by Denali Day
Hollen’s blood heated as he pictured what it would be like to have her beneath him, shaking from want instead of fear. The image was so much more potent now he knew what his bride looked like. He grimaced. Thus far, reality had been far less enticing. She thought him a monster. He could hardly blame her, and the worst was yet to come.
After a while, Joselyn came marching across the knoll. As she neared, his heart sped up and he forced himself to wait before fixing his curious gaze upon her. What would she say next? What would she do? He looked up to see her eyeing the altar with suspicion. As though she could feel his gaze upon her, she turned her head to face him. She stared him down, a defiant glint in her golden eyes. His lips curved into a smile.
So fierce.
Folding her legs beneath her, she took a seat on the opposite side of the firepit, as though this were her meadow and he, her humble servant. He chuckled and struck his flints together. Perhaps this night would not be too frightening for her. The kindling sparked to life.
Hollen uncorked a water skin made from a ram’s stomach and wet a rag. His bride’s face was covered in a fine layer of dust and sweat. He held it out to her and she sneered, turning her face away. He sighed, dropped the rag onto her lap and walked away. As he knelt to his pack, the cloth smacked him in the back of the head with a wet slap. Hollen shot his bride a look of reproach, but she was turned toward the fire, as though nothing had happened.
Hollen rolled his eyes and plucked the sagging cloth from his neck. He returned with enough dried ram meat and cheese for the two of them. He took his seat across the fire from his bride, portioned out the food and passed over her share. She scowled at the offering.
“You should eat,” he said, and took a bite of his own food. “Too much fear in a day makes the body weak.”
“Do I seem afraid to you?”
He stopped to regard her. To her credit, she didn’t shrink from his gaze. He pursed his lips. “Less than most women, I’m sure. But I doubt you’ll find the bonding to your liking, so you’d do well to care for yourself.”
His bride’s imperious expression wavered at that. “You’re making a mistake.”
“No, mu hamma,” he replied, voice gone husky. “I don’t think I am.”
Hollen thought of their conversation in the tunnel. “Why me?” she’d asked. “Because you remind me of someone,” he’d thought.
When she’d struck him with the rock, Hollen’s first coherent thought was of pure pride. Or at least, it was once the stars had cleared. Though there was little about his own bonding he’d anticipated as a youth, the one thing he’d hoped for was a woman as strong and fierce as his beloved mother. In that moment, it had seemed he’d found one, and nothing could have pleased him more.
Joselyn sat staring into the fire, her mouth pressed into a tight line. Regna, how he wanted to know more about her. He fed twigs into the fire. “How old are you?”
She ignored him.
“Do you like to ride?”
Nothing.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“If I did, I suppose I would never see them again,” she snapped.
Va kreesha. Hollen swore inwardly. He’d only just met his bride and already he was making an epic mess of things. After so long alone, after waiting so long for her, this distance was torture.
Patience, Hollen.
He picked up the damp cloth she’d rejected and pressed it to the wound on his head. “You have a quick mind. Lucky for me it was only a stone.”
Silence.
“Were you armed with a knife I might have shared my father’s fate.”
Her gaze snapped up at that, and Hollen turned to hide his triumphant grin. He mopped the blood from his beard. Would she take the bait?
“What happened to your father?” she asked.
Hollen turned to answer. “My mother stabbed him before he had a chance to bond with her. He nearly died.”
“Why didn’t he?”
“My mother saved his life,” he answered honestly.
Joselyn gaped. “And your father stole her away just as you’ve stolen me?”
Hollen nodded.
“Then why would she save his life?” Her brow creased with suspicion.
He shrugged. “I guess she felt he was worth saving.”
Joselyn scoffed. “Your mother sounds like a fool.”
Hollen stiffened. His father and mother’s bonding was a story they’d shared proudly with their children over and over throughout the years. Each time they did, one or the other would remember a detail they hadn’t mentioned before. Hollen remembered sitting around the campfire as they spoke, feigning indifference. In truth he’d committed every detail to memory.
He watched Joselyn’s face pale and realized his fists were clenched. He relaxed and managed a tight smile. “As are all women who choose to love us men. Thank the gods for foolish women.”
She frowned. He’d surprised her. If the gods were on his side, he would manage it many more times.
The savage’s mother is off limits. Good to know.
Joselyn watched the wild man from across the fire. She remained stock still, her head held high.
“What do you think of your new husband?” he asked, continuing to eat as he crouched over the fire.
“You are not my husband,” she said flatly.
“Soon enough, mu hamma.”
“You look like a savage.” Her voice was laced with contempt.
The man stopped eating and looked up, with a twinkle of amusement in his dark eyes. All at once he rose, sucking the last of the grease from his fingertips. He stared down at her and wiped the fingers dry against his furs.
Joselyn tried not to shrink. He began pulling at the straps of his leather armor, and her wariness ascended to outright alarm. When his studded cuirass was hanging loose, Hollen stripped it off and dropped it to the ground next to him. He met her eyes and Joselyn prayed he was simply over-warm and would presently sit back down. Instead, he reached for the bottom of his furs as though to pull them up.
