Chapter Nineteen

By the Fire

Alodie stayed by the fire while the sun prepared to give way to the moon. Many of the men were out on the shore, having had their fill in the hall and settling in for a night with their ale and mead. Before they began drinking freely, they stood on the shore and thanked their gods.

The trees and rocks and view of the sea were similar to what she’d known all her life, but also utterly strange. In the sand, bigger pebbles were scattered through the fine grains. The trees were different—nearly all pines, straggly and spindly.

It did not look fertile or promising. What kept people trying to eke out a life in such an environment?

“There’s no place to go.”

She started at the sound of the deep voice addressing her and snapped her attention to the demon leader. Alodie bit her lip. How had her face betrayed her thoughts in such detail?

He didn’t look up from what he was doing, carving little lines into the stone he’d found when they’d taken to land after the storm. It must have been a pattern of some kind that meant something to him. Maybe a token for one of his hateful heathen gods.

“And if you try to run, I will catch you again. It will be futile.”

Oh. He thought she was surveying the terrain in order to plan another escape attempt.

A vision flashed in her mind—them together again in the darkness, their bodies pressed together, the scent of him filling her awareness, and the closeness of him making her know herself as a woman with animal appetites.

It was exactly what had been haunting her dreams.

Horrible, rotten, unholy demon of a man. She needed to put a quick end to the plague of sinful thoughts.

“I’m not fool enough to try to flee in a land unknown to me.”

He stopped carving for a moment and stared into the fire, words coming out with a resigned flatness. “Desperation makes fools of us all.”

The reply sparked curiosity and her attention upon him intensified. She fought to stamp out the flames. She did not want to understand him. He didn’t deserve that. The demon had ripped her away from her life for his own selfish reasons. He was not worth her curiosity.

“You speak from your own experience, no doubt.”

She’d meant it as a barb, but he made no indication he’d heard her.

No, she did not want to know anything about him. She merely wanted to cling to him and move with him as every stroke of his body within hers sent her spiraling toward rapture.

If Eve had felt like this in the Garden of Eden, mankind had been destined to fall from the very beginning.

Alodie ground her teeth together. She should be stronger. What could purge her of this hateful longing? She pulled herself into a ball, resting her chin upon her knees, arms about her shins, as if to save herself from drowning.

She let go and ran her fingers through the sand. Her fingers found a pebble. She tossed it into the fire before them. The wind picked up, coaxing the flames higher.

“We’ll be home tomorrow.”

“Your home. Never mine.”

“You make your own choices as to what you will think, of course.”

“Let’s discuss the matter of choice, shall we?” Snapping at him came with no rush of relief. It was like fat sizzling and popping on an overheated iron. “On second thought, let’s not. You have no right to talk to me on the subject. Not now, not ever. You stole me. And don’t you dare broach the subject of forgiveness with me.”

“Forgiveness is not something I ask of you.” He resumed scraping the knife over stone.

“Good. Because you’ll never have it.” Alodie all but tasted the determination of her permanent dislike for him. “Which leaves us free to discuss your choices.”

Beyond them to the west, the setting sun bruised the horizon.

“Whatever you accuse me of, I am no doubt guilty.” He went silent. The fire cracked and spit sparks every time another burst of wind came up from shore.

“Of far worse.”

“Far worse, indeed.” He bowed his head, ran his fingers through his sun-kissed locks, then lifted his face toward her. His eyes took on a faraway look and his voice dropped. “Part of me wants to keep you with me always.”

Alodie would not let a moment’s vulnerability soften her heart. If all she had were her words to tear him apart, by God, she’d use them. “You’re a pigheaded brute if you think anyone in my position would come to you with dewy eyes and lovelorn sighs. You have the intelligence of an onion and the allure to match.”