Deadmen Walking

  But it was so hard. The rocking wasn’t helping. It left her weak and disoriented. Her stomach pitched as a wave of nausea threatened to undignify her before them all.

  “Dammit, Mara!” Duel snarled as soon as he caught sight of her on deck. “Get below!”

  She shook her head. “You fight. I fight.”

  The curse he let out rang high over the roar of battle. Impressive indeed.

  But not nearly as much as the sudden explosion that sent wood, water, and pieces of the beast flying over the lot of them.

  “What the hell!” Devyl ducked as the sea itself rained down on him. Along with a lot of blood and intestines.

  He turned to see another ship fast approaching on their starboard side. His gunners struggled to turn their cannons into position for it and reload.

  As they made ready to fire, he realized that the ship wasn’t aiming at them. It’d struck its mark.

  Devyl grimaced as soon as he saw who it was. “Halt! ’Tis friendly.”

  Sort of, anyway. Though a friend should be a little more circumspect than to be firing at them like this.

  William groaned out loud as he recognized the ship. “Santiago?”

  “Aye. Bugger’s no doubt thinking to lend us a hand.” Devyl grimaced at the slimy chunks of entrails that clung to him. “Would rather he lend me a towel, to be honest.”

  William laughed. “Indeed.” Then he sobered as he glanced around at the number of their crew who’d been wounded or “killed.”

  It was a sight Devyl could have done without, as it took him back to a past he’d never been particularly proud of. Aye, he’d led his army through untold bloody conquests. Driven by reasons that seemed paltry now, he’d been ruthless as he tore his enemies asunder.

  But at least this army wouldn’t stay dead. In fact, their “dead” were already rising up from where they’d fallen. Griping and moaning in colorful alacrity as they returned to physical form and pulled themselves together.

  Literally, in some cases.

  It was the one benefit they had in serving Thorn. The only way the Deadmen could die again was for something to obliterate their bodies or souls. So long as their flesh remained intact, as well as their souls, they would reanimate.

  Fire, axes, and acid, however, could still ruin their days.

  Even a vat of piranha could prove a rather grisly end for them.

  Hmmm … that gave him a thought for their guest.

  He turned toward Bart. “Did we lose anyone, Mr. Meers?”

  “Don’t think so, Captain.” He cast an eye toward one of their crew who was slowly healing from death. “Least not permanently.”

  Devyl continued to wipe at his face and neck. “Good. Send over some of our best rum to Santiago, with my compliments.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  With a determined stride, he headed for William. “Death? Get to our Miss Jack and keep an eye on her. Make sure she stays put and safe. Continue heading us toward land to patch our lady. Keep a weather eye for more attackers.”

  Bart drew up short at those words. “You think there are more?”

  “I know it.” And with that, he continued on to return belowdecks so that he could make sure Belle hadn’t been injured in the fighting.

  If she had …

  He’d be bathing these guts off his flesh over a Blackthorn bonfire.

  As soon as he entered the small cabin room and Mona saw the expression on his face, she shrank back in terror. And well she should, for he was through playing her games. Worse, he was in too much pain for them. Bile rose into his throat as he seized her wrist and yanked her forward. “Do you know what my people did with zraif?” He used the ancient name they’d given the Blackthorns.

  She paled considerably. “Nay.”

  An insidious smile curled his lips. “’Tis said sulphur runs through you. Powerful magick is in the root of your hearts and bones. Bones we’d grind into blood potions to protect us during war and for healing any wounds we might incur. Potions we used to commune with our darker gods when we summoned them for wisdom and insight. Or make blood offerings to Mórrígan and Aeron before battle. But the most prized parts?”

  She gulped audibly. “W-w-what?”

  “Your hearts we’d devour for spells and eyes we’d eat for visions.”

  “You’re a monster!”

  He laughed at her. “You’ve no idea. Now, you will tell me where that gate resides or I will begin carving off pieces of your anatomy and adding decoration for Rosie’s chest plate.”

