“What the devil is that?” Alabama breathed.
“Eye of Mama D’Leau.” Rafe crossed himself as the hole began to quickly fill with bubbling water.
Alabama scowled. “Who and what?”
“She’s a goddess,” Devyl explained. “She protects these lands and people. And in particular the sea. You cross her and she’s capable of all manner of evil.” He glanced to Rafe. “Can you get her to help us?”
“I can try.” Rafe rubbed his hand gently against his necklace that his mother had made for him. “Mama! I implore your kindness and offer you my faithful heart and loyalty. My mother taught me to respect you and Papa Bois, and all your creatures of the land and sea. Now an evil jumbie—a douen—has taken a friend. Will you please help me and my friends find her? I implore you, my lady, in all grateful humility.”
Biting his lip, he waited for a full minute as the water swirled more and churned angrily about, threatening to spill over the banks of the hole.
Then it went perfectly still.
Not even a single ripple. It was as if the whole thing had frozen over.
Rafe sighed regretfully. “She’d probably respond better to Belle.”
That was the theory until a bright red mist blew up from the water. Shimmering and dancing, it formed the likeness of a beautiful African sea goddess. Her eyes were made of Tahitian pearls and her lips the color of vibrant coral. She smiled at Rafe.
“Son of Masika, you have been faithful. Let my light guide your way.” She opened her hand and breathed across her palm. The moment she did so, a small ball of bloodred light appeared. Like a beautiful firefly, it bounced and hovered.
Mama D’Leau faded back into the waters and vanished into the waves. Waves that evaporated until nothing remained but the giant hole in the ground.
The light quickly headed for the forest.
Devyl and his companions ran after it.
Unlike them, the tiny light had no trouble whatsoever locating the douen.
The problem was? It wasn’t alone. In fact, it had spawned well.
Alabama cursed as he saw the large circle of demons that surrounded Mara. Rafe gulped audibly.
And Devyl smiled at the sight. He’d be feasting well tonight. Or dying painfully.
Either way, he’d be free of Thorn.
10
Marcelina could neither move nor breathe as the stench of sulphur invaded every part of her being. It felt as if the demons around her were pulling out her life force, molecule by molecule. As if they were draining her powers with excruciating slowness to cause as much pain as they could.
They laughed while they did it. Unable to protect herself, she couldn’t even cry out for help. Never had she been so helpless.
Worse? She still didn’t know how she’d gotten into this position.
One moment she’d been walking with what she thought was a small child, looking for a doll, and the next—
She’d been slammed to the ground by an unseen force.
Then bound in a vortex and held up for them to feast upon. How could they do this to her? She didn’t understand it. She was more powerful than this. No one, other than Du, had ever bested her in anything.
Yet they’d tricked her with nary an effort. She still reeled from the ease with which they’d worked their magick on her.
Suddenly, she heard them screaming. Heard the sound of their agony.
“Mara?”
Tears welled in her eyes as she heard Du’s deep, resonant voice nearby. Never had his ancient accent been so welcome to her ears.
Or at all, for that matter.
Even more relief flooded her as she felt his grip on the ropes that held her bound. For the first time ever, she was grateful he was here. Grateful to feel his strong grip on her hands.
With a fierce grimace, he tore her bindings away and scooped her up into his arms.
Sobbing in relief, she clung to him and buried her face against his neck. The scent of his skin and the hardness of his body anchored her and reassured her that she was finally safe and that no one could harm her.
A beast he might be, but he would always keep her safe. That much she knew beyond doubt. If not for her own sanity, then to at least protect his own life.
He was her beast, and never had she been more grateful for it.
Devyl hesitated at Mara’s embrace. At the warmth of her breath on his skin as she clung to him. Never once had she touched him so intimately. She sank her hand into his hair and fisted it there to hold him as if he were sacred. As if she were desperate to keep him close.
“Thank you,” she breathed against his ear, causing chills to rise up along his arms and back.
