Destroyed by Onyx (A Dance with Destiny Book 4) (6 page)

“Sire? Wh-what’s she doing?” Fear was evident in the warrior’s voice.

Brodder spoke not.

Jenevier smiled sweetly as she slid her tiny hands up and locked her fingers behind his neck. She could hear the rapid pounding of his nervous heart. Gently tugging on him, she pulled the tall man down to meet her diminutive height.

Gráda reflexively closed his eyes as her delicate white lips drew nearer his face. Then… she licked his neck, released him, and took a step back.

The tiny colorless woman cut her eyes toward Brodder and noticed a faint smile turning up the corners of his mouth. The remaining horsemen stood completely silent, breathless.

A playful giggle echoed in her head when she clearly
heard
the young white-haired warrior’s favorable thoughts concerning her. She enchanted him. This was the same one whose breath had caught when first he looked upon her. The man stood farthest from her to the right, opposite Gráda. She met his gaze, crinkling her nose up at him like a mischievous bunny. He blushed.

How is it I can hear his thoughts, yet, Brodder cannot hear mine?

Eyes closed, she tilted her head back, rolling Gráda’s scent over her tongue. Her fingertips tingled wildly. She nearly gagged on the bitter flavor of lies, deceit, and intended betrayal. She narrowed a leveled gaze at the false general standing nervously before her.

When the tingling turned into a burning sensation, she raised her hands and watched as diamond claws began to emerge, extending slowly from each pale fingertip. She stared at them, puzzled but not scared. Something about these icy looking additions felt comfortable, soothing.

Her rumbling growl caused the hair on their arms to rise, painfully so. The sparkling, lethal beauty of her ethereal talons extended fully before their mortified stares.

Brodder grunted out a half-laugh. “If I were you, Lord Gráda, I’d arm myself.”

The stunned man stumbled back, finally fumbling for his sheathed sword.

Her single slash easily tore through his leather armor and laid open his heaving chest.

Jenevier took a step back, watching as the horrified man scrambled to cover his wound while still trying to unsheathe his blade.

The remaining generals did not move. She found it odd that no one defended the injured man. They held their position, arms to the ready, cautious eyes fixed on their bleeding brother, not her.

“Perhaps she didn’t like what she tasted within you, Gráda,” Brodder said coolly. “Could it be there’s something you’re trying to hide from me? Something you wish to confess, perhaps? Some dark thing you believed was carefully hidden away, saved for your thoughts alone?”

“No, Sire. There’s nothing.” Tears flooded his eyes, spilling down his cheeks. His pain was very nearly audible. “This vicious wee demon has poisoned you against me. She’s charmed your mind; cast a devil’s spell over your heart in my regard.”

“Truly?” Brodder cocked one eyebrow as he spoke. “Aye, and just why would she go and do a thing like that? This child knew not of your existence, good Gráda. Not until you dismounted but a moment ago.”

“She is no child, Sire,” Gráda argued. “You’re in league with a witch whether you know it or nay.”

Jenevier narrowed her eyes, growling as she stepped toward the bleeding man filled with lies.

“No, no, Sire. Call her off. Don’t let her touch me again.” Gráda couldn’t meet her gaze, couldn’t look her in the eye. “Aye, Maiden, go back to your King,” he rasped. “I’ll talk. Swear you’ll turn those raven eyes from me and I’ll tell you anything you wish to know.”

Brodder made a quick jerking motion with his head. Two of the other men took Gráda’s arms, leading him into the house.

“Is there another of my trusted few whom you desire, wee Gealach?” He chuckled, giving her a sideways look. “Is there another one you’d like to taste? I’m certain they wouldn’t object.”

She smiled shyly as she looked to the two remaining warriors. The obvious horror on both their faces almost made her giggle.

When her eyes lingered briefly upon the first man, the white-haired one whose breath had hitched, whose heart now raced, she saw something that very nearly horrified
her
… hunger.

