And they were entirely his.
“All right, me hearties! Let’s show these futtocking bastards what we Deadmen be made of.” He added fire to his own sword and made ready for battle.
Time for holding back was gone. They were on dry land and in the realm of his grandfather’s people. If Vine and Gadreyal wanted a fight, he was more than ready to give it.…
With the full ferocity of his entire lineage burning deep within his heart and gullet. One thing about the Aesir, they caved to none, and nothing lit their fuses brighter than the promise of a good, coming brawl.
Mara grasped his arm as he started past her. “Duel?”
Pausing by her side, he waited for her to take him to task for his warring ways.
Instead, she offered him a winsome smile. “Kick their tossling arses. Don’t get hurt.”
He lifted the visor of his helm so that he could give her a quick kiss. He should probably show restraint before the others, especially given the amount of shocked gasps he heard, but in the event this was his last moment with her, he didn’t want to die again with another regret.
Let his men know that he and Mara had finally put the past behind them and come to terms that were agreeable to them both.
Nay, they were better than agreeable. Better than anything he’d ever hoped to have.
And if he must die this day, he wanted to go back to his hell with the taste and feel of her lips fresh in his memory. Aye, with that, he could die in peace and be all right.
Mara fisted her hand in Duel’s hauberk. It took everything she had to make herself let go, knowing he was about to face the Cimmerian army again. How strange that she’d once hated that enchanted black armor—had thought it the ugliest, most vile thing she’d ever laid eyes to. Now, she wished it were thicker and even more enchanted. Anything to keep him safe from harm.
So she added her own spell to it.
Please come back to me. Keeping herself together right now was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. Especially when what she really wanted was to take on her tree form and wrap herself around him until she was an impenetrable cage that no one would break to get to him.
If only he’d allow it.…
His gaze scorched her as he pulled away and gently kissed her hand, then let go. It felt as if he ripped her heart out and carried it with him. Never had anything burned so badly.
Or cut so deep.
Without a word, he went toward Sallie.
“Ready to free your fighting soul, Mr. Lucas?”
“Be it safe here, Captain?”
“Indeed. If it wreaks havoc in this realm before, during, or after the battle, more’s the merrier.”
Sallie cracked a happy grin. “All right, then. Here’s to me blessed mum and to all things what come of good rum!” He uncorked his bottle, and when he did, a fierce, shrieking wind tore out of it. One that quelled and captivated every Deadman near them.
Better still, it spooked Flaithrí’s and his companions’ horses and dumped an arrogant Flaithrí straight on his arse. And when he rose, he came up cursing everything about Devyl.
And his men.
In virtual unison, their jaws dropped as the wind encircled Sallie, transforming him like a jinn into a huge, muscled berserker—complete with long braids and a double-headed axe. One he flexed over his head as he growled in grave invitation of the blood he planned to feed to his weapon this day.
“God’s pointed bodikin…” Bart turned to Devyl. “You knew about this, Captain?”
Devyl flashed a wicked grin. “’Course. Captain knows everything about his ship and crew. It’s why I kept telling the lot of you to leave the man’s soul alone afore one of you foolishly let loose the beast in the bottle.”
Bart choked as he watched Sallie grow to stand even taller than he, and take on the youth that had cruelly been stripped from him when his soul had been savagely severed from his body without his permission.
Zumari scowled. “I don’t understand.”
With a knowing grin, Devyl shrugged. “’Twas a curse placed upon him when he came up short a sorcerer years ago. He can only let his soul out when he’s on the battlefield. You don’t want to know what happens when it’s released during peace.”