And other things to rise he was best to not think upon.
He gave her a bashful grin. “You’ve got to quit falling into such messes, my lady. One day I might not find you and then what would happen to us?”
She laughed nervously. “Perhaps you should teach me to use a sword, then?”
He arched a brow at her teasing tone and knew better than what she suggested. “A Deruvian swordmaiden?”
“Why not? You’re a Druid warrior.”
She had a point. It would be no more unlikely or out of character than his own past. “Perhaps I shall teach you, then.”
He set her down by Rafael and Alabama. “Would you mind escorting her back to the ship while I finish this?”
She hesitated at his tone. “Finish what?”
“I’m not sure you want to know my answer, given how they need to be dispatched, lest they return to prey on more hapless victims. And since their primary targets would normally be the children of Rafe’s orphanage…”
She placed her hand on his arm. “Do whatever you must.”
And with that, she headed back toward the docks with Alabama, leaving him to stand in total stupefaction after her departure.
Rafe gave him a knowing grin. “You’re gaping, Devyl. And, no offense, it’s scaring me.”
Indeed. He was flat-out floored by her words.
Baffled beyond rational thought, he set about destroying the demons’ remains while Rafe left to join the others. Yet he couldn’t quite get the strangeness of the day from his mind. What had caused Mara to change so drastically where he was concerned?
To touch him when she normally couldn’t look at him without sneering. Dare he even hope that …
Don’t think it. You know better.
She hated him.
Nothing had changed. It never would. Ever since Thorn had brought them back, she’d been as frigid and vicious to him as always.
He was everything Mara despised. Everything she found repellent in the world.
Meanwhile, she was the epitome of beauty and grace to him, even though he did his best to deny and extinguish all untoward thoughts. A light that shined so brightly he didn’t dare look at her for fear of going blind from the intensity of her innocent purity. Never had he met her equal in character or kindness.
If only she’d have shown some to him. Instead, they had fought worse than his parents. Any time she came into his presence, it ended in a vicious verbal altercation that left him wanting to strangle her. Left him one heartbeat away from the violence he deplored as much as she did.
Nay, there was nothing between them except centuries of hostile regret and bitter words.
“Duel?”
He froze as he moved toward one of the decapitated demons. Awake and alert, it stared up at him with eyes that were the same color and form as his ex-wife’s. He smirked at it. “Well, well … the empress of all bitches finally speaks. How are you, Vine?”
She hissed at him. “As if you don’t already know. But have no fear, Duel. I will get out of this hole where you cast me.”
He gave her a tolerant smile. “Tell me where you are, love, and I will come get you. Open the door myself and let you out.”
She released an evil, seductive laugh. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
More than she’d ever know. Thou
ghts of their reunion were the only thing that kept him going.
“You should have kept fighting when I told you to, you worthless bastard. But no … you wanted peace. Tell me, how does it taste?”
He tossed another demon onto the fire. “Wouldn’t know, since you deprived me of it.”
“You promised me the world!”
“And you promised me your heart. Guess we both lied.” He reached for another head to add it to the pile where he’d already placed the others. “Any final words?”
“Watch your back, Duel. I won’t lose again.”
“Neither will I. Beat to quarters, love. Be coming for you, dead running. Above board.” He tossed the head in and watched the flames consume it as he tried not to let her words get to him. It was, after all, what she wanted. Mental warfare was how she played, and he knew it well.
Besides, she couldn’t possibly have a spy among his crew. No one would be so stupid. They were too afraid of him for that, and well they should be. One thing he’d learned from his father, an iron fist went a long way in limiting treachery.
Betrayal was never served from the hand of an enemy. It was a blow that by its very nature came from the fist of a friend or loved one. Hence his current stint in this lesser perdition known to his people as Myddangeard and his sentence in the greater inferno Christians called hell.
And for what?