Brodder reached for her hand, leading her toward the house. “I know now why the devil tried to snatch you away from the moon, tried to steal you for himself.” He leaned down close, whispering, “I don’t know why you favor me, Lass. But I’m powerful glad you do.” He squeezed her dainty hand. “This night, my wee darling, this night I promise to serenade you ‘til morn. Your favorite lullaby will greet the dawn still upon my lips, and I’ll sing you awake with the sunrise.”

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and skipped on ahead through the door, smiling brightly.

“Sire, where did you come across such a maid?” Luag asked. “Or
is
she a maid? Never have I seen her like.”

“Aye, she’s a gift from the gods, Brother. Fell straight down from heaven, she did.” Brodder chuckled softly. “When my thoughts were continually upon darkness, doom, and the coming war, I heard her crash to the ground.” Happy tears burned the backs of his eyes. “With but one look at the wee thing, the clouds were lifted from my heart and my hope was restored. Can you believe that?”

“
I
can,” Finnean mumbled to himself.

Brodder heard the white warrior’s whispered admission, yet acknowledged it not. But the odd confession did make his chest tighten, caused his stomach to war within him. He wasn’t sure why. It was neither a good feeling, nor was it bad. Just a bit… unsettling.

When he entered the main room, the good King of Val Hal found his tiny moon standing directly in front of the injured Gráda, her hands clasped casually behind her, rocking from her toes to her heels and back again. Like a cat toying with a terrified mouse.

His remaining generals cautiously kept their distance.

“Aye, wee Gealach, perhaps you can give the same close attention to each of our noble guests,” he said. “I’d hate it if they felt slighted in our home. What do you say, Lass? Would you like to have a go at ‘em?”

She slowly turned to face the remaining four.

Chapter 7

Vittorio

(vit-TOR-ee-oh)

The magical little realm of Lyra lay in shambles, a ruined disaster.

Vittorio silently stood by her pool, peering into the pristine waters of Princess Falls.

“Aye, do ye miss yer sweet lass as much as I?” he whispered upon the breeze. “Do ye miss her wee giggles an’ her glorious smile? Aye…” He sighed wearily. “I miss her as the birds miss the sun, as the flowers miss the rain. I need her just tae breathe. Her absence is a pain I cannae bear.”

Their secret cove had remained blessedly untouched by Apollyon’s vengeful wrath. Alas, the same could not be said for the rest of layer one.

The heartbroken Guardian stared, unseeing, into the magical pool where he had first kissed Jenevier. It seemed so long ago now.

“I shouldnae have sent her running back tae Varick. I should’ve stayed here with her when first she asked it of me. I should’ve held her in my arms, protected her from the world, an’ made love tae her forever.” He wiped away the silent tears. “If ever I’m given a chance such as that again, I wulnae err twice. I’ll make her smile anew with each dawn, for all eternity.”

Vittorio combed the grassy plains, surprised to find a few signs of life among the Fairfolk.

Shaemon Green had actually survived the recent apocalypse. He was rebuilding a small grotto when Vittorio happened upon him.

“Aye, Fairy. It’s good tae see yer scowling face. Proof ye yet live, wee brother.”

“Well, it’s never good to see a Death Angel,” Shaemon quipped. “Be they living or nay.”

The weary hearted Guardian couldn’t help but chuckle at the tiny man’s sharp tongue.

“Hmpf. I wasn’t aware Death Angels could laugh.” He turned up his haughty little nose. “So, what’s it you want from me this time? Still looking for that weird
girl
Angel?” Shaemon made his voice sound high and strained when he said
girl
.

“Aye, as a matter of fact, I am. Have ye seen someone much like her roaming aboot these parts?”

“Someone
like
her, or her?”

“Wee Fairy man, I’ll tire of yer sarcasm awfully easily this day,” Vittorio warned. “Much quicker than normal.”

“Very well, then,” he huffed. “No, I haven’t seen her or anyone
like
her since the day she told me you gifted her with that
secret place
.” He whispered the last couple of words, cutting his eyes around for nearby itchy ears. “Still haven’t found her, huh?”

Vittorio didn’t answer. He was lost in fond remembrance of the long forgotten times he had been blessed to share in her
secret place
.

