Hollen the Soulless: A Fantasy Romance (Dokiri Brides Book 1)

by Denali Day

  As if to punctuate his point, two boys came running toward the embracing couple. “Kano! Kano!” The boys, whom Joselyn guessed were somewhere between six and ten years old, skidded to a halt and began chattering at Soren.

  “Trade tongue, boys! Atu Saliga is new and does not yet know your father’s language.” Lavinia’s voice was far clearer than Joselyn had heard it before. Her golden eyes lit with affection. These were her sons.

  The boys stared at Joselyn with rampant curiosity. The smaller of the two began to mutter something in Dokiri before his father nudged him on the back.

  “If you’re here, does that mean Ivan can claim a hamma now?” the older one blurted with a hopeful expression.

  Before Joselyn could process the question, Lavinia was scolding him in Dokiri. It was impossible to say, but she didn’t seem to trip over her words so much in that language. The older boy’s shoulders sagged, his face sheepish.

  “Forgive me, mu Saliga,” he said, obviously directed by his mother. “My name is Volo.”

  “I’m Brodie!” the younger boy shouted.

  Despite her frayed nerves, Joselyn managed a genuine smile. “Hello, Volo and Brodie.”

  “Our s-sons,” Lavinia said, bending to rest one hand on each shoulder.

  Their wiry hair was curled like their mother’s, pulled back from their faces. They were darker than their father and shared the slant of his eyes. Those brown eyes stared at Joselyn. Brodie didn’t have to look up far. Volo barely at all.

  “Do you think Ivan will claim his hamma now?” Volo asked. “He says mu Salig should have claimed his hamma years ago. Will she be pale like you or will she look like mama?”

  “She will be pretty like mama!” Brodie cried, facing his older brother who nodded his agreement.

  Lavinia’s mouth fell open. Her eyes shot apologetically to Joselyn, who smiled back. She was about to excuse the childish remark when she heard Hollen’s voice.

  “Ivan will have to wait a while longer, Volo.”

  Joselyn turned to see Hollen and Erik. They looked as though they’d been working hard all morning. They were shirtless, their bodies smeared in dirt.

  Volo and Brodie whispered conspiratorially to one another before turning to Erik. “Then we’ll have to pick on you next, Erik! Why don’t you find a bride so Ivan can have his turn?”

  Erik grunted and wiped at a smudge of dirt on his face. Hollen slapped him on the back. “Better you than me, for once.”

  Hollen directed his gaze at the boys and then on Lavinia and Soren. Joselyn had the distinct impression that he was pointedly avoiding her.

  Soren murmured his permission and the two Dokiri children laughed as they chased Erik outside the cave. Joselyn watched them go. In a few years, those sweet boys would grow into blood-obsessed savages. A shame.

  “Thank you for guiding mu hamma in my absence, Lavinia,” Hollen said.

  Lavinia ducked her head. “Of c-course, mu Salig. Atu hamma seemed most gratified to make use of the springs.”

  “Good. I’m sure it’s been the only gratifying experience for her this morning.”

  Joselyn’s mouth twitched, noting the displeasure in his voice. It was likely he’d caught wind of how she’d spent the last few hours of her time. But surely he couldn’t be surprised. She’d propositioned his own brothers right in front of him, for all the good it had done her.

  Soren nodded to his chieftain. “Salig.”

  Finally, Hollen turned his solemn gaze upon her. “Come. I would speak with you.”

  Joselyn considered telling him he could speak to her where she was, but Hollen caught her by the hand and tugged her toward the open end of the cave. Not wanting to give onlookers the impression that Hollen could command her obedience, she threw a quick word of thanks toward Lavinia and followed after Hollen.

  The Dokiri watched them go, their faces rapt with curiosity. Joselyn was loath to leave the safety of witnesses, but she had no choice as they plodded through the snow. Hollen’s large boots plowed a trail for her. They hiked past rows of tanning racks, stretched with fresh hide. Down they went into the open ravine, which grew wider the further they descended.