Joselyn’s gaze flitted across the ground as she searched for a weapon. In her periphery she saw him draw first the furs and then a wool undershirt over his head. With that temporary block, she snatched a stone from the ring of the firepit and pulled it deep into the sleeve of her own cloak. Pain flared in her hand. She’d used the bruised one. Skies!
When she looked back up, she sucked in a breath. Her captor stood across the tiny fire. He watched her as her eyes fell over his bare torso. His towering body was a mass of well-formed muscle. No one would accuse this man of idleness. A light brush of hair covered his chest and much of his belly, growing thicker as it disappeared beneath the line of his pants. Joselyn had never seen a man so indecently exposed, and certainly not one so appealing. But that wasn’t what caused her breath to catch.
“I hope you have a stronger word than ‘savage’ at your disposal, woman. I think you’ll be needing it.”
Indeed.
Scars covered him—along his arms, across his broad chest, and all down the lengths of his sides. These weren’t the variety which covered Sir Richard’s face. Her father’s steward bore many marks, a testament to long years earning glory on the battlefield. Though they’d robbed Sir Richard of beauty, they were badges of great bravery and fortitude. There was a dignity in them that lent Sir Richard instant respect wherever he went. Hollen’s scars weren’t the sort that inspired respect. Hollen’s scars inspired wonder and fear.
A labyrinth of raised white flesh crept down his body in elaborate sweeping patterns, a sophisticated web of inscribed skin. There was an order to the designs that Joselyn couldn’t make sense of, but each mark had obviously been chosen with care for shape and position upon the masculine canvas that was his body. Though there was artistry to them, Joselyn couldn’t quite call them beautiful. They conjured bloody images of someone carving those marks into naked flesh.
“Who…did this to you?” she asked, unable to tear her gaze
away.
“I did.”
“You?” she squeaked.
“Many of them.” He held out his arms and turned his back to her. It, too, was fully adorned. Someone had assisted him with these. He turned back.
“Why?” she asked, breathless.
“My idadi tells my story and prove my place as a Dokiri warrior. One has only to look at me and know I am worthy.”
“Worthy of what?”
“That depends who’s looking.”
He was watching her watch him. Her face flushed, but before she could look away, he pointed to an area on his right upper arm. Along the bulging curve of his bicep was a row of little cross marks with a line above each. They spanned from his inner elbow to the pit of his arm before disappearing. A similar trail marked his other arm.
“Each of these tells of a blood-seeker which has fallen by my hand.”
Joselyn’s eyes widened. She’d heard blood-seekers were foul creatures with black eyes, four legs, and rows of saw-line teeth. They made their dens in the dark places of the earth, spurning the sun. It was said they only left their fetid caves when the scent of blood tempted them beyond resistance. A good thing, for blood-seekers could destroy an entire herd of cattle and its shepherds, too, before enough fighting men arrived to drive them off. They were more easily frightened than killed. Joselyn gaped at the sheer number of marks.
“You mark yourself for every kill?” she asked.
Hollen nodded.
How? He must have hundreds of scars, some large, most small. This was indeed a wild man. She imagined other Dokiri men comparing their marks, blustering for dominance over one another. Were there many with more marks than Hollen? She frowned. Why should she care?
“What’s to keep you from giving yourself extra marks?” she asked.
Hollen’s face darkened. “Such a thing isn’t tolerated among the Dokiri. Few crimes carry a steeper penalty.”
“What is the penalty?” Just how barbaric were his people?
“Exile, and denaming.”
Less than she imagined, though she didn’t know what ‘denaming’ meant. It was beside the point. She had greater questions. “Every one of those marks represents a creature you have killed?”
Hollen shook his head and pointed to an area beneath the hollow of his neck. “This one tells of my rank within my clan.”
“And what rank is that?”
“I am Salig, Chieftain.”
Joselyn appraised him. “You’re young to have such a title.”
“Yes,” he muttered low like she’d said something both true and terrible.
“And now you mean to make me a chieftainess? A…” Joselyn’s tongue struggled over the foreign title he’d used in the tunnel. “ . . .Saliga?”
He nodded.
Joselyn was beyond the point of laughing. Her father would be outraged when he received the news of her disappearance. She could see him doling out punishment to every guard present at the time of her abduction. She could hear the wrath in his voice as he dictated an explanation for Dante Viridian.
Would her intended believe him? Would he be merciful and bury his threats to destroy her father? No. He wouldn’t. When she didn’t arrive in Brance at the appointed time, Dante would assume Marcus tried to outwit him. Were he to receive a missive with the outlandish tale of Lady Fury’s abduction by a dragon, he would surely burn the letter and pen his own tales for the king.
Joselyn’s stomach hardened. She had to make this man, this Hollen, understand. She spoke in a cool, even tone, keeping the stone hidden beneath her cloak.
“I am a Morhageese lady of high breeding. I have been trained since birth in the management of households spanning half a league. I speak four languages. I can make any guest feel at home, no matter how foreign he may be. Commerce and politics are subjects upon which I speak with authority. I dance as a lady dances and ride as a lady rides. I am everything a nobleman could hope for in a wife . . .”
Hollen said nothing, listening. She sucked in a steadying breath and willed every shred of conviction into her voice.