“Do you believe in destiny, Death Angel?” Shaemon asked.

Vittorio’s focus was pulled back to the hard features of the grumpy little man.

Shaemon Green crossed his arms over his tiny chest. “If you cannot find that strangest of all women, perhaps you’re not meant to. Have you ever thought about it that way?”

“I did find her,” Vittorio said absently.

“Ah now, did you? I see. But she’s managed to vanish from you yet again? Seems rather peculiar to me, it does,” he mumbled. “Perhaps she now favors another’s wings. She seemed to me as if she’d have no problem taking care of herself.” He moved some mismatched candles around on his dresser. “Why not just let her be for a while? Hmm? Let her play in the arms of another for a time.” The little wingless Fairy shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps one day she’ll realize she loves you. Or… perhaps one day
you’ll
realize she doesn’t.”

Vittorio bent down so he was staring directly into Shaemon’s beady little eyes when he spoke. The little man quit trifling with his eclectic decorations and swallowed hard.

“Aye, an’ perhaps one day we’ll finally bond our hearts an’ our lives. Perhaps one happy day we’ll live together in her
secret place
. I love her madly, Shae.” Vittorio’s lips twitched up in a sardonic smile. “Perhaps one day she’ll finally accept my manacle an’ wed me proper.”

Shaemon took a step back. “Wha… what?”

“Aye, that’s right, wee Fairy man. We’ll live forever in her magical cove an’ have many wee Death Angel babies. What do ye think aboot that, Shae? Can ye imagine it? I cannae keep my hands off that gorgeous maid. An’ since we’re immortal, she’ll birth many of our kind,” he said, trying to contain a chuckle. “Just picture it, Shae. Hundreds of giggling wee Death Angels running around, playing across yer vast green expanse, making daily visits tae yer
happy
wee home.”

Shaemon visibly shuddered at the thought. He pictured the whole of it, horror showing plainly on his normally sour face. Vittorio had to fight to restrain his laughter.

Afterwards, the forlorn Guardian spent many days upon Lyra. Jenevier would’ve definitely stuck out among the diminutive races sparsely populating this tiny realm. But he checked every inch, just to be sure. None had seen her or even heard stories of her likeness.

Eventually Vittorio winged his way to Spadroon, empty-handed, and met up with Vareilious.

“Aye now, how goes it, Brother?” he asked as he approached the massive Gate Guardian. “Have ye seen hide or hair of my wee lass? Do any of the folk here know of my Angel?”

Vareilious rolled his eyes. “Ugh, every living thing upon this bloody layer
knows
of our Princess, can even describe her in detail, they can.” He rubbed his furrowed brow. “Yet, I’ve found no recent trace of the glorious little Angel I love. It’s maddening.”

“Aye, ye cause my wingtips tae tingle painfully, Brother, when ye speak of her thusly. I dunnae like it.”

Vareilious snorted. “I
dunnae
give a damn what you like, Brother. I’m not plagued with such a vile a thing as jealousy, least not as badly as you are. Get over it, skirt boy.” He shot a smirking glance toward Vittorio’s snow white kilt. “I love her. I’ve never kept that a secret. Not from anyone. She knows my heart and I know hers. Even if she were to run into your arms right now and give you the whole of her beautiful little soul, I’d go right on loving her… regardless.”

“Aye, then we’re of like-mind concerning the lass.” Vittorio grasped Vareilious’s proffered forearm. “Fear nae. We’ll nae live tae see the day she gives her precious heart tae either of us, Brother. That damnable
Blessing
of hers is more than any woman could handle, even our wee Angel.”

“Yeah. I swear, if I didn’t like him so much, I’d hate that cocky little, blue-winged,
perfect
creature.”

Vittorio laughed. “Aye, Brother.” He slapped Vareilious’s shoulder. “Fret nae. I hate him enough for the both of us.”

The bulky Gate Guardian just snorted, and smiled.

The mighty Vanir warriors now doubled their efforts and once more searched the whole of the third layer realm of Spadroon.