Page 18 of A Bond so Fierce and Fragile (Compelling Fates Saga #3)

Merrick

M errick immediately found those green eyes he’d feared were on this ship.

Fucking Torkher Sordensen.

Raine stiffened beside him, probably noting the same thing Merrick had.

Merrick cursed to himself, the grip he held on Lessia tightening.

They’d grown up with Torkher.

They were all bastards—Merrick, Raine, the twins, and Torkher—and their parents had died in war, either fighting or as civilian casualties. They’d all lived together in one of the training camps, being raised by the soldiers and commanders there.

Also like Merrick and his friends, Torkher had become one of the best soldiers, not just because of his strong mind gift but because he was truly skilled in battle, and his prowess with the sword even rivaled Merrick’s. But unlike himself and his friends, Torkher had not used his skills for good…

Or at least tried to.

That Fae wasn’t just trouble.

He was fucking evil.

His soul was nothing more than a blackened, shriveled lump of coal that even the souls dancing around Merrick wouldn’t touch—wouldn’t want anywhere near their realm.

As Merrick allowed a warning to vibrate in his throat when Torkher held his eyes, he also thought of how, growing up, he’d sometimes found comfort in Torkher’s evil.

It had helped to know true evil when Merrick feared he himself was turning rotten.

But now?

There was nothing comforting in the way Torkher tried to peek behind his back, continuing toward him and Lessia even when his king ordered the group to stop.

“Obey your master,” Merrick purred, forcing the numbing dread of knowing Torkher had been alone with Lessia out of his voice. “Otherwise…”

He let his magic free—let those greedy souls surround Torkher—although it proved more challenging, since some of them recoiled from his mere presence.

Still, those whispers whirred in the air, telling the Fae whatever they could to unsettle him, mocking his horrid mind.

But although Torkher stopped in his tracks, what appeared like an involuntary shudder running through him, he still threw his head back and cackled.

A madman’s cackle.

A male insane enough not to fear death.

Or a male broken enough…

Merrick had seen both before.

“I know death intimately, Death Whisperer,” Torkher said after his laughter faded with the wind. “You do not scare me.”

Pulling the reins on his magic, Merrick cocked his head. “Is that a challenge?”

“Perhaps.” Torkher looked over his shoulder at his king and the frozen group of Fae. “Or perhaps it’s an invitation. She begged for death, you know. Cried for us to kill her when we tortured her.”

Lessia’s breath hitched behind him, and Merrick’s whispers exploded across the ship again, so loud that two of the king’s highly trained guards covered their ears even as they gripped their swords.

“Yes,” Torkher continued, his glacial grin widening.

“I showed her again and again what will happen to you when she dies… She likes you quite a lot, you know. Truly is yours. I even took the liberty of putting your name on her. Remember? Like we did to our victims when we were young, to count them?”

Another sharp breath sounded behind him.

Merrick ground his teeth as he spun around, ready to explain, but his words stuck in his throat when Lessia only smiled at him, the sight still breathtaking, lighting up her bloodied face.

And when she said in a hoarse voice, “I claim that guard. I want to carve my name across his face,” Merrick had to fight that burning sensation behind his eyes again.

He was just waiting for Lessia to become frightened of him—to realize just who he was.

But she seemed to be too damned stubborn, and wasn’t he the luckiest fucking male in the realm for it.

Turning around again, Merrick realized his magic had snapped back without him needing to tug on it.

“You heard her,” Merrick said quietly. “Hopefully she’ll cut off your fucking dick and let you bleed to death first, though.”

A cough got stuck in Raine’s throat, and Merrick met his friend’s eyes for a brief second, realizing Raine was trying not to fucking laugh.

He rolled his eyes as he faced the group again, readying himself when Torkher stepped toward them.

“Enough,” the king snarled.

Torkher froze with one foot midair—almost as if the king’s order had tugged on a blood bond.

But Merrick knew better. Torkher was loyal in the way the king always sought from him and his friends, wholly and utterly without reservation.

Only the roar of water sounded around them as Merrick, Raine, Ardow, and even Lessia, who had somehow managed to sneak up to his side, stared at the king and his men, all other noises muted in the charged air that seemed to wrap the ship.

A sense of foreboding settled over Merrick, the sight too similar to the one they’d had a week or so ago, and he couldn’t help but step in front of Lessia again, his hand seeking her shoulder and holding on so tightly he was surprised she didn’t try to pull away.