Not giving a large enough shit about himself and his own needs. Rather, he’d been damned for trying to save his people. For his crimes in attempting to drive the Roman plague from their lands and for keeping the dark fey tribes from overrunning them.
Marcelina was right. He’d been a brutal, bloody warlord after the death of his sister. One who’d sold his soul to keep his clan safe from all who wanted them enslaved or eradicated. It’d seemed a fair enough trade at the time. There had been nothing and no one else for him to live for.
He’d lost all hope. All sense of any kind of purpose or desire. His own existence had meant absolutely nothing to him in those bleak days. Because of the brutality of Elf’s death, he’d gone to war with the world and hadn’t cared about anything, other than making sure no other woman or child under his protection fell victim to a similar fate.
In truth, he’d wanted death to come and spare him the agony of living. But he’d been too good at fighting to go down in battle. Too contentious and spiteful to die to a lesser swordsman. They’d taken everything else from him. He wasn’t about to let them take his reputation, too. Nay, by the gods, he wouldn’t fall to a lesser barbarian.
If he was going to perish from this earth, it would only be to a greater bastard than he.
At least that was what he’d thought back in the day.…
Devyl blinked as the heat and flames of the pyre in front of him took his mind back to that one moment so long ago in Iron Age Tintagel when he’d stupidly slit his own throat and not known it. Unlike his parents’, his death hadn’t come so swiftly from his own stupidity. Oh no … Once set in motion, it’d taken Vine a bit longer to find the courage to end him.
But she would never have done it had he not given her the motivation.
“What do you mean you’re negotiating peace with those mindless sheep?”
Still covered in the blood of the boys he’d slain in battle, Devyl had set his dented helm on the table and reached for the goblet of mead Vine had been drinking upon his arrival. “You heard me. I’m done with this, wife. ’Tis time we let peace reign in our fields for a while. Our borders are secure. The Romans have retreated. I’ve been at war and in battle since before I first grew whiskers on my cheeks. No more.”
Draining the cup, he poured more and locked gazes with her. Damn, she was ever a great beauty. With hair as red as her fiery temper and curves that men dreamed about losing themselves in, she never failed to turn his thoughts away from anything else whenever she was near. “Besides, you promised me a son. ’Tis time we set about that family.” And right then, she was the only field he wanted to plow.
She’d screwed her face up at him. “But what of the Mercians? The Saxons?”
“What of them?”
“What if they encroach? For that matter, the Romans are likely to return. You can’t trust them.”
Scoffing at her ridiculous concern, he passed a droll stare over her body. “Given the number of heads upon pikes on our borders, I doubt it. Am told even the Picts and Adoni Fey pissed themselves when last they saw my grisly fence.”
In retrospect, he should have known by the way her eyes darkened that she was plotting his demise that night. But his thoughts had been on the fact that her gown had dipped low enough to expose the top swell of her breasts. And on the fact that her hair teased the creamy crest of it. The fact that if she leaned forward just a bit more, or sneezed, she’d most likely spill out of her gown completely.…
I was such a fool.
His own parents had been incapable of showing him even a modicum of affection. Why had he thought for even a heartbeat that a Deruvian bitchington would be any better?
He’d been nothing more than a tool for her. A weapon she’d used to strike back at her own enemies.
Devyl blinked as he forced himself to return to the present and to the fire, where he cut the heart from the last of the demons for his supper, taking care to save its blood, and then threw it to the fire.
That was all he’d ever been to anyone. A stupid pawn.
Even Elf, really. While he liked to pretend that his sister had loved him, in his more melancholic moments he couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps she was no less self-serving than everyone else he’d known. Maybe even she’d seen him as nothing more than her mindless tool to be manipulated at her whims.
Just a rabid attack dog Elf had set loose on those she didn’t like.
In her meaner moments, it had been something Edyth had frequently taunted him with when they were children. A vicious, cold insult she’d known wounded him to the core of his worthless, black soul.