  Her blood turned black in her veins as his words struck their mark. It ran down her pale skin, forming a road map over her body, marbling over the alabaster. “I told you I would give it to you.”

  “And then we were attacked.”

  “I-I had nothing to do with that.”

  Devyl scoffed. “I don’t believe you.”

  She tried to pull away, but he held her fast. Cringing, she put her arm up, over her face. “Why would I betray you?”

  “Because you’re an idiot.”

  “Duel! Let her go!”

  He ignored Mara as she came into the room with them. “Answer me, Mona, or else I will begin carving you into all manner of objects for my use.”

  “Duel!”

  He glared at Mara over his shoulder. “I’m not a dog to heel at your command!”

  “Yet I am your commander, am I not?”

  His eyes glowed an instant before he let out a curse so foul even Thorn would have blushed had he heard it. Reluctantly, he released Mona and stepped back, but not before he passed a sullen grimace to Mara that would have made a petulant toddler proud.

  Disregarding his distemper, she stepped forward to deal with their betrayer. She put herself between Mona and Devyl, and it took everything he had not to cut off both their heads. If not for the fact it would only make them stronger, he would have given in to the impulse.

  With a calmness he couldn’t fathom, Mara took a deep breath. “Vine sent you here, didn’t she?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Very well.” Mara reached out then and shoved her hand straight into Mona’s chest. Devyl’s jaw dropped as she wrested the bitch’s heart from her bosom and yanked it out, then used her powers to incinerate Mona before she could hit the floor.

  Her expression one of total serenity, she turned to face him and held the bloody heart toward him. “Use it to heal us as fast as possible. I’m sure others are on their way to attack us.”

  Dumbfounded by an act that was completely incongruous to her nature, he stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

  Still her features betrayed nothing. “In all the centuries we’ve been together, you’ve never bothered to learn the most basic thing about me. Never had a single conversation with me where you asked about my thoughts on any matter. And you know nothing of my people. When Vine killed you, she knew I would die, too. Did that thought never occur to you?”

  Nay, it had not.

  “In my darker hours, I’ve wondered which of us was the real target of her wrath. And why she did what she did. I’ve always assumed it was you, Du, because it was more comforting to do so. Yet what if it wasn’t? Either way, she is our enemy now. Both of ours. Mona has proven that without a doubt. You would have left Mona alive, not knowing that Vine was able to use her as a living conduit to us. A doorway better kept closed. And now I am weak. My powers are fading. I can’t heal myself. Therefore, I need you to do it for me.”

  He caught her as she passed out. Cradling her against his chest, he took care not to crush Mona’s heart or harm Mara.

  As gently as he could, he carried her to her cabin and placed her on her bed. Then he set about preparing the potion that would restore her strength and heal her injuries. All the while trying to come to terms with a side of her he’d never suspected existed.

  Honestly? He liked it.

  Black looked good on her.


  It was why he’d do anything to heal her. Even use the darkest kind of magick he’d learned from his father. The kind his Druidic forefathers had specialized in. Unlike the rest of their breed, the Dumnonii branch of the Aesir hadn’t been just counselors, teachers, and priests, they’d been warriors, too. Protectors imbued with a fierce sense of noblesse oblige to safeguard the fledgling humans from their brethren who’d sought to harm them.

  Descended from the gods themselves, the Dumnonii had been the ones who’d established the Druidic orders and taught them the ways of magick and given them their wisdom and ability to commune with the gods. They had brought order to the world of man. It was why their home realm had been termed Asgard and not Asaheim. Why the world of man was known as Myddangeard or Mydgard and not Mydanheim. This wasn’t just the home realm of mankind or Asgard the home of the Aesir. These two realms were where they’d brought order and discipline to the chaos of it all. They were wards set up to protect humanity.

