to command," he said, adding, "Kadence." Tasted even better on his tongue.

Breath caught in her throat; he heard the hitch of it. "You say my name like a prayer." There was astonishment in her tone.