Deadmen Walking

  Jerking her head back, she scowled up at him. “I thought he was your friend?”

  Thorn let out a hysterical laugh. “Devyl has no friends. He doesn’t believe in them.”

  She gaped. “Truly?”

  Devyl snorted at the innocent question and stepped back toward Death’s location. “William? Tell our innocent guest here what friendship gets you in this life.”

  Will didn’t hesitate or pause over his standard motto. “A conviction and a noose.”

  Devyl lifted a smug, taunting brow at Cameron, who gaped at them both, especially given how flat and dry William’s tone had been.

  “You can’t really believe that?” she asked them.

  “Believe it?” William challenged as he drew near her. “Know it as truth.” He pulled his cravat down to show her the obvious imprint of where he’d been hung. There was no mistaking or denying the mark of where the rope had torn through his flesh and left him with a bitter, awful scar.

  Gasping, she reached for it, then caught herself, as she must have realized how inappropriate it would be to touch him so intimately. “I-I-I-I’m sorry.”

  “So was I when the executioner dropped the floor from beneath me feet, then waited an eternity before he yanked me legs to finish the job. Bloody plague-ridden bastard.” William straightened his collar. “Sorry I ever made the mistake of calling anyone me friend. Sorriest of all that I put such a rotten piece of dung at me back.” He cut a seething glare toward Thorn. “Swore to meself when Thorn brought me back that it was the one mistake I’d not make again. Put no one and nothing to your shadow unless you’re prepared for a blade to be sliding between your shoulders when you least expect it.”

  The captain moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with Will. “And that’s why we get along so well. Mutual understanding.”

  William smirked. “And mutual mistrust.”

  “Exactly.”

  “That just makes me sad for the both of you.” She stepped forward to hug William and then the captain.

  Devyl froze at the sensation of her arms around his waist. Of her body pressed so intimately against his. For a full minute, he couldn’t breathe as a wave of fire erupted through his veins and awoke a peculiar feeling inside him he would have never believed possible.

  No one had touched him like this since the day he’d buried his Elf. Not a sexual embrace, or one intended to lead to such. This was an innocent hug meant to give comfort. One offered out of kindness and true compassion for another.

  It was true caring and innocence.

  And it awakened something. He couldn’t even name this feeling because it’d been far too long since he’d last felt even an inkling of …

  Words failed him utterly.

  What the hell, man?

  She gently rubbed her hand against his arm, offering him a compassionate smile before she turned to face Thorn. “I’m trusting you, Mr. Thorn. Please return me brother’s trinket to me as soon as you can.”

  As she walked away, Devyl realized he was gaping now, too. Snapping his mouth shut, he cleared his throat. Then saw red as it dawned on him that she was heading back to her quarters, where he’d stashed the Deruvian bitchington.

  “Fetch the lass, Will!” He shoved at his quartermaster. “See her to my quarters!”

  “Aye, Captain.” He ran to obey.

  Turning, he caught the look on Thorn’s face. “Don’t start with me, demon. In the mood I’m in, I’m likely to stock up on my favored beverage supply, and your blood would be a most special and welcomed vintage.”

  Thorn held his hands up in surrender. “All I’m thinking is that it’s her Seraph’s blood you’re reacting to. Nothing more.”

  “How so?”

  “That unnatural attraction you feel inside you has nothing to do with any real feelings you have. You know it as well as I do. When you’re born in darkness, you seek the light. We crave it. It’s how they destroy us in the end. We’re so helpless against its lure that we dive into it even when we know we’re headed for our ultimate doom.”

  He scoffed at the older demon’s wisdom. “What do you know of it?”

  Sadness darkened Thorn’s green eyes. “More than you can fathom. And I loved mine in a way I wouldn’t have believed possible. She alone tamed the angry fury inside my heart. She’s the only reason I’m human now.”

  Those words shocked Devyl most of all. “You’re confiding in me?”