  They ended up a good way beyond the place they’d landed the evening before. The sun beat down and reflected off the snow. Joselyn shivered in the late-morning air, which was heavy with moisture. They slowed their pace as they approached another cave carved into the right wall of the ravine. This one was much smaller than the common area and its purpose appeared far more specific. Rows of weapons hung on iron bolts nailed to rocky wall. More noticeable were the dozens of massive gegatu saddles. The smell of aged leather filled Joselyn’s nose, even at a distance.

  A man sat at a raised, stone forge, where hot embers blazed. He looked up as Hollen and Joselyn approached with surprise etched on his deeply lined face. He saluted Hollen with that same, chest thumping gesture that Joselyn was growing familiar with. Hollen nodded but didn’t stop. He pulled her beneath the cover of the cave ceiling and into a dry open area. All around, saddles were perched on wooden racks.

  Hollen released Joselyn and she wrapped her arms around herself, now shivering with cold. He faced her, the tension in his expression gone. Relief turned to suspicion. Why had he brought her here?

  Hollen unsheathed a knife from his belt. Joselyn sucked in a breath as he held it out.

  “Take it.”

  Joselyn frowned at the blade, but obeyed. She cradled the hilt in her half-open palm. “What am I to do with this?”

  “You’re going to fight me.”

  Joselyn glanced over her shoulder at the only other person present, the old man hammering at his anvil. He threw them a tentative glance over his work. Seeing he’d been spotted, his head snapped back toward his work. Joselyn turned to her captor, and dropped the knife to her side.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she whispered. “I can’t fight you.”

  “Why not?” Hollen didn’t whisper. “I told you. My own mother nearly killed my father with a knife. She would have succeeded, too, had she not changed her mind. If she could do it, so can you.”

  Joselyn hesitated, thinking of what she’d learned at breakfast. “Your mother . . .was a noblewoman?”

  Hollen nodded. The corner of his mouth pulled upward. “You’re not the first to have lived in Bedmeg.”

  Joselyn tried not to look too surprised. He seemed so damn satisfied with himself, she had to wonder if he’d baited her into this conversation. Curiosity got the better of her.

  “Who?”

  “Colette Vivian Selma Potrulis.”

  Joselyn’s lips parted. So it was true. How else could a barbarian, so sequestered and secluded in these mountains, know the name of the missing daughter of House Potrulis? It had been years. Decades. Colette Potrulis had gone missing on a fox hunt. It was a fact that Joselyn’s father had been quick to point out on the one occasion she’d mustered enough courage to request her own hunting expedition.

  Lord Potrulis’ men had scoured his lands searching first for the lady, and then for her body. Neither was ever found. It was supposed that some foul creature had dragged her off her horse and into the deadly forest at the foot of the mountains known as The Twist. No one had ever been willing to search for her there, not even her father.

  Why would a lady of Morhagen stay here by choice?

  Perhaps she had stabbed her husband at the bonding place. Perhaps saving him had been her only way down from the cliffside prison.

  As if sensing her thoughts, Hollen spoke up. “My mother was clever. She tricked my father into landing before he’d even made it to the mountain. When he landed to check that she was safe, she sliced a knife across his chest.” Joselyn listened, torn between horror and fascination. Hollen smirked. “My father always said my mother would be the death of him.”

  Joselyn frowned. His mother had been a captive. A prisoner. What did he find so amusing about that? Maybe he didn’t care so much for his mother after all. “Oh? And that pleased your f
ather, did it? That his wife meant to kill him?”

  Hollen’s smile faded. “Yes. Until she succeeded.”

  Joselyn’s brows rose. “She . . .killed your father?”

  “In a way.” He took a breath. “When my mother died, he fell ill. His vision in one eye disappeared overnight, and his axe arm failed him. Even words were beyond him most days.”

  Joselyn had heard of such an affliction. It mostly affected the elderly though, it had been known to strike a healthy few under severe circumstances. “What happened to him?”

  “He went on like that for four years. He ruled as Salig even when the elder council was ready to name his successor. He led us well. And then he died.”

