by Hazel Grace
“I do, every day.”
“Well, if you tell me how you passed the veil, I’ll let you go home to them.”
He looks down at me. “They’re dead. And I still don’t know.” He breaks his attention from me again and turns around to look at what’s behind him.
Never turn your back on your enemy.
It automatically echoes in my head. Tobias lives by that rule, so I’m surprised when Dagen does it. But it gives me the opportunity to study him further without him knowing that I’m gaping at him like that smitten girl I was talking about earlier.
His dark hair is pulled back in a bun, hiding the length that used to cascade down his shoulder blades that bulge through his shirt. The brown fabric displays a flat torso, which I’ve already seen, slimming down to his waist and thick thighs in olive pants.
“Then how did your father know about this place?” I inquire as he brushes the wall with his fingertips.
“Honestly, I’m not sure,” he voices. “I thought this was just a normal place to locate. He told me that the lands were rich in soil for farming, but it’s just covered in sand and tall grass. You don’t really question my father.”
“You know that makes zero sense to me, right?”
He turns around to look at me and then nods. “I know. I wouldn’t believe me either, Blood.”
“Then how would you find out if someone was telling the truth?” I cross my arms along my chest, genuinely curious.
He perks a brow then slowly walks toward me. “You really want to know?”
“I do.”
“I’d torture them until they spoke.”
“And if a woman trespassed?”
His lips quirk. “Would that woman be you?” I bow my head. “You don’t want to know the answer to that question.”
“I asked, didn’t I?”
He releases a mirthless laugh. “You’re a woman, that’s different.”
“I’m stronger than you,” I retort with furrowed brows.
He rounds me and leans down a bit. “But your emotions aren’t.”
“I’m not one of your females in your village,” I grumble then twirl on my heels to face him. “We’re more fierce together.”
“I’ve noticed that,” he deadpans.
“So what would you do if one of my people trespasses? How would you get them to spill the truth?”
“If it were one of your sisters, I would’ve killed them or given them to my men to play with.”
“Play with?”
“If it were you,” he continues gradually, like he’s thinking about it. “I’d seduce you.”
“You’re not my type,” I blurt because I have nothing to say besides that.
I don’t even know if I have one. Besides Tobias, no other man has been interesting to me until the new man standing in front of me. And even then I think it’s more curiosity than anything.
“I’m a man, Blood,” he asserts. “I am your type.” With his back still to me, it takes everything in my power to not shove him forward.
“That’s where you’re mistaken.”
He turns on his heels and looks at me with a raised brow. “Oh? And how’s that?”
“You know nothing about me.”
“Because you’re spoken for?”
“I’m not spoken for. No one will own me.”
“Then you might want to tell your pirate friend that,” he advises with a twist of his lips.
“Don’t worry about him,” I carp. “You’d have to come up with another plan to get me to speak.”
“The same goes for you. You letting me roam free on your island isn’t doing anything except upsetting your sisters and now your father. Now what?”
I shrug. “You have your week. After that, you’re out of my hands.”
“Then you better use me to any advantage you have in your little head because I’m going to die.”
I don’t know why, but the truth in his voice pierces my chest. I don’t like him, but I respect him. I don’t believe him, but he’s loyal to whatever cause he’s serving, and I’m trying not to fault him for that. I might have even been a little more forgiving if it wasn’t for him scouting my land and getting past my veil.
“Then pray to your gods,” I reply calmly. “And you can leave now.”
He simpers with amusement in his features and makes his way toward the entrance of the cove but not before leaning a little closer to me.
“You’d be mine, Blood,” he mutters in a deep octave, his breath tickling my shoulder. “Underneath me, over me, and with me inside you. I’d never let you go.”
His words waft around me filled with promise and something else that heats my already warmed blood. His declaration, it’s just the chitchat of a man that is desperate to leave freely.
But if he doesn’t talk, I won’t be able to give him that.
The sound of music muffles behind my bedroom door, which has me out exploring the scene. There isn’t anything else to do, Davina won’t hold a conversation with me longer than five minutes to build any sort of trust, and her sisters look at me like they want to murder me for fun.
So for hours, I’ve stayed in my room plotting because I found what I came here for.
The cuff.
A plain gold band that sat behind colored glass on one of Davina’s shelves between a chandelier and small chest. It glinted off a mirror, catching the end of the cuff that almost didn’t catch my eye. My father said it wouldn’t be flashy, no gem stones or engravings would decorate the piece.
And that’s exactly what it was—plain.
It belonged to our people and was stolen, holding more power than it portrayed from its humble appearance. More promise than I could ever hope for to keep our lands safe and secure against the impending Highlands.
The cuff was magic.
Magic that would bring back the creatures I’ve heard so many stories about and made my father so addicted to appropriating its return.
Dragons.
As a child, I believed those stories. I was enchanted by the fact that these large beasts flew and roamed our lands within our control. But when I grew up, I started to think my father fed me that line of bullshit to keep my faith when times were hard.
