Hollen the Soulless: A Fantasy Romance (Dokiri Brides Book 1)

by Denali Day

  He was no artist, but he’d worked the images to his satisfaction, and the result held a crude beauty that he hoped his bride would come to appreciate. The blade itself was razor sharp. He’d seen to that. Few things hurt more than a dull blade, and when used to perform a rite, the resulting scar was often mottled beyond recognition.

  Hollen continued to dig through his pack. He withdrew a wine skin, a wooden bowl, squares of cloth, and a tiny clay bottle sealed with wax. Though he had everything he needed, Hollen lingered on the ground, pretending to search for additional items. He was stalling.

  Don’t be a coward.

  With a steadying breath he rose to his feet, the five items in hand. Joselyn’s eyes took stock. He saw panic there, though she tried to conceal it. He took care to give her a wide berth as he walked back. Still, she took a step away. He continued toward the trickling stream of water that poured from the cave’s ceiling.

  The edge of the pool was mossy where he knelt and set the items down. He removed the knife from its leather sheath and dipped the steel blade into the pool. Joselyn’s gaze regarded him as he recited the first portion of the tanshi rite in his father tongue. The words were memorized from an early age and they came smoothly.

  Helig, mother of the earth

  Regna, father of the sky

  As water is the tie that binds you

  Let it bind me now to my bride.

  Before rising, he filled the wooden bowl with water from the ancient pool. He turned, stood, and placed his items on the black granite altar’s shining surface.

  Joselyn stood like a doe caught in a predator’s sights, poised to run. He looked her in the eye and recounted the rite in trade tongue so she would understand. Her lips parted as he brought the blade tip to his chest, just above his heart.

  The savage drew the blade tip down upon his own flesh. The area he’d chosen was conspicuously bare, as though it had been reserved for this specific purpose. A scarlet line appeared along his path as he carved upon himself.

  Joselyn gaped. She checked Hollen’s face for a reaction. His expression was neutral, his chin pressed into his chest as he focused on his task. Blood trickled down to the top of his pants. Had years of such savagery trained him not to feel the pain? Her stomach churned even as a thrill of hope fluttered to life. Had she misunderstood him? Perhaps he’d never meant to mark her, only himself?

  It was over before long. He put the knife down and cupped his right hand beneath the dripping stream of blood. When he’d collected enough, he flicked the dark drops onto the altar’s surface, muttering something in his language. He’d referenced gods she had never heard of, and Joselyn wondered if his people only worshiped the two.

  She watched as he poured half the bowl’s water down his chest, washing away most of the blood. His new mark glowed pink. It was just smaller than her palm and had a delicate quality that set it apart from the others. She squinted to make out its details. He’d used maybe a dozen lines in all, each crossing the other like a cord of braided rope.

  He turned toward her, holding out his dry hand. He curled his fingers and beckoned her forward. “Come, mu hamma.”

  Joselyn’s heart seized and her knees locked. She shook her head once. Dropping his hand, he sighed, took a step toward her. Joselyn took one back. He stopped and cocked a brow.

  “Do you mean to run from me?”

  Joselyn worried her lower lip between her teeth. Running was pointless. He would catch her, just as he had in the tunnel. She’d once seen a wolf stalking a deer through a meadow. The deer had frozen when it noticed the wolf creeping forward. It wasn’t until the stag sprinted away that the wolf’s complete ferocity was awakened. She didn’t want to incite the full measure of this man’s violence upon her.

  And yet, she couldn’t make herself go to him. If he intended to mark her as he had himself, Dante Viridian would have questions. No natural accident could cause such a scar. If she told him the truth, her virtue would be instantly called into question, jeopardizing the alliance and her father’s life. She could think of no reasonable explanation that might lay a husband’s curiosity to rest. Within the cloak, her hands grew damp.

  Hollen approached with slow, steady steps. Joselyn stood erect, her arms plastered to her sides. When he stopped, she had to tilt her head to look into his eyes.

