Dressed as a buccaneer, Circe had eyes as dark as coal, yet there was an innate kindness to them. One that made Valynda want to trust her.
“Tell me, little sister, do you want to join my crew?”
It might be tempting, as they had much in common, however she was already part of a family. “I just want my body back.” Those anguished words were out before she could stop them.
After all, it was her ever quest.
Circe arched her brow at words that had become rote, but even so were still emotionally charged. “And what would you give me for such a thing?”
The truth scared her. For there was nothing she wouldn’t do. “What doyouwant?”
Circe smiled, as she no doubt could smell the desperation. “Rather bold for you to ask, given that you’ve already sold your soul.”
“If you know that, then why am I here?”
“That is always the question, isn’t it?”
A chill went down Valynda’s spine as she realized the truth of that simple, yet extremely complex question. No one ever knew their real purpose. Just when they thought they might have an inkling, life had a way of yanking the ground out from beneath their feet and leaving them with nothing on which to stand.
That was why she hated Nibo so much right now. She’d believed in him. Had thought that she could depend on him, and rather than stand fast and remain at her side, he’d allowed her to be cast out on her own and left adrift with no moorings.
One moment they’d been happy. The next …
Her throat was still raw from her screams as she’d begged him for help, and he’d turned a deaf ear. Had ignored her. How could anyone claim to love someone and ignore their pain?
Watch them die, and say nothing?
Do nothing?
It burned so raw inside her that some days she was convinced she was no longer sane from it. “What do you want from me?”
“You don’t belong with Thorn’s Deadmen and you know it. You should be here, among my crew. This should be your home … with kindred spirits who understand your pain, Valynda. Join us.”
How simple she made that sound.
Just pick up everything, wave good-bye, and go. But …
Valynda glanced down at the Deadman’s mark burned into her straw wrist. It was the same one that all members of Captain Bane’s crew bore. The moment they’d agreed to hunt demons for Thorn for a chance to earn their way out of their damnation, the mark had appeared, and as each one was closer to freedom, the mark became fainter. Once they’d redeemed their souls and were free and clear, the mark vanished.
So far, Captain Bane, Kalder, and a handful of others had already erased the slate and earned back their souls. Belle, Will, Bart, and Sancha were close.
Hers hadn’t lightened at all.
Not even a bit.
Because you haven’t killed many demons.
Not that she hadn’t tried, it was just more difficult for her. Unlike the others, she wasn’t trained at fighting. She’d been thrown into a life she barely understood.
Which caused her even more despair, as she feared that she’d never go free.
“Poor Valynda. You don’t know whom to trust, do you?”
She stiffened at Circe’s astute question. “Pardon?”
“So many offers. So many promises. But none are a guarantee.”
And all could be lying.
