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

by Denali Day

  And what of the Dokiri men? Lavinia had said the Dokiri couldn’t conceive daughters. Without brides, there would be no more Bedmeg. Was the extinction of an entire race worth the freedom of a few maidens? A race who made it their mission to protect strangers from being overrun by devils? Joselyn frowned, not caring for the direction of her thoughts.

  “Mu hamma?”

  Joselyn and Lavinia turned to see Hollen standing at the tunnel. He gripped the entrance with one hand, concern etched in his face. Lavinia patted Joselyn’s arm.

  “She’s well, mu Salig. There is much blood, but the wound will c-close quickly.”

  Hollen’s shoulders visibly relaxed. He eyed Joselyn. His mouth opened. Then he glanced at Lavinia. The other woman took the hint.

  “I’ll be in the common area if you need me, mu Saliga.” She strode toward the exit.

  “Thank you,” Joselyn called after her.

  Lavinia smiled, nodding. She turned to bid her farewell to Hollen, but stopped. She caught Hollen’s wrist in her hand and pulled it up near her face. A string of Dokiri words poured from her lips, and Hollen answered her in his language.

  Joselyn stiffened. Irritation crept through her chest. What were they saying? Lavinia was typically so careful to use the trade tongue around her. Joselyn’s eyes narrowed, falling on the place where Lavinia held Hollen’s wrist.

  “What is it?” Joselyn asked, her voice sharpening.

  The two looked at her. Lavinia didn’t release Hollen. “Mu Salig is hurt.”

  Joselyn stood.

  “It’s nothing,” Hollen said. “Thank you for tending mu hamma, Lavinia.”

  “I’ll clean and b-bandage it, mu Salig,” Lavinia said, her stutter soft and sweet as always. For once, Joselyn didn’t find it charming.

  “I’ll tend to it.” Joselyn didn’t even realize she had crossed the bok until she stood in front of Lavinia, with her own hand clutching Hollen’s affected arm.

  Both Hollen and Lavinia regarded her with surprise. Should she make up some excuse about taking up too much of Lavinia’s time? She fixed Lavinia with a flat stare.

  “Oh.” Lavinia cleared her throat and dropped Hollen’s wrist like an iron set too long in the fire. “Of . . .course. W-well, you know where t-to find me.” Bobbing her head, she scurried into the tunnel.

  Hollen turned to Joselyn. Just a moment before, he’d looked frantic to discuss something. Yet now he was quiet. Both their gazes fell to where Joselyn was touching him. Joselyn swallowed. Might as well embrace the awkwardness.

  “Come.” She drew him to the edge of the bed. He followed her like a mute little lamb. Joselyn pulled him to sit in front of her and considered how to care for him. It was only right. He’d sustained an injury in saving her life. The least she could do was tend to him.

  She took him by the wrist again. A crimson line of dried blood stretched from knuckle to forearm.

  It was a scratch, but it would need to be covered. Her brows knitted together.

  “How did this happen? I didn’t see the beast touch you.”

  Hollen kept his gaze on her face, watching as she examined him. “It caught me as I declawed it.”

  Joselyn thought of the gray blood spilling from the stubs of the seeker’s severed fingers. “My arrow didn’t even slow it down, but you killed it easily.”

  “Your aim was true. But the heart of blood-seeker is much lower down than in the chests of men. Taking off their heads is easier.”

  Easier? Not bloody likely. “Or crushing them.”

  The way Hollen’s axe had cleaved into the seeker’s skull. The crunching sound it had made. Joselyn shuddered. She crossed the bok and changed out the bowl’s water. Always, she felt Hollen’s eyes on her.

  Breathe, Joselyn.

  She returned and wrung out the rag. She lifted his hand, and he relaxed in her grip, allowing her to turn his arm this way and that as she examined him. Joselyn dabbed at his wound. “You’re not really going back out there?”

  “Of course I am. We have to make certain there are no other blood-seekers lurking about in broad daylight. If we find more, perhaps we’ll learn what drove the last from its den.”

  “Surely your riders are better suited?”

  Hollen’s hand snapped shut at that. His eyes sparked with offense. She stuttered, only just realizing how that must have sounded.

