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!”
“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.
That image of him rutting with her sister was forever seared into her memory. He’d only stopped when he realized she was watching them in horror.
Instead of being embarrassed, he’d given her an insolent smile. “Care to join us?”
Blushing, and chiding him for his jibe at her, Vine had grabbed a fur to cover herself. “It’s not what you think, Mara!”
Without any remorse or modesty, Du had rolled over onto his back and propped himself on his elbows to watch them. His obscene display had caused Mara untold discomfort as she sought to glance anywhere else in the room.
Though, to be honest, he’d held one of the best physiques she’d ever seen on any male. Rippling with muscles, his tawny skin could beckon even the most chaste. And he was exceptionally well endowed. Something she’d really tried her best to ignore.
But it hadn’t been easy.
Worse? Du had known it. He’d always known how women coveted his body, and that devilish smirk on his face confirmed it as he cut a glance toward her sister. “Actually, it’s exactly what she’s thinking, love. I was buried to me hilt inside you when she arrived to disturb us. Damn shame she couldn’t have tarried a bit longer.”
Vine had blushed an even a darker shade of red than Marcelina. “Why are you being so cruel as to taunt her?”
Refusing to answer, he’d let out a deep sigh, then gotten up to wash himself off without dressing or covering any part of his anatomy.
He was a shameless barbarian, after all.
But it was only then that she’d seen the horrendous scars on his back and across his buttocks. Deep and ridged, they’d made her jaw go slack as she tried to imagine the horrendous beatings he must have endured to be marred so grievously.
Vine pulled her dress over her head, then rushed to Marcelina’s side. “He’s not so awful, sister.”
As if! She knew better than what Vine proclaimed. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see—”
Vine had cut her words off by placing her fingers over Marcelina’s lips before she led her into a dark corner. “You are the one who told me that no one is beyond redemption or unworthy of forgiveness.”