Destroyed by Onyx (A Dance with Destiny Book 4)

by JK Ensley

  Drostan had a good view from his hiding spot, lying on his belly, peering through his looking glass. Dusk had fallen before their arrival and darkness now hung heavy around them, making the windows glow even brighter, illuminated by the fireplace within. He watched as his long lost brothers made ready for the coming night, preparing for peaceful sleep.

  *****

  Jenevier was pacing, uneasy, restless.

  Why is the pain so sharp, so unrelenting? she thought.

  Finnean tried to console her. She refused him. She would allow no comfort, not this night, and not for a very long time.

  Something is wrong… missing… lost…What the hell is it? I can’t recall.

  When she had unintentionally uttered that single forgotten name… her insides rocked—a decimating quake of irrecoverable proportions. Her newly found voice escaped her, and frustration set in quickly.

  Gráda had placed ink and paper out for her to use. She tried once, but she couldn’t hold her trembling hand still long enough to make her scratchy words legible.

  And what was I supposed to write, anyway? I can’t even sort it out in my mind, much less on paper.

  Exhausted and confused, she poured a full glass of the dark, rich wine. Silent tears dripped from her chin as the hearth’s reflection of dancing flames sparkled in her ebony eyes. She stared unblinking into the fire, moving only to tip the large goblet to her snowy lips, quickly draining the numbing liquid.

  She knew not who Varick was, but even the name floating about in her mind caused her empty shell to quiver.

  Ugh… just… Dammit all! she silently roared.

  When Jenevier filled her glass the second time, displacing precious drops when she swayed, Brodder took the bottle, denying her a third.

  …Bloody hell. I don’t want to stop until this miserable feeling is all but drowned away.

  She glanced toward the large man who only had her wellbeing in mind. She didn’t press the wine issue, no. She wanted to, yes. But, she didn’t.

  Eventually, she just sat atop the little table near the front window, completely withdrawn, staring out into the growing darkness.

  What is it? Please… someone… anyone… help me remember.

  The many worried questions and vain attempts at comfort had now ceased. Her new brothers kept their distance… gave her the space she needed.

  With her knees pressed to her chest, head resting upon them, the only clue betraying her continued sobs were the occasional jerking tremors of her drooping shoulders.

  Perhaps she remained thus for nearly an hour before she jumped down, flinging her empty goblet into the waning fire. A chilling, throaty scream—the kind that makes your breath catch and your heart skip a beat—tore from her lips as she stormed out the door, slamming it closed behind her.

  *****

  Drostan had patiently watched her growing agitation, never took his eyes off the maiden. She was unlike any creature he’d ever seen, rarer even than was his Queen. He was fascinated by her tiny size and colorless pallor.

  So delicate, so fragile, he silently mused.

  Then, a thrill ripped through him as he watched her stand up to those mighty Val Hal warriors, completely unintimidated by her giant brothers—fearless, full of fight and vigor and fire.

  He nearly chuckled aloud.

  Alas, her delicate form had not gone unnoticed by his accompanying troops, either. Darkest of the dark they were, evidence of that now showing plainly through their vile words, crude comments, and despicable intentions concerning the snowy maid.

  The wicked, lewd actions his troops were openly speaking upon, their extremely ungentlemanly intentions toward the fair maid, gave Drostan pause in his current duty.

  The lass wouldn’t live through an encounter with even two of these rogues… much less the entire eighteen, he thought. Dammit. How can I protect her from the vermin I have willingly brought to her door?

  “No one lays a hand upon the girl,” Drostan said sternly. “Your Queen wishes her whole and untouched.”

  The dismissive snorts and grunts from his companions did little to ease his mind.

  Bloody fools.

  When shrill screams swirled around them, carried on the wind, Drostan turned just in time to see the pale maiden exiting the cabin… alone.

  He watched as she jerked two practice swords from the nearby rack and began hacking away at the wooden dummy hanging near the house.

  What the— Drostan’s thoughts were immediately interrupted when one of his scarlet-clad mercenaries made to rise.

  “Now’s our chance,” the man said. “I want that wee lamb first. I can tame her, well and good.”