  When the primal gods and their creations had been at each other’s throats and were tearing the universe apart, this was where his ancestors had drawn the battle lines and put the boundaries that protected humans from their armies that would have destroyed them. From their monstrous creations that would have preyed on the humans without mercy.

  Out of all the nine known and established realms, only these two worlds bore the protective “gard” suffixes that designated them as places of human refuge. Places where order and discipline reigned supreme over animalistic, primal urges.

  The rest were the home realms of horrific preternatural predators who made feasts and war on humanity. Realms where the gods and others lived and ran rampant with unchecked powers. Home dimensions that existed behind carefully crafted veils that shielded them from human knowledge and sight.

  Alfheim. Myrkheim. Jotunheim. Niflheim. Muspelheim. Helheim.

  Even Mara’s precious Vanaheim, where her Vasir had descended from. They were all the realms of some of the most vicious creatures ever spawned by the universe. Creatures who cared nothing for humanity, who only thought of themselves and what they wanted. Creatures who saw humans as prey or tools to be used and then discarded.

  Creatures such as Vine.

  Creatures like me.

  Devyl winced at a truth he wanted to deny and couldn’t. He hated that part of his mother’s blood that beat inside him. He always had. But no matter how much he tried to fight it, he couldn’t deny that it was there. That selfish part that was forever tainted by a union that should never have been. It was what had made his father so weak and hate-filled in his latter years. Had Axe been an honorable Aesir, dedicated to their cause, he wouldn’t have been the monster Devyl had been forced to kill that night in their hall.

  I am a beast.

  Like father, like son.

  Like mother, like son.

  He would never be able to escape it. But at least he could stop Vine from destroying the world. That was one promise he would keep, no matter what.

  And sooner or later, he’d have to be put down again. Mara had been right about that. It was why he didn’t expect to survive this quest. Didn’t expect Thorn to free him. Not for one heartbeat. He had no delusions there whatsoever.

  His kind didn’t belong in this world. They were the worst sort of predators. Mara knew it as well as he did. He was barely leashed on his best day. His ancestral fury simmered just below the surface, ever a pot on a steady roiling boil that just waited to overflow the edges of its confines. All it took was one blink, and a disaster would ensue that didn’t care whose hand it scalded.

  No conscience. No constraint.

  Nothing mattered except that he destroy whatever was nearest him, consequences be damned.

  Aye, that be he.

  And his explosion was coming. He could feel it deep within. His Sight was ever unerring. His mother’s one gift to her son, besides the back of her hand. Dera had been an exceptionally gifted sorceress in that regard. ’Twas what had led his father to her. Why Axe had wanted to bind their bloodlines together and had sought the treaty with her tribe.

  Too bad she’d failed to see what a scabbing bastard his father was. Or her own fate at the hands of the worthless son she’d birthed for him.

  Don’t think about it.

  The past was a course that had been cast and set. Cruelty laid in by the gods to torture those who survived it. He needed all his resources and attention on the future. That was still in motion and changeable.

  While he’d been unable to save his Elf and his people, he had a chance to help those on this ship. To help the Seraph and his sister.

  His own soul was blackened and unworthy of redemption, but theirs were not. They were good and decent beings who’d lost their way. With a little prodding, they could go on and find the right path again.

  That was what Thorn had seen in them. Hope. Redemption. Core goodness. And as a commander, Devyl understood that strategy. To win, certain sacrifices had to be made for the good of all.

  He was the pawn that would be leveraged so that they could live on. An acceptable loss for all involved. Perhaps even a relief to them.

  And as he cast the healing spell for Mara, he realized that she shouldn’t be part of any of this. She should never have been. His selfish wrath had snared her and brought her into a war that was never hers to fight.

  “I’m sorry, Mara,” he whispered for the first time, as the guilt of his actions against her choked him.

  If only he could find some way to unbind their destinies and free her, too. She deserved to have a life of her own. One that didn’t involve his surly, unreasonable ass. She would have made someone a fine mother. An incredible mate to stand by the side of her husband. Any man would have been lucky to call her his. He alone had robbed her of that.