“You’re not surviving this, Rioner.” Merrick couldn’t help an ember of smugness seeping into his sharp words.

Because the king wouldn’t survive this. Not with the fury driving Merrick. Not with Raine in his element.

Merrick hadn’t missed how two of the guards’ mental shields must have slipped as their eyes now flew across the deck, bright from fear, but their bodies remained still, relaxed even, as Torkher and the other guard snarled at Merrick’s words.

And the king wouldn’t survive Lessia’s determination, which Merrick could feel falling off her in waves.

She was angry too. Not in the raging, nearly uncontrollable way Merrick was, but in a guided, more focused way. As if there was only one thing she needed to achieve.

And from how her eyes remained locked on the king, even with Torkher trying to catch her gaze, Merrick knew precisely what it was.

You’ll get your revenge.

He’d told her that once.

He’d broken too many promises already, but he’d make sure he kept that one.

As if she could read his mind, Lessia placed one of her broken hands over his own and squeezed his fingers, and he couldn’t help but shoot her a quick smile and was immediately rewarded with one in return.

“Perhaps I won’t survive…” the king mused. “But perhaps neither will you. My brother was stupid enough to believe himself untouchable, and would you know? He’s dead. Not sure if your little mate there had the chance to tell you.”

Merrick had to hold Lessia back when she charged toward the king.

“Not yet,” he hissed as she struggled against him. “Soon. But not yet.”

“He killed him! He fucking… slit his throat!” she screamed, her eyes shifting color, but not into the beautiful gold of her magic.

Instead, they deepened, the amber turning into dark honey… the shade eerily similar to that of the uncle who now laughed at her from where he stood, still surrounded by his guards.

“I’m so sorry,” Merrick whispered urgently. “You will get your revenge. I promise. But you need to hold on a little longer.”

Lessia continued shaking her head, but after finally letting herself meet Merrick’s eyes, the movement slowed until she stopped struggling against his hold.

When her chin dipped, although barely perceptibly, Merrick allowed himself to look forward again.

His eyes narrowed on the guard closest to the king as he continued to let his arms loosely run up and down her sides, continued to try to get her calm enough to see what he and Raine had been trained on for so many centuries.

They needed a weak link.

While Raine and Merrick could probably take on other guards here themselves, Torkher would put up a real fight… and the king himself was not to be underestimated.

The one Merrick now focused on was a fire wielder.

Merrick didn’t know him, didn’t recognize his face, but the arms of his tunic were charred, and the scent of smoke that tinted the wind didn’t leave any question as to what he was.

But there was something about the way he moved that was familiar…

Not as if Merrick knew him, but as if… as if he’d known someone like him.

There was a hesitancy in how he stared at the king, something… unwilling in his stance.

Merrick’s elbow shot out to nudge Raine’s arm, and when Merrick glanced at his red-haired friend, Raine nodded, having noticed the same thing.

Leaning forward, closing any distance between himself and Lessia, Merrick pretended to kiss her cheek.

“That one is blood-sworn to him,” Merrick breathed.

Lessia didn’t respond, but the way her eyes shifted ever so slightly from the king when he straightened told him she’d understood.

If she released him from the oath, he’d probably switch sides.

Rioner feared the fire wielders almost as much as the mental Fae. Not that it was entirely surprising…

Being a water wielder, he could fight them, but Merrick had seen what some of the stronger ones could do during the wars he’d fought. Not even an entire sea could quell their destruction when they got started.

Something in the air shifted as Merrick flicked his eyes between the king, the fire wielder, the two guards Raine already was working on, and Torkher, and he was ready even before the king stated, “I guess we’ll see who survives in the end.”

Before whirling around, Merrick pressed his lips to Lessia’s, wishing for nothing more than time to devour them again. But the kiss lasted no more than half a second as the roar of fire began building behind them and he heard the familiar sound of Fae battle cries.

“Get to the fire wielder!” Merrick ordered Raine before catching Lessia’s eyes again. “And you two stay together!”

He didn’t have to ask twice before Ardow stormed up to Lessia’s side, the two of them looking far too young—and far too injured, in Lessia’s case—for this battle.

Merrick would do everything he could to ensure they wouldn’t have to fight—ideally lay both Torkher’s and the king’s heads at her feet—but he didn’t have time to decide on the best way of doing it before Torkher was upon him, his sword slicing far too close to Merrick’s gut for his liking.