“But you are not a nobleman. You are a barbarian. I am Joselyn Helena Elise Fury, of House Fury, and you shall have no use for me.”
Still half-naked, Hollen stepped around the fire. It took all her courage not to cower as he towered above her, so close she could feel the heat from his exposed flesh.
“You shall dance with my people upon the shoulders of the mountain. As for riding, you shall glide above the earth on obsidian wings. You are Joselyn Helena Elise Fury, Saliga of Bedmeg, and I shall treasure you above all others.”
A long moment passed between them as Joselyn contemplated the gravity of his words. They were spoken like an oath, and he didn’t seem the type of man who took his oaths lightly. She could take no more. Joselyn inched backward.
An unmistakable flicker of disappointment flashed across his face, and she couldn’t understand why. He sighed, casting his gaze to the ground by the fire. “Will you not eat?”
She’d surely wretch anything she put into her belly. She shook her head.
He held his open palm out between them. “Let’s have it, then.”
“Have what?”
“The rock,” he said, dispassionately.
Joselyn tensed. She could deny she had one. But then, he must have noticed one missing from the ring. Would he punish her? Was she better off striking him and making a run for it? There was nowhere to go. Resisting the urge to cry, she returned the makeshift bludgeon to her captor.
He took it, brushing her fingers as he did. He leaned down and replaced the stone.
“My head aches enough as it is,” he said, tapping his skull as though it were an intimate joke between them.
Joselyn frowned. Again, this primitive man had surprised her. Damn him. She crossed her arms over her chest.
Hollen inhaled, his broad chest expanding wide. “It’s time, mu hamma.”
5
Bonded
At his words, her body went rigid. She took several hasty steps away, as though she were making up her mind to run. Hollen bit the inside of his cheek.
This was one part of the claiming rite he’d put some thought into. In quiet moments, he’d sought out a few of the elder men who were not given to mockery. Hollen had asked how he might perform the necessary tasks without frightening his bride. So close to his claiming, they’d all smiled with sympathy and said something along the lines of, “Accept that she’ll hate you for a while, then get it over with.”
That had not been what he wanted to hear. His only comfort was that each of those men now possessed a bride whose great love for her husband was obvious. Of course, each was also old enough that the years had grayed them. Hollen hoped his bride would forgive him before then.
“There’s nowhere for you to go,” he said, measuring his voice for gentleness.
“Listen to me.” She held her palms up to him. “There’s more at stake here than your need for a wife, or even my desire for freedom.”
Hollen sighed. She wasn’t going to make this easy for either of them. Still, he could be patient. Whatever she needed. Whatever it took to keep her from panicking outright, from fighting him.
“What’s at stake?”
“My father is depending upon my marriage to secure an alliance that will keep my house from total destruction.”
Va kreesha. As excuses went, that sounded like a good one. Too bad for her house.
“My father is a powerful man, but right now his enemies have the power to destroy him. If I don’t make an ally of Lord Viridian through marriage, my father will perish. My house will be undone. And it will be my fault.”
Hollen raised a brow. Her father was being threatened and the only way he could defend his house was by selling his daughter for allies? Pathetic. What sort of leader, after landing his people in such a position, was unwilling to fight for them? And now Hollen’s bride wanted to give herself up as some sort of payment, so her new husband would help sa
ve her house? Hollen shook his head.
“If a man can’t protect his house without the help of his daughter, it’s no fault of hers. You burden yourself unjustly.”
His bride’s voice went high. “Do you understand what I’m saying? My father will die without me.”
Glanshi. Could this situation get any worse? The back of his neck began to itch. He’d be gray for sure. And rightly so.
“I’m sorry,” he said, forcing himself not to look away.
“Then return me.”
When the mountain falls.
His jaw tightened. “No.”
For the first time since taking her, Hollen saw hatred glow in her deep blue eyes. His fingers fidgeted.
“You can’t keep me. I swear to you before all the gods, I will get away from you.”
Hollen’s heart seized in his chest. That was the worst thing she could have said. He’d considered how much he should say, how much to explain. Now he knew he could tell her nothing. He’d indeed claimed a fierce bride, one he’d have to master as well as claim, by any means necessary.
“After tonight, we’ll be a part of each other. Nothing can change that.”
That hate in her eyes blazed white-hot, and Hollen actually bristled.
Accept it. Get it over with.
Hollen sighed. “I’m going to start now. I won’t touch you yet. You need only watch.”
His bride swallowed, but raised her chin. “Watch what?”
Hollen stepped away from the fire and toward his pack. Though several feet away, he was careful to face her as he kneeled down to rummage. Occasionally he glanced at her, making sure she didn’t pick up more stones. Her eyes scanned the perimeter of the meadow, probably looking for an escape that didn’t exist. Perhaps Helig had designed the bonding place in such a manner for a reason.
Hollen rifled through his pack for his gneri blade. He found it within seconds, but paused to appraise it. The hilt was made of ivory. He’d spent many painstaking hours carving an image of the sun onto one side, its hazy rays sweeping along the edges. He turned it in his hands to see the reverse, an image of the moon and five pointed stars within its deep crescent.