Until he came to me weeks ago with information to seize this relic, only entrusting me to bring it back home. The only thing I knew was that it was golden, plain, “might look like a piece of junk,” as my father put it, but I knew of nothing else.
No veil.
No realm of princess killers.
No trying to get myself out of this mess I was currently in.
The moment I’m down the hall, the music gets louder and draws me deeper into the castle toward the large dining room we eat in, like I’m one of theirs. Like they own me and I’m their little puppet.
I’ll play the part if it gets me closer to Blood’s curiosity.
When I make the last turn inside, there are people everywhere. Men and women dressed, actually scantily dressed, in seaweed, shells, pearls, and leather. I notice King Triton immediately, standing above other men with his broad chest puffed out. He’s speaking to them casually until his hard eyes fall on me. His mouth moves a moment longer then he turns his back on them, which sends them in my direction.
Three of them march toward me nonchalantly, and the reason is apparent. The King wants me to know I’m not welcome here, that his daughter isn’t here to save me, and that I’m fucked.
I was fully aware of that.
I study the men like I’m trained to do. Each bare-chested, holding large rods with a sizable shell on the top. It makes me wonder how often they’ve used them, if they know how, and if they’ve killed more people than me—I doubt it.
The moment they reach me, I’m immediately surrounded and herded outside like a sheep. We’re not far from the garden with the large pond that Davina swam in, a perfect and secluded spot for them to try and batter me up, possibly kill me. But without a blade, I don’t expect them to get very far, unles
s they have the strength of the girls, which means I’m worse off than I thought.
With the men following close behind me, I glance around the reclusive surroundings for a weapon of my own. The only things around me are ferns and various flowers. Nothing like oak or pine trees from home to break off a branch and try to gain some sort of advantage on them.
Suddenly, my foot is caught and yanked from behind, taking me to my knees and palms. A sharp pain hits my right kidney, but I force back the thoughts of experiencing or registering it fully.
Instead, I stand back on my feet and twirl around to punch the closest one to me. My knuckles slam into the side of one's face, and I quickly block another blow from the man to his left with my forearm.
The third man moves forward from behind him, trying to spear me in the stomach. Twisting out of his range to the side, I grip his pole and realize it’s covered in barnacles.
I can feel my flesh rip at the sharp edges of the little rock-looking creatures as I let go, when my face is knocked to the side by a hard hit.
Immediately, I’m yanked forward and lifted in the air. Fisting my hands, I slam them down on my enemy's shoulders twice before getting him to release me to my feet. Rather than wait on the other two’s next move, I snatch the man to my right by his neck and clobber my fist into his ribs. A grunt escapes his lips, and I catch movement behind me as I peer over my shoulder. My elbow catches another in his chest as I swing my head back to connect with another’s face—hopefully, a nose.
I feel a collision to my chest, but my adrenaline blinds me from anything else except killing these fools. This isn’t my first time being outnumbered and weaponless. Not my first ordeal where the odds were against me.
A strangled gurgle sounds behind me, but I don’t turn to look. I’m too busy hauling my fists in calculated movements between the two men in front of me. It’s not until one of them gets behind me that things start to take another turn.
Positioning his rod against my neck, he pulls back, attempting to choke me out while the barnacles dig and twist into my skin. Gripping the rod with one hand, trying to ignore the cuts on my palms, I thrust my free elbow back, trying to make contact with his body. Until I’m sucker punched in the stomach by one of his associates. My hold on the rod slips, allowing my enemy less tension to cave in my windpipe.
A flash of red appears in front of me followed by a pair of green eyes that are slitted and narrowed. The rod is suddenly ripped away from my throat, letting a faltered exhale leaves me lips.
“Duck.” I do as directed, leaning over to place my palms on my knees as I try to catch my breath as quickly as possible.
I hear rustling and grunts as I peer up to see that the man in front of me is holding Davina in his grasp up in the air.
I barrel toward them, kicking the man at the knee to cause him to loosen his grip so I can rip her out of his clutches. She comes out of his hold as I yank her behind me. As soon as she’s safely positioned, I’m on him, punch after punch until I can’t feel my knuckles anymore. Not until I feel small hands on my shoulder blades, silently telling me to stop.
It’s immediate, my reaction to her. I can still feel the blood pounding through my head, my lungs straining to trudge in air, but my brain, it doesn’t remember the fucker I was just beating to a pulp. It’s zeroed in on her, and being mixed with relief and pissed that she stepped in.
On my knees, straddling over one of her father’s guards, I stand to confront the female who thinks it’s her place to step into fights. However, the moment I peer down at her, I’m speechless at how innocent she looks. How easy it was for her to transform into a guiltless beauty when she just overpowered a man trying to kill me. Staring up at me like I am someone she wants to spare from a fate worse than death.
“You’re hurt,” she acknowledges, her gaze on my neck. “I’ll get someone—”
“What do you think you’re doing?” I snap, taking a step toward her. “You don’t step into a man’s brawl.”
“It was my brawl,” she retorts with a raised chin.
I point behind me. “I was the one in between three men. You just strolled by.”
“These are my men.”