And Vine. She’d taken a sick, vicious pleasure in telling him that he had no other use in the world.
You’re nothing, Duel. Just a cold killer incapable of feeling anything more than the sword you hold. The only warmth you know is the blood you spill. Face it, they might proclaim you a king, but at the end of the day, you’re nothing more than a servant to the blood-hunger inside you. A mindless animal forever seeking a comfort you were never born to know. You trust no one. Not even yourself.
Throwing his head back, Devyl let loose a cry of bitter agony and grief. A cry born of utter loneliness as he drank from the demonic blood he’d spilled.
Just once in his life he wanted to know what it felt like to be cherished. To be desired. To be touched by a tender hand. Not because he was a weapon or tool.
Because he was loved.
You’re still a futtocking idiot.
And he was old enough to know better. Love was for women and children.
He was a creature of vengeance and hatred. It was all he’d ever been, and all he’d ever be. Vine was right. Not even friendship came to the likes of him.
I am the Devyl’s Bane.
There was no need to fight destiny, because sooner or later that bitch always came and took whatever she wanted. And his destiny was darkness and pain.
Accept what you are and be done with it.
There was no need to fight destiny. Not when he was the hand it’d chosen to be its executioner.
* * *
“Are you all right, child?”
Cameron jumped at the soft tone of Marcelina’s voice as she walked up behind her in the galley. “Sorry. Aye.” She pursed her lips and scowled. “Sort of.” Blinking, she met Mara’s gaze. “Are you all right, mum?”
Mara pulled a cup from the shelf where Cameron had taken one down just a moment before. “Like you, I’m a bit shaken by the day’s occurrences. Not used to dealing with demonic children. There’s something profoundly wrong with that entire concept.”
&nbs
p; “Aye, indeed. Says much for what we’re up against that they’d stoop so low.” She handed Mara the rum. “Your sister, is it?”
She nodded. “Not as innocent as I wanted to think.” Mara took a drink, wishing she could stop remembering a few disturbing truths that she’d been trying her best to keep buried. Yet in spite of her best efforts, they wouldn’t stay chained.
Rat bastard things …
“What devil lives in that grimace? And don’t be saying the captain. I’m beginning to know ye better, me lady.”
Mara snorted at the lass, who was a bit too astute for her own good. “I’m just thinking … there’s a disease among my people that comes from the misuse of our magick. One that causes our hearts to shrivel and petrify into a hard stone.”
With color fading from her cheeks, Cameron gasped. “You’re serious?”
She nodded grimly. “We call it Heart-rot or Wintering. It’s where we begin to decay from the inside out. Like what you saw with Mona. We turn pale and our blood darkens. Those of us who are strongest can mask the disease longer than those who are weaker, but sooner or later, it will show itself. And when it does, it turns us into monsters who live on the pain and blood of others.”
“Is there a treatment for it?”
Shaking her head, Mara winced at the brutality of the plaguelike illness. Though it wasn’t common among her people anymore, she’d seen more than enough of the illness in her time to be afraid of contracting it, and to want nothing to do with any manner of Wintering.
“Because the heart no longer beats on its own, it causes a painful hunger inside the sufferer for fresh blood, to the point they will hunt others for it. Tear them apart and devour them whole to get what they need. Even their own children aren’t safe around them. No one is. ’Tis said when it gets bad enough, they’ll even gnaw on bones like rabid rats, trying to get every last bit of blood they can out of the very marrow of them.”
“It sounds awful.”
“You’ve no idea.” Anger brought a bitter taste to her mouth as she silently seethed. “Worse? It was Du’s race who first cursed us with it. His own grandmother, Kara, sentenced her stepmother Heiðr for killing Du’s grandfather after they were married. A dark Disir goddess, Kara gave this disease to my people for what was done to hers, and we returned the favor to them with our own version of a similar illness. First Kara was stricken with it, then her son, and finally Du himself came down with it.”