  “Please,” she begged, “don’t.” Joselyn had never begged for a thing in her life. Not even for her parent’s love. But here she was, pleading for this barbarian’s mercy, if indeed he had any to give.

  Hollen frowned down at her. “I must. We are both cursed if I do not.”

  She didn’t believe in any curse. But he did. He wouldn’t be dissuaded. A cold sweat broke out across her flesh.

  This is going to happen. You can’t stop it. Only survive it.

  When he took her by the elbow, she jerked away and fixed him with a glare so icy he stilled. His eyes widened with the barest hint of surprise.

  Dignity, Joselyn.

  Inclining her chin, she marched toward the altar. As she peered down at the ivory hilted knife, Hollen’s footsteps came up behind her.

  “It is a gneri blade, for performing rites. It will become yours in time.”

  Joselyn said nothing. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of her interest. Still, what circumstances would lead him to provide her with a knife? How foolish. Were she confident of her speed, she might turn it on him even now. But, no. She would have to be more careful than that.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when he offered her the wineskin. She shook her head, not trusting whatever lay inside. She wouldn’t put it past him to drug her. He laid the sack in the grass. A moment of hesitation and he began pulling at the cloak he’d given her. As he peeled it back, it caught on her elbows.

  Breathe, Joselyn. Just breathe.

  Closing her eyes, she relaxed enough to let the sleeves slide off her arms. Hollen dropped the garment to the ground behind her. The cool air sent a chill over her body and she crossed her arms. Her dress was rich crimson velvet with a gold embroidered hemline. The colors of House Fury. Far from her best, it was still a fine gown easily worth years of a servant’s wages. The neckline rose to a few inches below her collarbone.

  Hollen turned her toward himself, and she opened her eyes to see him studying her hard. He wasn’t looking at her so much as her dress. His eyes scanned back and forth, a puzzled expression on his face. He was trying to figure out how to open her gown.

  Later she might appreciate that the mark was placed somewhere intimate and out of sight, but for now, her cheeks went hot with dread. Hollen brought his hand up and hooked two fingers around her neckline, then pulled to see if it would give. She slapped his hand away, temper flashing.

  “What is it you’re trying to do?” she snapped.

  Startled, his mouth dropped open. An enormous measure of satisfaction surged within her, until he regained his composure and pointed to the fresh wound he’d given himself. Still uncovered, half-dried blood oozed.

  “Your mark must match my own. Above the heart.”

  The heat in her cheeks set her eyes to stinging. She bit her lip. She would shed no tears in front of this man. She turned her back to him and untied the binding which held a layer of velvet over the dress’s opening. Joselyn pulled her long hair over the front of her shoulder and exposed the lacing which bound the dress together. The tight weave stretched from the top of her spine to just below the small of her back. Joselyn’s maids were responsible for helping her in and out of her clothes, as most of them were made in such a manner. She wouldn’t be able to undo her gown alone.

  Reaching over her shoulder, she pointed at the top of the crisscrossing ties. He seemed to understand and reached to undo them. His calloused fingertips brushed the nape of her neck as he pulled the cords loose. He worked in silence, and the dress hung looser the farther he went. Joselyn held the material to her chest. There was nothing she could do. Her cotton under-shift would preserve her modesty, for however much lo
nger.

  When Hollen reached a point halfway down her back, he stopped and circled around to face her. His breath had gone thready as though he were the one being disrobed by a stranger.

  “Is that enough?” His voice was hoarse.

  Joselyn blinked. Dare she believe he’d allow her to remain mostly covered? She’d hoped but hadn’t expected. She dipped her head once, tentative.

  Hollen bent down and swept her up in his arms. Joselyn gasped. It was all she could do to keep her clothing anchored to her chest as he set her immediately down upon the altar. The back of her dress gaped fully open as she leaned forward, pressing her body into her knees. She grimaced at the sight of his blood soaking into her gown.

  “Lie down.” He directed her with a palm against her shoulder.

  Joselyn’s unbound tresses spilled out around her upon the altar’s gleaming surface. She began panting, her fear evolving into panic. The ancient tree’s green canopy hung overhead, and she searched for a part of it to focus on.

