Qeenan had killed the one true innocent party that he held responsible for his pain for no other reason than Qeenan had been in an unending competition with his brother that Nibo hadn’t even known was taking place. Because Nibo had never felt competitive with Qeenan at all. To him, they’d been a single unit, brothers united against the world, and when one succeeded, they both did. In his mind, they were supposed to help each other without question or failure. Nibo had never cared about credit or seeking praise, nor had he cared who got it. He was just as happy for Qeenan to have it as for himself.
To Nibo, the only thing that mattered was getting the job done well and done correctly as quickly as possible. Praise be damned.
Qeenan only cared about taking credit and getting all the glory for having the job done and didn’t care who did it or how well. Just so long as he could strut and swagger, and pretend he was the big man in the room, that was all-important to him.
That was why Nibo’s gifts had been better received that fateful day when they’d offered them up. Because he took pride in the work he did and sought no fame or fortune for it. Praise was irrelevant to him.
Taking credit had never been his goal. People, and the matter at hand, were all he cared about. The most selfish thing about him was that he liked to have fun. To laugh and enjoy himself while he worked, because he liked his work and was innately happy. A free spirit who sought to make others as happy and carefree as he was.
Unlike his spiteful brother who was given to bouts of extreme depression over the fact that he felt persecuted by the world at large. Rather than make people laugh, Qeenan spent hours ranting about how he’d been done wrong by everyone around him.
Qeenan forever looked to the past.
Nibo to the future.
A single tear fell from her cheek as she realized how badly she’d misjudged Nibo. She’d let her anger and hurt overshadow her common sense that knew his true nature and beautiful spirit. But then, it was sadly too easy to take someone for granted, especially when they didn’t bemoan their fate or tell other people what they owed them.
The fact that he’d fought for her meant everything. She just wished that she’d known it sooner. The pain of betrayal stung so deep.
So foul.
No wonder the lowest level of hell was reserved for betrayers and thieves. They deserved it and more. And though she knew in her head that he’d done his best to get to her, she still couldn’t shake the memory of being tortured.
The horror of being alone and needing him. She wanted to get past it. She did. But it wasn’t that simple. Her heart was broken and bleeding. They had torn her soul into shreds. Valynda had never been all that keen on trust to begin with, and now having given her trust to him and then being left to cope on her own …
She wasn’t sure she could get past this.
“Akri! Is merpeople on the Simi’s menu?”
Acheron’s eyes widened. “I’ll be back.” He vanished as Nibo laughed.
“What was that about?”
“I think his demon daughter is about to have a go at your Mr. Dupree.”
Valynda frowned. “Pardon?”
Nibo sat up on the bed. “Simi likes seafood. No doubt she considers the Myrcian a delicacy.”
“Oh dear Lord,” she gasped as she realized the Charonte might actually try to eat their resident mermaid. “That could be bad.” Cameron would be beside herself if her husband got eaten by a demon. No doubt she’d take it quite personally.
“Indeed. I’m just glad loas aren’t part of her culinary cravings.” He took her hands into his and kissed her left palm and then her right. “But I pray that I’m still onyourmenu.”
He was. God help her, against everything else. And that made her ache inside as those words warmed her instantly. Especially when he nudged her closer. Her breathing turned ragged as she pulled the scarf from his hair and freed his lush, wonderful curls. Damn him for them. They’d always made him so boyish and charming. So irresistible.
She could be on the brink of murdering him and one glimpse of those curls loose about his handsome features would undo her most violent fury where he was concerned. And he knew it, too.
Cupping her hand to his lips, he stared up at her with those delicious eyes that did the most wicked things to her. His whiskers tickled her palm while his tongue teased her flesh.
“You’re such a trollop.”
He grinned at her teasing insult and nipped her thumb. “I am that. Reprobate, through and through. It’s what you love most about me.”
“Nay. It most certainly isn’t.” She tugged playfully at his curls. “Are you sure you’re all right? You looked like you were about to die again, a moment ago.”
“Were you worried?”
“Petrified.”
