Cold sweat beaded on her flushed face as each step hammered into the sodden earth. Her fingers dug into her skirt as she hiked up her dress. The closer she got to the village, the harder each breath stung.
Women cried, the sound drowned out by the clashing of steel against steel.
Hulking men descended on her village, their looming forms thick with corded muscles and scars.
They looked like the warriors from her childhood. The ones who murdered her brother.
Braided hair adorned with jewels framed their scarred faces, crimson dripping from their blades. Their deeply accented voices called out commands in a strange language she didn’t understand.
Choking back her tears, Elara panted, climbing up the steep hill to her home. She refused to look anywhere but forward, afraid she might see something she’d never forget.
Brynne’s home was empty. Elara dashed into the fields, desperate to find her father and flee with him.
The goats and sheep darted through the trampled crops, paying her no mind. Alruna stayed tucked to Elara’s side, the wispy shadow of her tail flicking against the earth. Elara slowed, tiny shards of ice stabbing between her breasts with each wheezing breath.
A strangled gasp choked her when she saw her father pinned to a tree, a dagger clutched in his hand.
Only a few steps from him stood an imposing figure. One who made her skin prickle.
Black fur sat draped over his blood-speckled chest, thick mahogany braids spilling over his shoulders. Gold cuffs wrapped around his biceps.
The veins in his hands pulsed as he flexed his fingers along the leather hilt of his axe. Her father’s eyes found hers, his mouth falling open as he silently shook his head.
Alruna’s claws dug into the earth, inky wisps flicking from her tail as it swished behind her.
The man raised his axe, the steel catching a splinter of sun escaping the clouds. Time slowed; the warrior’s weapon prepared to meet her father’s dagger.
Knuckles whitened around the hilt of his weapon, her father squaring his shoulders and raising his chin. The man was a farmer, not a warrior. But the last thing he’d ever be was a coward.
Brave and proud and the only thing she had left.
Elara sprinted, disobeying her father’s unspoken plea, sucking back the tears threatening to fall. Her slender frame slid between the two men, her wild curls billowing behind her like a scarlet cape.
“Papa! No! Don’t hurt him, please. I’ll give you anything,” she begged, spreading her arms wide like an offering.
It didn’t matter. The man wouldn’t understand her. She didn’t know why she bothered.
“Sweetheart,” came her father’s strained voice, thick with emotion. “No.”
Alruna jumped in front of Elara, the growl in her throat softening until the creature quieted, sitting at her feet with an assessing tilt of her head, gold eyes glowing.
Elara’s face snapped to the man’s, and what waited for her made her breath stall as her heart forgot how to beat.
Apparently, the Devil was as frightening as he was stunning.
This warrior was the most magnificent, deadly thing she’d ever seen.
One eye flashed pure, liquid silver while the other flickered like mossy stones.
Her body reacted before her mind could catch up, a coil tightening in her abdomen until it was almost painful.
Fingers flexed on his weapon. The line of muscles on his abdomen clenched when his glare traveled lower, pausing where Alruna sat.
Subconsciously, Elara reached out for Alruna, anchoring herself as silken fur slid under her fingers.
A vein throbbed in the man’s jaw as he tracked her movement, each second feeling like an eternity under his haunting glare.
Then he snarled, the sound making Elara stumble. Her father’s hand gripped her hip, steadying her.