  Hollen walked around the altar to her left side. He took one of the fists that clutched her dress to her breasts. He pulled at it with a gentle, but growing determination as she involuntarily resisted. When her hand came away, it was still gripping the fabric and Hollen had to use both his hands to uncurl her fingers. She released the material, shaking wildly.

  Hollen pressed her palm to the cool stone and stroked his thumb over her knuckles. He shushed her as one might a frightened child and murmured soothing words in his own language. Joselyn didn’t look at him. It took every bit of her composure to remain where she was. She loosened her right hand’s grip, but couldn’t bring herself to set it at her side. He didn’t try to make her. Instead he reached for the ivory blade.

  When he pulled down the neckline of her under-shift, Joselyn cursed the tear that slipped from the corner of one eye. Her gaze flickered down, and she saw that her breast was not totally exposed, only what was necessary for his task. She willed herself to keep still, hoping to preserve her modesty. Her golden pendant hung to the side. The engraved dragon glared up at her captor.

  I am Lady Fury of House Fury. I am a dragon.

  Yet here she was. Helpless. Submitting, if only in the flesh. Her spirit burned like the fire spewing past her dragon’s fangs.

  This isn’t the end, Joselyn. You’re not defeated yet.

  Hollen pressed his fingertips into her collarbone and walked them down her chest. Counting her ribs, she realized. He stopped in the soft flesh of her upper breast. Joselyn’s shoulders tensed. She’d never been touched so intimately. Hollen brought the blade tip to her skin and spoke smoothly in his language, then translated.

  “In blood I claim you.

  In blood you receive me.”

  She looked at him then. His dark eyes were fixed upon her. His gaze was neither troubled nor triumphant. Rather it was filled with longing, as though she held in her hands the power to grant or deny him everything he’d ever hoped for. Though she lay against her will, half exposed before this man, she had the sudden impression that it was he who was at her mercy.

  When he pressed the cool point into her flesh, every muscle in Joselyn’s body tightened. She gasped through gritted teeth and nearly came up from the altar. Only his massive hand lying solidly upon her chest kept her in place, and her own hands at bay. Unable to stop herself, she whimpered.

  “Shh, mu hamma,” he coaxed. “It will be over quickly.”

  Joselyn returned her focus to the leaves above her. She willed herself to be still. Writhing would cause greater damage and prolong this horrific ordeal. Hollen’s dark head hung low over her body, his gaze intensely focused on his task. As her captor worked her over, Joselyn was somewhat relieved. The pain was not as great as she had anticipated, though she still trembled beneath his touch. A stream of warm blood rolled across her chest and over her shoulder.

  True to his word, the rite was over in minutes. The knife clattered against the stone surface as Hollen reached next for the wooden bowl. He poured the remainder of its contents over the burning wound. The water cleared away the blood, soaking into the dress as well as her hair.

  Could she look down? Confirm that now, whether she escaped or not, she would never fully rid herself of this nightmare? In her periphery, the savage grabbed a small bottle. A strong, earthy fragrance wafted from the container as he worked a bit of green sludge onto his fingers. Joselyn winced as he smoothed the concoction over the mark. At once, the stinging heat of the cuts subsided.

  He set the bottle down and Joselyn finally gathered the nerve to inspect his handiwork. Her blood was already congealing, perhaps aided by the thin layer of green poultice. Though obscured, Joselyn could see that the bonding mark matched Hollen’s in shape and size. It appeared slightly larger on her small frame. She blinked. This was it. It was done. She would have to find a way to explain this to her intended if she were to save her house and her father’s life.

  Joselyn’s chest heaved with fury. How dare he? This man had threatened more than her body. He threatened her father, her house, her future. At last she met his eyes, cursing him with her own. He didn’t shrink away, the demon.

  “Now we are bonded,” he breathed, the ghost of a smile upon his face.