  Drostan grabbed the man’s forearm, ceasing his advance, and motioned toward the large picture window not fifteen feet from where the maiden now stood. The old King’s imposing presence kept watch over her from there, arms crossed over his broad chest, eyes fixed on her every move.

  “Mind what you do… you bloody idiot,” Drostan hissed.

  The echoing thud of her powerful blows, mixed with her heart-rending screams, rang through the darkness, piercing the night for many long minutes.

  When the cabin door swung open, Finnean stepped outside. His shimmering white hair reflected the moonlight, sparkling as it blew on the breeze.

  Drostan felt a small pang of jealousy as the rare young warrior approached the distraught maid, tenderly placing a blanket around her trembling shoulders, holding her in his strong embrace as her sobs audibly increased. He strained his ears, trying to make out the white warrior’s words over the chilly wind.

  *****

  Those ever-present, unknown gray eyes, ceaseless in their voyeuristic vigil, belonging to the man with no name, greedily drank in the bitterly beautiful scene those two rare creatures made.

  As he watched their glowing silhouettes clinging desperately to each other, he too felt the strangely foreign emotion. A tiny green seed settled upon his barren heart, yet he knew not why.

  From his distant vantage point, he watched the whole of it play out—the scarlet ones, the noble ones, and the colorless one.

  Had he wished, he could have stopped some of the oncoming blood, halted a few of the drawn swords. Had he wished, that is. Alas, he did not interfere. His sole intent was for a sort of feast-of-the-eyes. He didn’t take sides. Now was not his time. This was not his story.

  I never get involved, he thought. Never have, never will. Yet… perhaps…

  The definitively hard line of his stoic mouth twitched up at one corner, imperceptively.

  “Perhaps…” he whispered.

  Chapter 14

  Finnean

  (FIN-yan)

  Two swords hung limp to the ground—dull tips atop gravel. Jenevier stood motionless, staring at nothing… absent everything. She was numb. The only movement from this lovely statue was the involuntary chattering of her teeth.

  Finnean rubbed her arms furiously, drawing the blanket tighter around her, pulling her closer. Three different times he lifted her chin, trying to force her to meet his worried gaze. She would not.

  Frustrated beyond controlling, the quick-tempered white warrior lashed out at her. “I should never have told you the secrets of my heart.” His tone was almost as chilly as the blowing night air. “I should have denied you the warmth of my love. Aye, the jealousy now filling my heart is a painful and foreign thing to me. I don’t like it, Gealach.” He squeezed her. “Do you even hear me? Are my words penetrating your frozen heart?”

  She remained mute, listless.

  He snorted in disgust. “The mention of one name, one man’s name, and you shatter into a million pieces,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “How could I ever have thought I loved you? Your decrepit heart has no room for additional love.” He leaned down, speaking close to her inattentive ear. “I want to hurt you, Princess. I want to share with you in this pain you have so easily gifted me. It’s not fair you stilled your tongue, refusing even to fight with me. It’s infuriating.” He lo
oked into her eyes. Their noses were nearly touching. His voice rose as he yelled, “Say something, anything. Open your mouth, Gealach. Scream at me!”

  He could glean no hint of reaction upon her ageless face. Her black eyes were a void, absent everything.