  Disgusted by his own actions, he brushed his thumb over her gentle brow. She was so incredibly beautiful. But then, she’d always been that way to him. And while in the past he’d often seen her as an annoying vexation, as an enemy to be hated, today, he saw her for what she really was.…

  His innocent victim.

  And he hated himself all the more.

  “I will make this up to you.” Words spoken so easily. As all vows were. The trick was in the fulfillment of them. The devil in the details.

  But then, he wasn’t called Devyl Bane without a reason.

  He picked her delicate hand up and rubbed her limp fingers against his lips. Closing his eyes, he tried his best to access his Sight and see the future.

  Like everything else in his life, it failed him utterly. It shouldn’t surprise him. He’d never been able to depend on anything when he needed it. His own horse had once thrown him in battle. His sword had broken at the worst possible time.

  My own wife cut my throat.

  Sighing, he placed a kiss to Mara’s palm and tucked her hand beneath her covers. His side still ached, but the pain had lessened, letting him know that the spell had begun to work.

  What a futtocking bad day this had been.

  But then he’d known going in it wasn’t going to be a boring one.

  Dawn would be breaking soon. He had a fledgling Seraph on board, along with a Dark-Huntress who couldn’t be in daylight. One massive hole in the side of his ship. A crew of human pirates trailing them who were being pursued by an infamous pirate hunter who wanted a piece of them all. A motley band of dead lunatics at his command and the bitch of all time out to send him back to hell.

  “It’s good to be the living dead,” he said with a bitter laugh.

  But then he’d never been one to shirk from a challenge of any kind.

  He was a surly bugger that way.

  And honestly? He was looking forward to the fight.

  Staring up at the heavens, he smirked. “Bring it, bitches. With both fists. You want a piece of me? I’m ready for you.”

  Because they’d never gotten the best of him.

  Even after they’d killed him, he’d still found a way to strike back from
the grave.

  One thing about the Devyl, he came with the heat of hell behind him and packing an army of demons in his wake. And if you knocked on his door for a fight, then you better be prepared for what you were asking.

  It was a new day and the Devyl was here to get his due.

  9

  Mara awoke to the warmth of bright sunshine on her face and the welcomed scent of fresh salt water. Seagulls screeched from outside, along with the sounds of raucous laughter and jovial music. For a moment, she forgot where she was and thought herself a girl again. It felt and smelled just like the seaside town where she’d been born. Where she’d frolicked with her sisters in the nemeton.

  But that happiness inside her heart didn’t last, because she knew this wasn’t ancient Cornwall.

  And those weren’t her people out there.

  Then again …

  Perhaps they were. At least they were the closest thing she had to a family now. The thought lightened her spirit a bit, but it didn’t return the joy to her heart. Not really. Because it wasn’t the same. She hadn’t felt that raw, unmitigated happiness of homecoming in so long that she could barely remember the taste of it. The sensation of that long-forgotten friend.

  All she recalled was loneliness.

  Isolation.

  Desolation.

  An unending sense of despair, and unquenchable longing for family that she’d once known. Du had robbed her of so much. Not just her safety and normality, he’d taken away all semblance of belonging to a community.

  His people had been so incredibly violent and callous. Animals who wore itchy wool and lived in spartan hovels. Warriors more at home on a battlefield than at a feast. Their belief had been that you were judged more on how you died than on how you lived. And warriors who died in the midst of bloody battle were rewarded far greater than those who’d lived long, honorable lives and died peacefully in their sleep, surrounded by family.

  And that had never been the belief of her race.

  She shuddered at her memories of having been forced into Duel’s world of violence and mayhem. They had never gotten along.

  Yet for reasons unknown, he’d hesitated to kill her that day he’d come to her adult nemeton. She still didn’t know why. Any more than she understood why her sister had killed him.