  His explanation seemed blatantly void of many hard, ugly details. Joselyn swallowed. She imagined what it must be like to watch one’s parent, a former leader of men, slowly deteriorate to an invalid. And all for grief of his wife. Joselyn marveled at that kind of devotion. Wondered that it could exist here, among these primitive men who were not above stealing their women from far-off lands below.

  Joselyn thought of her parents then. Thought of how her father had spent years tormenting her mother with his infidelity, and of how low her mother had stooped to spite him. Joselyn’s jaw tightened.

  “So you see, mu hamma,” Hollen broke into her thoughts. “Even a lady of Morhagen can kill a Na Dokiri.”

  Joselyn glanced awkwardly at the knife. “If you’re waiting for me to attack you with this, we’ll be standing here a long while.”

  Hollen huffed and took two long strides to close the distance between them. He reached for the hand with the blade and brought it up to his chest. “You’re not tall enough to reach my throat while we both stand, so forget what I told you in our bed.”

  Joselyn’s throat clenched and she shot a startled glance toward the elderly man at the forge, praying he hadn’t heard. He was still ignoring them. When she looked back, Hollen was smirking.

  “Do you think it surprises anyone here that you slept in my bed?”

  “Apparently the only one shocked by that fact is me,” Joselyn spat. Her wrist twitched. She could plunge the blade into his arrogant chest.

  Hollen’s smirk turned to an outright grin. “Yes, Joselyn, only you.”

  He folded his hand over hers and gripped the knife. “At this level there are two places you can easily reach to put me down.” He brought the blade tip down to the center of his belly just over his navel. “Pierce a man here and he will bleed out more quickly than anywhere else, though you must strike deep.”

  He turned his back to her and Joselyn sucked in a breath, amazed at his nerve. Had he no fear of her?

  Not until you learn to build a proper fire.

  She glared at his scars. Tonight, she’d get intimately acquainted with those swiving flints.

  Hollen reached both his arms back to point at the spaces below his ribs. “Either side will drop a man, but you must be low enough to avoid the bone. That shouldn’t be too hard for you.”

  Joselyn ignored his mockery. “A knife is no weapon for a lady.”

  “What weapon would you use?”

  Joselyn thought for a moment. “If I were to make use of any weapon at all, it would be a bow.”

  “You know how to use a bow?” Hollen turned. Interest lit his face.

  Joselyn didn’t answer right away. In truth, she was very skilled with a bow, and had been told by Sir Richard that she had remarkable aim for a woman. A part of her wondered, with some irritation, what difference being a woman might make in one’s aim. But, she’d never argued the point.

  “A bit.” She wouldn’t let on the full extent of her abilities. At some point she might need her captor to underestimate her in that regard. And when he did, she’d be ready.

  “Good. I’ll take you hunting with me.”

  Then again, maybe it was better she show him she wasn’t totally helpless.

  Hollen continued. “But the time may come when all you have to protect yourself is a knife. You ought to know how to use one. It’s the way of Dokiri women.”

  Joselyn shook her head. “I’m not a Dokiri woman. Why are you so intent on teaching me to use a blade?”

  Hollen’s expression sobered. He waited until Joselyn looked him in the eye to answer. “Because your fear pains me, mu hamma.”

  Joselyn’s lips parted. What to say to that? The intensity of his gaze made her want to squirm. Instead she glanced around the armory, fidgeting with the knife hilt.

  “You say you want to return to your father?” Hollen asked.

  Joselyn’s gaze snapped to his. She nodded.

  He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “If I bargain with you to return you home, will you cease trying to persuade my men to betray me?”

  So he had heard of her useless escapades. “What sort of bargain?”

  “Train with me every day, and learn how to fight with a sparring knife. If you manage to best me, even once, I’ll take you back to your father’s house.”

  Joselyn scoffed. Why had she entertained this conversation? He was playing with her. “No. I will not agree to that.”

  “It’s a far better offer than you’ll receive from my riders.”

  She knew he was right. Though she loathed to acknowledge it, Hollen’s people hadn’t shown even a hint of disloyalty. She hadn’t spoken with every member of the clan, but she’d been coming to an understanding about these people. They were as incorruptible as they were wild.