  “Nay, brother. I’m warning you. The moment she learned what I really was … saw the truth? My lady never believed another word from my lips. How could she, given what I’ve done and who my parents are? She never once thought me capable of any kind of love. To this day, I can’t blame her for that. Some days, I’m just as sure as she is that I’m incapable of it, too.” He glanced away. “That’s our curse. To seek the light and to always be banished back to the darkness that birthed us. We are the damned and hopeless. Maybe that’s all bastards like us deserve.”

  And with that, Thorn vanished.

  Devyl stood there, ruminating on what Thorn had said. While he recognized the truth the demon spoke, there was one vast difference.

  Cameron had seen the beast in him. She knew what he really was.

  Still she’d hugged him.

  Hugged. Him.

  It defied all reason.

  “Captain!”

  Blinking to clear his thoughts, he walked toward the prow, where Sallie was rushing back and forth between the muscled mountain that was their striker, Simon Dewing, and Katashi, who barely cleared five feet in height. Wiry and lean, Kat had black hair and deep hazel-brown eyes. Because of his proclivity for pranks and harassing any sailor not doing their part, half of Bane’s crew was convinced the Japanese sailor was part namahage. A fear Kat played into by the way he dressed and wore his hair in feathered knots around his head.

  But Devyl suspected a lot of it came from the fact that Kat had been the youngest of five boys. Something that tended to make him rambunctious and forever into things he should leave alone.

  Like a hungry rat ferreting.

  Hence his nickname. It was both a play on the fact that Kat was mouselike, and therefore they called him by a rodent’s mortal enemy. And he was curious to a level that Devyl didn’t doubt for an instant Kat would sacrifice nine lives to uncover one truth.

  Likewise, Simon, as a former priest of Exú—like the African spirit he served—was an innate trickster capable of being a fierce protector or a vengeful enemy.

  Almost even in height to Devyl, Simon wore his hair in a short black Greek style that softened the sharp, angular lines of his handsome features. And while Devyl’s eyes became red under stress or threat, Simon’s dark brown eyes would turn a vibrant gold serpentine whenever he communed with his spirits.

  “What mischief are you about?” He eyed them as he saw how distraught Sallie was.

  “They’ve stolen me soul again, Captain. Make them hand it back!”

  “Si … Kat … where is it?” he growled at them.

  “Captain,” Simon chided. “It’s ridiculous for you to humor him so. The man needs to learn his soul’s not in a bottle.”

  Devyl felt his eyes turning at their cruelty toward their older mate. “And what harm is it to you if he chooses to carry his soul in a bottle or not? Were you once frightened as a small child by a bottled soul?”

  Kat laughed.

  Simon’s nostrils flared, but he knew better than to show his anger to Devyl. “I can’t believe a grown man is so ridiculous. You should shatter it now, Captain, and show him how foolish he’s being.”

  “And you should both be ashamed of yourselves for tormenting the poor lad over his soul in this manner. Now hand it over and let him have his peace.”

  Kat pulled it out of his pocket with a grimace. “It does seem a bit off, Captain. He nurses it like a child with a poppet. I’ve even seen him talking to it.”

  “Again, I ask, what’s the harm to you if he does? Would you rather he be talking to you or nursing
you?” He gave a pointed stare to each of them. “And I’d like to think the two of you, of all the members of this crew, would be the least likely to torment another over any matter.”

  Simon grimaced. “That’s just a low blow, Captain.”

  “And so’s stealing a man’s soul.”

  “We were just having a bit of fun.” Kat moved to stand closer to Simon.

  “Fun at the expense of another’s suffering isn’t fun, Mr. Mori. That bitch is known as cruelty, and her mantle is lasting anguish. It’s the inalienable right of all sentient creatures to sleep in peace. To live lives of dignity and free of torment. To pursue whatever courses they, themselves, choose of their own volition. And no one should ever be beholden to another. Not for their necessities, and damn sure not for their liberty nor for their lives. And never for their immortal souls. Now hand the man his soul that you took before I aid in sending yours back to hell!” Those last words came out as a deep growl that caused them to scamper away the instant they handed it over.