  “I want to shake you. I want to slap you, slap you hard enough to rattle back the girl I laughed with only this morning.” He grabbed her arms, squeezing hard. “This isn’t fair. How dare you lock me out and just shut down. You care not for me. You consider not my feelings, even after I swallowed my pride and admitted to loving you upon sight.” He did shake her then. “What happened, Princess? Did I cause your cold heart to feel something? Did I cause your black soul to sing within you? Tell me true. Did my adoring smile remind you of a lost lover? Do I bring this Varick to mind? Did the poor dolt care for you as I?” Tears burned the backs of his eyes. “Did you destroy him, same as you’re doing to me?” He released her, pushing her away. “Very well, keep your damn secrets locked up inside with everything else about your hellish past. Let it rot, for all I care. Let your worthless form fill up with all the putrid pain it can hold. Let it fill to bursting.” He pointed at her, his hand shaking. “You are a poison, yes. But not a delicious one as you claimed, no. You are bitter and repulsive, Gealach. I no longer wish to be part of your future. I will remove myself from your presence. Now, remove me from your useless heart. I no longer hold it as treasure.” He turned to leave but added one thing more. “It’s not good for a daughter to worry her father so. Straighten yourself up and come back inside. Don’t burden his noble heart further… if you even care.” He glanced over at the dusty window. “You’re not worthy enough to be counted with that great man, yet he claims you. No matter what has happened to you in the past, you have touched many hearts here, pure hearts, valiant hearts. Do you selfishly think they aren’t breaking right along with yours? Is your pain greater than his?” He pointed to the pacing form of her giant father. “You did that, Gealach. You’re the only creature upon the whole of this realm that could. Never have I met such a selfish, malignant little girl. Wee devil, more like.” He narrowed his eyes. “I take back what I said about your creator. He was no fool. He was wise beyond imagining. Wise enough to cast you down before you had a chance to taint the heavens. Wise enough to send you to live among despicable demons, like you deserve. Now, go where he intended, gray lady. Crawl back into the dark place from which you emerged. Go live amongst your own kind.”

  Finnean stared at her empty black eyes a moment more before he turned from her, leaving her standing in the cold, alone. An almost uncontrollable rage shook his body as he jerked open the cabin door. Yet an equal fury was burning within her as well.

  Jenevier screamed out her frustration as she hurled both practice swords at the infuriating man she adored. One blade noisily clamored against the aging wood, the other one slammed across Finnean’s retreating back.

  He froze, releasing the knob, allowing the door to bang shut.

  When the elite snow-crowned warrior of Val Hal, Hand to the King, slowly turned back to face the pale maiden, his white hot temper blazed wildly in his icy blue eyes.

  She matched his incensed glare, but otherwise, she did not move.

  “Did I hit a nerve, wee Princess?” His brusque steps quickly closed the gap between them. “Perhaps that’s exactly what you need—a little wake-up call. Shined a bit of light on your darker side, did I? Good. It’s past time, if you ask me.” He stared directly into her strange eyes, holding her piercing gaze… the noonday sky locked with a starless night. “You are a spoiled, selfish brat who needs more than a mere tanning. Aye, from what I can see, you could stand having a wee bit of that devil knocked out of you.”

  Before Jenevier even realized what was happening, Finnean back-handed her across the mouth, splitting wide her colorless lip.

  Taking one deep calming breath before she slowly turned back to face the beautiful man her father had all but raised, she lightly touched the corner of her mouth and stared a moment at her bloodstained fingertip. Her dark gaze moved up to meet his, deliberately slow, calculatingly sharp. The warm, salty, rusty taste was filling her mouth. She hated that taste, hated the smell.

  Without breaking their challenging glare, Jenevier spat the thick blood out upon Finnean’s shirt.

  He stared, unbelieving, at the dark red stain growing larger as it soaked into the soft white fabric. He shook his head, a warm smile parting his lips.

  He snorted out a half laugh. “Aye, Lass, you’d buck-up at a Dragon, you would. Defiant wee—”

  Still speaking, he raised his head to look back into his Angel’s fathomless eyes. Her tiny fist landed full force, ceasing his wordy chuckle. Finnean staggered back, blood now running from both corners of his mouth, coloring his snowy teeth.

  Their matching crimson snarls were mirrored lethal threats as they headed back to clash once more.

  The front door burst open and giant arms locked around the white warrior’s heaving chest, halting his maddened advance.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Eògan roared.

  Jenevier’s arms were seized as well. She knew not by whom. Nor did she care. Her full attention was centered on the bleeding white-haired warrior futilely struggling before her. She didn’t resist her captor. She moved not. She was wholly entranced with the bitter torture she now saw twisting the beautiful features of the surrendering man’s tear-stained face. All anger left her. Whatever the remembered pain was about, it melted away. Only a stricken Finnean remained… her Finnean.