“They’re your father’s men.”
“I think you mean ‘thank you’,” she offers.
I inch closer. “Listen, Blood. I don’t need saving. I don’t need your help. I don’t need your pretty little eyelashes blinking at me like this was just a normal day, doing normal ass things. Stay out of my way.”
I begin to turn on my heels to head back to my room until her hand grasps my forearm.
“You need to be looked at,” she drones softly. “You’re bleeding.”
The corner of my lips quirk. “You like to see me bleed, sweetheart. Besides I’m used to it.”
Her brows furrow. “Only by my hand, Viking.”
“Are you saying you’re going to tend me?” I lean forward and cross my arms. “Because I’ll have to admit, I’d look forward to that.”
“I’m sure you would.”
“Is that a ‘yes’, Blood?”
“No.”
I shake my head. “You need to learn hospitality.”
“You need to learn manners.”
I straighten my spine with a smirk. “You’re probably right. My mama wasn’t able to teach me any.”
“She died,” she deadpans.
My jaw tightens. “Do you read minds too, Blood?”
She shakes her head, keeping her eyes locked on my blues. “Isolde doesn’t read minds, she just sees the past.”
“How?”
She shrugs. “She just does.”
“And what can you do, Blood?”
“How did your mother die?” she counters. I fix her with an exasperated look then avert my attention.
I don’t talk about my family, I don’t have one anymore. The closest thing I have besides my father are the people that rely on us to keep them safe. To do that, I need to procure the cuff that was stolen from my people. I don’t know why Davina has it, and I don’t have the opportunity to ask her either. The objective is clear, the mission has to be successful—I need to get back home.
“She was killed by an enemy clan,” I tell her. “Along with my brother and sister.”
I expect her face to fall, to look at me with sorrow and sympathy, but she just blinks, something I can’t say that I don’t appreciate.
“Did you kill them?”
I drag my attention to her. “What?”
“The people that killed your family,” she offers. “Did you kill them?”
“I think I’ve met my match with you, woman.”
That gets a smile from her. “There’s a speck of smarts in you after all, Viking.”
“If I was smart at all,” I allude. “I wouldn’t want to hear your voice over you in my head.”
She lifts a shoulder. “I can’t do anything about that.”
“Has it always been like that?” She shakes her head. "How did it happen?"
"A spell."
"A spell?" She tears her eyes from mine. "What did you do?"
"It's what I asked for," she offers.
"Why would you do something like that?" She doesn't respond, which pricks my curiosity. She's headstrong and stubborn, which doesn't make sense, I can't imagine her discarding her pride to have someone do something for her.
"I understand you not wanting to speak about it," I allude. "We're enemies after all."
She peers back up at me. "Are we?"
I shrug. "Seems like it, I guess."
"Depends on why you are here to determine if you are truly the enemy."
"I already told you and your father."
“But is it the truth?”
I sigh. “How can I prove it to you?” I don’t like how her brow lifts and her eyes glimmer with insight.
“I know a way.”
It’s the only way. The direction of earning her trust and possibly getting me off this island. Sitting on a hard bench ma
de from rock of some sort, I stare into a pair of rose-colored eyes that have been staring at me intently with zero emotion dilating in them. Not to mention the other six of them surrounding her and me like we’re some sort of sideshow.
I’ve never seen someone so focused in my whole life. To the point where it’s slightly uncomfortable, but I guess this is how she can really “delve into my past,” as Davina puts it.
I don’t know what she can see or how far back, fully aware that all of this can bite me in the ass if she sees the conversation of my father and I talking about the golden cuff. I won’t walk out of this alive, definitely clear on that.
“Well,” Atarah carps. “What do you see?”
I keep my eyes still, fearless. Praying to gods I haven’t prayed to in forever that my secrets remain just that.
“He’s experienced loss,” Isolde conveys slowly. “A deep emptiness while he was a child.”
My jaw locks as she pries into memories I don’t want to hear. Those times were rough, dealing with a father who didn’t know a thing about raising a child on his own. How I didn’t know how to grieve my mother and siblings because I had no emotional backup or anyone to tell me it was okay to cry.
Until Edda.
Her hard exterior growing up with five brothers gave her an intimidating demeanor, but inside, she was kind and sweet. Opening up a side of her that not many people saw.
“We don’t care about that,” Atarah chides through my thoughts. “We want the important—”
“You know that’s not how it works,” Nesrine retorts. “She sees what she sees.”
I see a shape of white start to pace the room, obviously irritated that she doesn’t know how long this is going to take. Atarah and I have that in common.
“He doesn’t know love,” Isolde offers. My brows furrow immediately. It was an odd thing to see, but she’s not wrong.
I don’t think I’m capable nor do I want to experience it. It’s a worthless emotion really, the point of marriage was loyalty and commitment while producing offspring to keep your legacy alive. Everything else was nonsense.
“No, he’s not married,” Isolde voices. I didn’t hear anyone ask her a question, so I pull my eyes away for the first time and find Davina standing behind her, in between two of her sisters.