  “I only meant that . . .you are their leader. Would it not be better for you to stay where it’s safe?”

  If she was going to offend him, Joselyn preferred it only happen when specifically intended. Whatever else she thought of him, she hadn’t meant to imply that he was too weak to handle himself. The notion was absurd. Especially after what she’d seen today.

  “Is that how men lead where you come from, mu hamma?” Judgment thickened in his voice.

  Yes, it was. It made perfect sense to her. Those with the skill and knowledge to lead couldn’t be wasted on the battlefield. One look at Hollen’s disdainful expression told her all she needed to know about his opinion on such matters. She supposed she could see the honor in it, leading by example, even if it did lack wisdom in some cases. No one would accuse her captor of being unwilling to follow his own commands. No one would accuse him of self-importance. Those were the sorts of judgments that could beget unwanted consequences for a ruler.

  Hollen sucked in a breath. Joselyn glanced up to see him frowning at her. She was about to ask if she’d hurt him when he spoke.

  “Forgive me, Joselyn.”

  She paused, returning his grim expression with one of her own. “For what?”

  “The seeker was drawn to the scent of your kill’s blood. I didn’t bother to bind it up because I’ve never known a blood-seeker to emerge in the middle of the day. I should have been more cautious.” He stilled, as though he were waiting for a well-deserved tongue-lashing.

  Of all the things he might have apologized for. Kidnapping me, cutting me up, ignoring my pleas on behalf of my house.

  If she weren’t so damn grateful for her life, she would have rolled her eyes.

  “It doesn’t seem that anyone could have expected differently of you. I’m only glad that . . .” She broke off, dropping the rag back into the bowl. She sighed, then blurted, “Thank you for saving my life. Where can I find more binding cloth?”

  Hollen blinked. The barest inch of a smile cracked across his lips. He withdrew more strips of cloth from his coat. He must have gathered more when sending for Lavinia. She snatched them up, ignoring his bemused expression. She’d wrap his arm extra tight.

  “Go ahead and be rough. I’m just happy to have you touching me.”

  Her lips parted as she scrambled for a retort. She didn’t think fast enough.

  “I spend every moment after I touch you crafting excuses to do it again.”

  Joselyn’s stomach fluttered. Did she really affect him like that? Did his skin burn like hers at every accidental brush? What did it mean? She was his captive. Surely she should feel revulsion at his touch. Fear. Anything but this . . .this . . .desire? Hollen went on.

  “And when you touch me? Regna, Joselyn! It feels so good.”

  Without thought, she released him. She stared at his hand, still raised in front of her. Heat bloomed across her chest and up her neck. No one had ever talked to her like this, not even Lord Ellis whom she’d briefly courted. Though bold, there was a certain honesty in his declaration that seemed somehow purer than even the most chaste of compliments Lord Ellis had paid her. Hollen wasn’t the sort of man with whom she had to wonder if his words matched his thoughts.

  He brought his wrapped hand to her face. Her gaze moved up as his fingertips paused just over her cheek. Their warmth dissolved in the blush of her own skin. His eyes scanned each detail of her face. With his other hand he brushed her braid over her shoulder.

  Ever so slightly, Joselyn turned her head toward the caress.

  A spark of fear flashed within her, and for once, it wasn’t for what he might do to her. Rather i
t was for what she might invite. What in the name of the gods was this man trying to do to her? She leaned back.

  Hollen’s fingers curled, drifting back down to the bed. She heard him sigh. “Are you certain you’re well?”

  “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “I’m fine.”

  He nodded. “Good. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I want you to rest.”

  Joselyn’s head popped up. “Are you putting me to bed?”

  “It would do you good.” He cocked his head to the side. When Joselyn narrowed her eyes at him, he continued. “But no. Just keep to the common area until I return.”

  “When will that be?”

  Hollen shrugged. “When I’m certain the threat has passed.” He stood, flexing and stretching his wrapped hand. “How is your tanshi mark?”

  Joselyn’s eyes cooled at the mention of the scar he had inflicted upon her. “As well as it can be.”

  “Can you tend to it yourself if I don’t return tonight?”

  Joselyn crossed her arms and looked pointedly at his wrapped hand. “I think I can manage.”