  Casually raising but one hand, she let her claws extend fully in warning. The binding arms about her quickly slid away. Jenevier took one freed step toward her glorious warrior, the honorable man who had promised her his forever.

  His feeble struggling ceased. Finnean’s lovely eyes went wide at her advance. Jenevier held his hope-filled gaze as she slowly approached.

  His unhindered tears soaked into his clothing, darkening the collar of the white shirt now stained with her blood. Tenderly running her gentle hands into his soft, snowy hair, she stood on her tiptoes and tried to pull him down to meet her. Eògan refused to relax his grip.

  Jenevier lovingly gazed into those tormented ice blue eyes. She touched the tip of her nose to his, and then slowly licked the salty drops of sorrow from his sculpted cheeks before she lightly kissed his waiting lips.

  Finnean’s breath hitched. “Again,” he whispered pleadingly.

  She obeyed, tenderly kissing him just a bit longer.

  “Aye, Lass, again.”

  This third kiss was not only tinged with passion and desire, it was filled with hope and promise, unspoken, yet as true and honest as if she had sung it from the mountaintops.

  Their foreheads resting together, her hands in his hair, his chest heaving, she smiled… and he spoke.

  “You are mine, Gealach. Do you understand me? You are mine.” His words were a promise and a prayer, a pleading vow. “I have openly claimed you as mine own. Do you return this honor?”

  Her smile beamed. Jenevier nodded her head, silver curls bouncing in the moonlight. Eògan released him then.

  Finnean wrapped her in his warm embrace, kissing her again. The taste of sweet honeysuckles filled her mouth, consumed her senses. This worshipping kiss lasted long enough to make all present company a bit uncomfortable. Brodder had to noisily clear his throat, twice, before their lips finally parted.

  “Ahh, sweet moon, I love you,” Finnean said. “By the gods, I love you madly. Never have I felt thus. Never have I sworn my forever. Promise me now, wee Princess. Promise you won’t destroy me. Promise me that… even if this Varick person walked up to you now, you will be mine.” Her muffled giggle gave him delicious chills. “Always will you be mine, Gealach, always.”

  He felt her smile against his neck, her arms squeezing tighter, nails digging through his shirt, marking the flesh on his back.

  “Aye, then speak to me now, lovely lass. Say the words my trembling he
art needs to hear. Tell me you love only me, no reservations.”

  Jenevier pulled back, smiling, staring into this valiant man’s breathtaking eyes. Searching desperately for her betraying voice, she opened her mouth. “Fin…” A tiny whisper was all she could produce.

  He smiled, even his eyes were smiling. “Aye, Lass, that’ll do for now… that’ll do.”

  The cold wind changed direction, swirling about them. She closed her eyes, inhaling the wafting breeze. Finnean heard the growl start deep within her chest.

  Tearing from his loving arms, she ran into the empty house, seemingly a blur.

  The gathered men stood, dumbfounded, until she burst back through the door, dual armed with the twin swords displayed above Brodder’s mantel.

  “What is it, daughter? What did you taste upon the wind, Lass?”

  Her eyes were on the distant sloping hills. She turned to her giant father, her fierce gaze locked with his questioning one. Jenevier roared like a wild beast and ran into the darkness.

  Her movements were so quick she was hard to keep up with. Save for her death-like pallor glowing in the moonlight, they wouldn’t have been able to follow her at all.

  Gráda gave chase first, shouting commands back to his stunned brothers.

  Brodder stood frozen, a living statue hewn in shock by her jarring roar and these unbelievable goings-on, until the sound of clashing blades pulled him back to reality.

  Jenevier effortlessly dispatched six of the scarlet-cloaked men who came out to meet her. Nothing else existed save the deep red robes. Heightened beyond measure, she was elevated to a surreal plane of slow motion opponents and gravity-defying blood spatter. Time, space, and sound all vanished. Only she moved, only her blades hummed, whispering their lethal notes to her ears alone. She cleanly sliced through their bloated gullets with one blade while gracefully removing their wicked heads with the other… until a steel hilt crashed into the back of her skull. The cacophony of time returned as the rhythmic symphony of her metal ceased.