  Joselyn scowled at the knife in her hand. She’d never be able to best this man. It was laughable. She recalled the colloquialism Soren had used earlier. “You might as well have said to me, ‘when the mountain falls I will return you to your father.’ ”

  Hollen shook his head, grinning wickedly. “No mu hamma, for even the mountain may fall one day.”

  11

  Mu Saliga

  The bastard had been right. Damn him.

  Three days had passed and none of Hollen’s people had offered Joselyn a way off this mountain prison. She’d spoken with all of them. Every last one. It was official. No Dokiri would be escorting her home.

  So here she was, a barely willing participant in yet another knife fighting lesson from a half-naked savage. They were rarely alone. Often the eyes of men, women, and children played distant audience to Hollen’s lessons. Tansy would be appalled, her father disgusted.

  They aren’t here. Don’t think about them now.

  How could she not think of them? Time was running out. In just three more days she was due to have arrived in Brance. In just three more days she would be missed. And she was no closer to escaping than she’d been the day she’d arrived.

  Joselyn’s shoulders rose and fell. A light sheen of sweat had collected over her brow and now drops rolled down the side of her face. Her captor stood a few feet away. His massive hands opened wide as he leaned forward, posturing to attack.

  Joselyn gripped the knife hilt in her hand. Her breath rose in front of her face as she panted in the late afternoon air. At least she wasn’t cold. An hour’s worth of sparring with Hollen had cured her of that. Hollen smirked. His breath mocked hers with its slow and even pace.

  “Don’t run away this time, mu hamma.”

  Joselyn’s brown eyes narrowed. They’d been over this before. “I didn’t run away last time.”

  “Don’t pull away. Lean into your knife hand.”

  Joselyn wanted to growl. They’d been running this drill over and over. Every time Hollen rushed her, she would strike out as she’d been instructed, but her instincts would force her body to lean away and he’d disarm her. Joselyn’s palm was growing a callus from where the hilt had been so frequently ripped away.

  “Widen your stance,” Hollen said.

  Joselyn huffed and ground her boot into the dirt. She held the blade level with her chest and waited.

  Hollen lunged. Joselyn blinked. She struck at his stomach even as she tilted back. This time, instead of tearing the knife away, Ho
llen batted her arm upward and let the momentum carry her back. Her arms swung, trying to right herself. Too late.

  Hollen fell with her. Joselyn squeaked as he caught her around the waist and broke the last few inches of her fall. Her breath came out in a huff as she landed in the dirt. The sparring knife dropped from her hand.

  Hollen hovered over her. Though he supported his own weight, Joselyn could feel the length of his body pressed against hers. His massive arm was still laced under her back, forcing her body to arch into his. Joselyn stared up into his dark eyes.

  Her lips parted and her breath caught. He was so close. Every muscle tightened as he leaned his head down toward hers, until the end of his nose practically brushed her own. She should push him off, kick him, scramble. She lay still. A shiver worked its way down her spine.

  Hollen’s lips parted. His voice came out in a low murmur. “Stop leaning back.”

  Joselyn could smell the sweetness of his breath. She blinked. What had he just said?

  All at once, he was off her, drawing her up by the arm. She took a hurried step away, heaving a shaky breath. What was that? Every nerve in her body was alight.

  Quick! Find something to do.

  She swallowed and cast her gaze around for the knife. Hollen found it first. He held the wooden hilt out in his hand. Joselyn reached to snatch it from him, but he pulled back. She finally looked up. Her cheeks stung with warmth.

  “Enough for today. You should get cleaned up.”

  “For what?” Joselyn tugged on the ends of her braid, vaguely aware of distant sets of eyes upon them as they spoke. She prayed they’d be back to minding their own business soon.

  “There’s to be a feast tonight in your honor.”

  Joselyn’s brows knitted together. “Why?”

  “This will be your third night since being introduced to the clan. And you are Saliga. I expect it will be an especially wild night.”

  Joselyn’s mind spun to imagine what a man like Hollen considered ‘wild.’ “What do you mean by that?”

  He smiled. “You’ll see.”