  “Rest tonight, mu hamma.”

  Still avoiding his gaze, Joselyn inclined her chin in passive agreement.

  He looked like he wanted to say something more, but in the end, he merely swallowed and disappeared into the tunnel.

  Joselyn looked around the empty bok. Though alight with the crackling glow of the fire at its center, it felt as though Hollen had taken all the heat with him. Her eyes drifted toward the bed. Joselyn pressed the flat of a hand to her belly, grasping for composure.

  She had taken care with Hollen’s hand, returning the same gentleness and warmth with which he always seemed to treat her. She should have feared what her attentions might inspire within him. Yet he hadn’t broken his promise. Hadn’t thrown her upon the bed in animalistic lust.

  A disturbing thought leapt up in her mind. She’d been wrong about Hollen in more ways than one. Her captor was no stranger to the concept of duty. Joselyn thought of him facing off with another one of the foul blood-seekers, and a thrill of fear shot up her spine. Pacing about the bok, Joselyn sent a fervent prayer up to the gods, asking that the Dokiri encounter no more of the frightening creatures. No one deserved to die shredded by those wicked claws. Hollen didn’t deserve to die.

  A few more prayers and Joselyn’s panic began to abate. The bulk of her energy faded with it. Her drooping eyelids went again to the furs of the bed and she imagined how satisfying it would be to slip beneath their heavy warmth and fall into sleep as Hollen had suggested.

  What’s the matter with you, Joselyn? Get your head together!

  A rush of shame slapped her. For the first time since arriving, she would be without her captor’s constant supervision. At last, she might have a decent opportunity for making escape preparations. And what was she doing? Praying for the man who’d kidnapped her and contemplating a nap.

  Not today.

  Today the gods had given her a perfect opportunity to seek out how she might escape. At the very least, she would gather what supplies she’d need and put them aside for whenever an opportunity presented itself. She smoothed a hand over her ruffled hair.

  The Dokiri might have need of wives, and after today, Joselyn could concede that their purpose upon this mountain entitled them to some form of recompense. But to force women to spend a lifetime upon this mountain? Without choice and with no hope of ever being reunited with their families? No. It wasn’t right.

  Perhaps the women of Bedmeg had led lives simple enough for such a sacrifice. Joselyn, however, could not be Hollen’s reward. She had a duty as well. A gods-given purpose. She must find a way to return home, secure her father’s life and the fate of her house.

  A sudden image of the blood-seeker’s tooth-crammed maw snapping toward her face filled Joselyn’s mind, sending her heart sinking to her stomach. How was she ever going to make it down the mountain? If that were the sort of creature she could expect to come up against, what chance did she stand?

  One problem at a time, Joselyn. Focus on gathering provisions.

  Joselyn closed her eyes and breathed deep. She sent up one final prayer, that the gods would give her the courage not to falter. She laced up the sides of her dress and exited the bok, with the slightest limp in her determined stride.

  16

  Little Sister

  Two large skins of water, a week's worth of dried meat, and a pair of flints. Joselyn stuffed the items into a rocky crevice far outside the common area. She covered it with a flat stone, just barely small enough for her to manipulate over her makeshift cache.

  She had retrieved the items easily enough, though Joselyn had balked when first she saw how many women congregated within the common area. They’d rushed their Saliga for answers about her brush with the blood-seeker. After she regaled them with the details, the women seemed content to speculate amongst themselves about what Hollen and his warriors would discover on their patrol. For once, Joselyn was left to her own devices.

  Snatching a few items at a time, Joselyn had made several trips outside the cave to “gather firewood.” No one seemed to catch on that it took her a little longer than usual to carry kindling back to the cave.

  The sun was beginning to lag on the horizon as Joselyn considered what other things she might need. She glanced down the snowy ravine toward the cave that served as the clan’s armory. The old man who worked the forge rarely seemed to leave. Perhaps she could contrive to bring him his evening meal, and engage in light conversation as she did. Given enough time, he might eventually wander back to the common area.

  Joselyn stopped at the wood stack piled slightly higher than her chest. She gathered up an armful. On the other side of the wood stack, a dull thud struck the earth. A plume of powdery snow burst into the air, causing Joselyn to jump. Across the stack, auburn hair rose into view. Sigvard grinned, mischief alight in his eyes. He’d jumped down from a nearby boulder.