  Devyl returned the bottle to its owner.

  When he started to leave, Sallie stopped him. “Thank you for understanding about me soul, Captain.”

  Devyl inclined his head to the physically older male. However, he had been born long before the man in front of him, or even Sallie’s great-grandparents. “No worries, Mr. Lucas. Though might I suggest in the future that you find a smaller bottle or safer place to be keeping such a precious commodity?”

  Absalon grimaced. “I tried a smaller bottle once. Damn thing’s too big to fit in one. Caused all manner of ruckus over it. Sad to say, this is the smallest I could manage and keep him happy.”

  Devyl bit back a smile. “’Tis a mighty large rum bottle.”

  “He likes the rum the best. Gives it a nip, every now and again. For good health, you know?”

  “Take a nip myself, for the same reasons.”

  “Well, me thanks again, Captain.” Cradling the bottle like an infant in his arms, he wandered off to tend to his duties.

  Devyl took a moment to visually check where his men were and listen to the sea and the aether that stirred around him. A million voices screamed out in it, letting him know that Vine was awake and on the move again.

  So close that he could almost smell the scent of her skin, and yet he couldn’t reach her.

  He needed that gate’s location. How ironic that he couldn’t find it, given that he was the one who’d sold his soul to lock her there. But then, that had been part of it. She’d been imprisoned after his death, so that he hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing her downfall and imprisonment that he’d caused.

  Damn her for it. Yet how he’d have loved to have seen her expression the moment she learned his powers had been so great that he’d been able to reach out from the grave to extract his revenge on her and trap her in her hellhole so that she couldn’t enjoy her success over him. It was the one thing she’d never imagined.

  Marcelina either.

  No one had held any idea of just how incredibly powerful he’d been as a mortal being.

  He’d always been a creature of secrets. One who never let anyone know anything about him. Not even his own wife.

  And this was far from over.

  I will find you, you bitch. You’re not safe, even in your prison.

  One way or another, he would get to her and seal that gate and make sure that she stayed locked in her hole for all eternity. Even if it meant returning to hell himself.

  Or he’d have spare lumber for his ship and new blood for his cup.

  Aye, he’d win either way.

  And mount Vine’s head upon his mantel.

  7

  “Why did you never tell me about your sister?”

  Devyl froze at the barely whispered words. Words that drove a bitter wave of agony through his heart. Ignoring Mara’s question, he kept working.

  Until she manifested in front of him and pulled the rope he was knotting from his hands. “Answer me, Du.”

  “There’s nothing to say.”

  Sadness darkened her pale eyes to a vibrant shade of blue. “She was the reason you attacked my village that day, wasn’t she?”

  He felt his own eyes turning red as he met her gaze. “I don’t talk about Elf … with anyone.”

  Marcelina flinched as he brushed rudely past her, no doubt to join his crew outside, away from her. Closing her eyes, she saw the day they’d met so clearly in her mind.

  Dón-Dueli had sat in his saddle as tall as a mountain. A giant, muscled mass of rage who’d ridden into her forest like an avenging spirit from the very bowels of hell itself, dressed in his black leather armor, with a full black beard and long, braided hair. Even his horse had seemed more like a demon than a flesh-and-bone animal. Painted to appear as a skeleton, the beast had been given fairy hair to make it seem even more fierce and supernatural.

  Like his rider. A creature of supreme and unholy malice and wrath.

  Never had she witnessed that level of carnage or fury from any man or creature. Dón-Dueli had come alone and burned her sisters and brothers to the ground in their nemeton as he sought information about a rival clan they protected.

  Or so she’d thought.

  Not once had she had an inkling of what had truly driven him to viciously slaughter three dozen of her people that day. The savage brutality of his crazed fury had chilled her to her very bones. No one had been able to slow him down or defeat him. Anyone who tried fell fast and hard to his ruthless battle skills.

