“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.
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 …