  Joselyn relaxed. Then she threw Hollen’s youngest brother a withering scowl. “Sigvard! Skies! What are you doing?”

  His impish grin grew wider and he wiggled his thick brows at her. “I could ask you the same thing.”

  Joselyn huffed, gesturing with her pile of logs. “I came to get firewood.”

  “Mmm. But what else are you up to?” He crossed his arms over his chest, which was not as broad as Hollen's, but still impressive for a man of his age.

  Joselyn straightened. No one had seen her stowing away her supplies. She had made sure of it. And yet the expression on his face told her he knew she was up to no good. What had her mistake been?

  Suddenly she realized she was standing on the wrong side of the wood pile to have come straight from the common area. She could think of no immediate excuse. Even if she could, explaining herself was worse than silence.

  “Help me carry this in,” she said.

  Joselyn stepped around the pile and he strode across the snow to meet her halfway. She settled the logs into his arms. A playful glint flashed in his eyes.

  “I have a better idea.” He tossed the logs back onto the pile. “Let’s go do something fun.”

  Joselyn’s eyes followed the discarded logs before shooting back to Sigvard. She cocked her head. “Fun?”

  He nodded.

  “What exactly do you suggest?” Her curiosity, more than anything, bid her ask.

  The grin returned. He caught her about one wrist. “So glad you asked.”

  Joselyn yipped as Sigvard tugged her away from the wood stack and back toward the common area. Instead of entering the cave, he took her to the side of the ravine and led her up to the base of what appeared to be a narrow staircase, cut by hand into the rocky wall. It disappeared into the cliff above. It was less of a staircase and more a ladder.

  Sigvard released Joselyn and turned toward her. He quirked his brows. “Still want to know more about how the gegatu are mastered?”

  Joselyn blinked. Her eyes crept up the length of the staircase as it
disappeared into the stony crags of the mountain. “I’m generally curious, yes.”

  He turned toward the ladder. “Then let’s go. I want to show you something.”

  With that, the young Dokiri began his ascent. Joselyn stared after him.

  When he was ten feet up, Sigvard turned back. “That little hunting trip scare all the nerve from you, lowlander?”

  Joselyn's face hardened. She put one hand on the stone staircase and began climbing. Almost immediately, the wound on her leg began to burn. She continued on, and the burning grew worse. Why was she following Sigvard? The drama of the day had already sapped most of her energy. One look downward cured her of any notion to go back. Dizziness crashed through her head at the sight. She pressed the side of her face hard against the cliff. A voice in her mind warned that continuing up would only make the problem worse later, but she rationalized that she was already committed, and shoved the fear into the back of her mind.

  A bit later, Sigvard turned back to offer his hand to Joselyn, who took it gratefully as she scaled the top of the cliff. The area was flat and wide, larger than the open ravine below. A great way back, the mountain wall resumed its climb into the sky above. They were on a sort of shelf. Patches of gray rock shone through where the snow had been swept away by . . .something large.

  Joselyn's eyes widened.

  The gegatu were everywhere. Her mouth dropped in horror at the sight of dozens of winged, scaly beasts. She took a hasty step back, and Sigvard’s freckled hand shot out to catch her around the arm. He yanked her forward.

  “Careful!” he said, pulling her away from the cliff’s edge.

  Joselyn skittered toward Sigvard and fell into his chest. Hollen’s warnings about the gegatu screamed in her mind. Terror turned to anger, which spilled into her voice, “What in the name of all the gods are we doing here?”

  “Peace, Joselyn.” Sigvard was stifling laughter, as if her anger amused him. “They don’t even care that we’re here. Look.”

  The pounding in Joselyn's heart slowed as she did. Her eyes studied the wyverns as they milled about the stony ledge, oblivious to her and Sigvard’s presence. They were smaller than Jagomri, but still terrifying. Even the young ones were huge. They came in an array of colors from black to gray to brown to white. The sun glinted off the glossy scales of some while it seemed to sink into the matte ones of others. Most incredible were their eyes. They came in every color she could imagine, each as rich as the jewels in her mother’s many wine goblets.