A tight smile pinched her cheeks as she pressed a kiss to his forehead, pouring in so many unspoken promises. Water glistened in her eyes and she blinked it away. If she cried, neither of them would be able to go through with this.
It was more than just her father now; it was the entire village. It was Brynne, her husband, and young son. A sudden pain speared between her breasts, stabbing like tiny shards of ice. She hoped Brynne and her family remained unharmed.
If anyone deserved mercy, it was them.
“You and Momma taught me to be strong. Let me do this, Papa. For the village. I promise you I can handle myself. If you say no, no one is walking away.”
A million emotions brimmed in his eyes, the creases tightening, making him appear much older than his years. She didn’t envy him. If she ever had a child, there wasn’t any world where she could bear letting them give themselves away like a thing to be bartered.
She knew it was cruel to ask this of him.
But if it meant he’d survive, she’d do it every time.
Strong arms wrapped around her upper back as her father enveloped her in a fierce hug. Tears pricked her eyes once more.
“Do not harm my daughter,” he said, his threat directed at the demon.
A harsh grunt puffed past the scarred man’s lips, his brow pinched. He glared at her father.
“To hurt her would dishonor Freyja. I would never offend the goddess in such a manner.”
That name tickled something in the back of her mind, something familiar she couldn’t place. A heartbeat pulsed at her fingertips, a power pleading to break free. Elara shook her hands, willing the sensation to disappear.
Pulling her close, her father whispered in her ear, quiet enough so the demon wouldn’t hear.
“I love you. Be strong. One day soon, I’ll find you and bring you home.”
For now, she’d let him believe that.
“I love you, Papa.”
She squeezed him tighter, kissing his cheek. Her mouth rested against his face for an extended beat, memorizing how his scruff scratched against her smooth skin and the faded scent of wood smoke clinging to his tunic.
Unease weighed down her limbs as she attempted to pull away. She closed her eyes, sucking in a slow breath before turning to face her captor.
The acrid smell of charred wood carried on a gust of wind, blowing errant pieces of hair into her face. Sticks crunched beneath her boots. Each step between her and her future hardened within her.
“Am I to be your whore then?”
The cold question slipped from her unbidden. She wished to know the exact price of survival. To steel her soul against the inevitable.
His nostrils flared, a flame igniting behind his eyes. A harsh breath whistled through her teeth as he ate up the distance between them.
Rough fingers cradled her jaw, angling her face until they were glaring at each other. Nails bit into her soft skin enough to bruise. She snarled, but refused to wince, holding her ground.
“I do not take what isn’t offered.”
Disdain dripped from the venom laced words, the sentence drawn out as his grip dimpled her skin. Her insinuation offended him. Interesting.
“A noble demon. Your prisoner, then?” she spat.
“Not a prisoner,” he said, his thumb almost reverent as he traced the freckles on her cheeks. “You are a powerful prize. A totem granted by Freyja. Worth more than any trinket hidden in these huts.”
A lump bobbed in her throat. He wasn’t wrong. But the truth stung all the same. She had traded herself away.
Like a war prize.
Elara wasn’t a fool.