  Combining their powers, the Sylphs and Deruvians had tried their best to fight him off and drive him from their forest, while he demanded the heads of the ones who’d gone after …

  “Elf!” He’d shouted that name to the heavens. A fierce, anguished cry that had sent animals scrambling through the brush and birds into flight. “Give me the ones who attacked my Elf! I want them, and I will kill every fucking one of you until I get to the culprits and pull their intestines out through their arses! So help me, Dagda! I will not leave before I taste their blood and feast on their desecrated corpses!”

  She’d stupidly thought that the possessive way he used “Elf” had meant he was there over a pet or his servant. It was an unheard-of name for a human.

  Calling out that name as a battle cry, he’d cut them down or used his sorcerer’s fire to scorch them to ashes. But given what she’d heard him tell Thorn earlier …

  It all made sense.

  He’d been there that day to avenge his younger sister. Something Mara could definitely relate to.

  Pain choked her as she remembered Dón-Dueli grabbing her while she’d sought to distract him from her own sisters who’d fled to safety. With hell-born fury in his eyes, he’d forced her at sword point to her knees. Shaking in terror, she’d waited for the killing blow she was sure would come.

  A blow he’d hesitated to take. At the time, she’d assumed it was because he wanted information and she was the only one of her people who’d been stupid enough to transform into a human body that he’d seen. The only one dumb enough to fall into his hands, because she was intentionally distracting him to save the others.

  But as their gazes locked, and his eyes flared to their unholy red, she’d seen his desire to strike her down. Seen the anguish and torment that burned so deep inside his soul.

  And in that instant of his hesitation, she’d reached up and cradled his sword hand in hers. Then, she’d whispered the sacred, binding words.

  It’d been a desperate gamble to join them in an unholy alliance. One she’d spent ten thousand lifetimes regretting, as Dón-Dueli recognized the fact that she’d bound their life forces together. Her intent had been to take him with her to the grave.

  Then, as now, he’d proven an uncooperative beast. But how could she have known that he’d have knowledge of her people and their ways? That he’d instantly realize her spell and what its consequences were?

  He’d cursed her for everything she was worth. “Undo your sorcery, Deruvian!”

&n
bsp; “I cannot. Once spoken, it’s everlasting. We are one. Kill me now and you die with me.”

  She’d expected that to end it. That he’d be so insane as to slay them both in his anger.

  Instead, Dón-Dueli had captured her and forced her to watch as he continued the slaughtering for days on end.

  By the time his wrath had cooled and his rampage ended—only after he’d done unspeakable things to the ones who’d harmed his Elf—she’d lost count of the lives he’d ruthlessly taken. Lost count of the days. Ceased to see him as a human, or even a basic sentient life form. He’d become an unfeeling animal to her. The very epitome of the Aesir her people had hated so vehemently, and a prime example as to why they’d warred against them, trying for generations to eradicate his kind from existence.

  And still the Dumnonii branch of the Aesir had bred and spread like a plague upon the earth. Sowing destruction and war everywhere they went. Pillaging. Looting. Raping.

  Barbarians all.

  Though to be fair, while Du had seldom spared anyone his sword, she’d never known him to rape a woman. Not that he needed to. Even the conquered women had fought and clawed for a place in his bed.

  It’d sickened her, especially when his men would pit poor women against each other to fight it out and then offer up the victor to their leader as a trophy.

  She’d hated absolutely everything about Du and his people. Had cursed every day she’d been forced to endure his detestable company. Hated herself for the spell that had united them even more tightly than marriage.

  For his part, he’d ignored her and only summoned her to a human body whenever he wanted to feed on her blood for his own spells.

  Until the day Vine had come to her. Broken and bleeding, her sister had been near death from a separate group of barbarians who’d attacked her husband’s nemeton.

  Terrified of losing her last family member, Marcelina had done her best to keep Vine hidden from the Aesir and, in particular, Du. To make sure none of Du’s men saw her or that Du discovered her presence, lest they harm Vine, either because of her beauty or because she was Deruvian.

  Mara still didn’t know how Du had finally met Vine. One day, Mara had been summoned away to protect a family she was bound to, and on her return, she’d found the two of them in bed.