  6

  Bloody Savages

  Hollen stared down at his bride. So defiant. He decided then, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Her long hair spilled out around her in a fiery halo. Freckles smattered her face and spread down her throat, across her pale chest. Her breasts. He’d never touched anything softer. It had taken every shred of his willpower to refrain from sliding her dress down just a bit farther. Had his bride been even a bit less terrified, he wasn’t certain he could have resisted.

  “You are so beautiful.” Regna, he wanted to touch her, to brush his thumb across her cheek and over the pink swell of her parted lips.

  Her glower vanished, and startled confusion replaced it. Then she narrowed her eyes. “Is it over?”

  “Yes.”

  Without thinking, he reached for her hand. She rolled away and stretched the bodice of her dress up high as she did. She struggled to sit up and Hollen reached across the altar to help. The moment his hands touched her she recoiled. Hollen let go, fingers curling.

  “You did well.” He willed her to respond.

  His bride sat with her legs dangling over the side, still and silent. Gooseflesh broke out across her bared shoulders. It was the push he needed. He stepped around the altar and went to his pack to dig for the clothing he’d brought her. Few Dokiri brides were appropriately dressed for the harsh climate of the mountains upon their claiming. Riders came prepared with everything a woman would need to clothe herself.

  Joselyn’s head hung between her shoulders. She kept an eye on him as he approached, clothing in hand. He placed the violet wool dress and furs next to her, as well as a pair of lambskin boots designed to reach the knee.

  “Your fine gown will not warm you here.”

  Joselyn leaned away from the offering. “I’m fine.”

  Hollen huffed and pointed at her wet attire. “You’ll freeze come nightfall. You have to change.”

  “I would rather freeze,” she said, her mouth pressed in a hard line.

  Irritation welled. His bride was being unreasonable. The clothes he’d brought her were of exceptional quality and would protect her from the dangerous frosts. Her own gown was thin, wet, and now had blood on it, though that was invisible against the red velvet material. Surely she had sense enough to know she must give in. Why would she refuse?

  “I’ll not watch you dress,” he told her, even as his mind whined in protest.

  She cocked her head as if to say, “Do you really expect me to believe that?”

  “Your old life is gone, Joselyn. You must survive this new one.”

  Once again, she looked away, her refusal plain.

  Hollen sighed, his jaw working. He stared hard at her and considered his next words. “You’ll dress yourself
or I’ll dress you.”

  Her head snapped up at that. Her cheeks glowed red. Hollen raised his brow in a dare.

  “Give me an excuse, woman. I’m dying to know what my bride looks like.”

  He reached for the pile of folded clothing. Joselyn snatched them up and hugged them to herself. Hollen smirked. She glowered in return.

  Hollen busied himself with building the fire back up. He could hear soft rustling as she slid the materials around her body. He itched to sneak a glance over his shoulder, but something told him his bride’s eyes were fixed in his direction, and that she would know instantly if he did. Her trust in him was already abysmal. His curiosity could wait.

  When she’d finished, Joselyn approached the fire and sat upon her knees. She kept her focus on the flames before her. Clad in the garb of his people, she looked every bit a Dokiri bride. Her woolen dress was fitted over a long-sleeved under-shift and was secured along the sides by lacing cord which allowed it to adjust for varying sizes. It fit her well, as did the leather boots which poked from beneath her skirts. Hollen smiled. Her hair was a mess.

  He handed her a comb carved from bone that he had traded for with his brother. She took it and began working at the tangles of her long mane.

  “Do you not fear freezing?” she asked, her eyes skirting across his bare torso.

  “Not here,” he said.

  “Then why should I?”

  “You’re a lowlander. It will be a long time before you’re accustomed to the cold of the mountain.”

  When she’d re-formed the long braid, they sat a while in silence. Again, Hollen offered her food which she continued to refuse. What to do now? The sky, which could be seen through cracks in the cavern’s ceiling, was growing dark, and the fire he’d built cast wildly flickering shadows upon the ground and on the tree above them. Since he could not make her eat, he turned his attention to preparing their sleeping place for the night.