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.