Devil's Angel Read Online Free

hammered at her will.
    Erika welcomed the pain. At least it kept her from dwelling too much on her failure.
    Without opening her eyes, she sensed her surroundings. Her neck, legs and arms were shackled together, with just enough length in the chain to allow her to lie in sparse straw. She wore only a thin shift too small for her and a blanket riddled with holes. Stalks of straw pierced through the threadbare material and into the skin of her legs and back. Tightness surrounded the aches in her right leg, left arm and left side. Bandages.
    Someone had treated her, Erika realized. Why go to the trouble of healing a prisoner? Why hadn’t the tall warrior killed her when he had the chance?
    She remembered the hill. She saw Larangar take a thrust to the chest. A cold certainty told her that her dearest friend was dead. But what of Olan? What of her twin?
    She struggled to remember. After his mail broke, deflecting a blow meant for her, several arrows had hit Olan. Yet she could still, weakly, sense her twin in the back of her head, the sense that told her he was alive.
    Lars dead, Olan near death, herself captured—and to what purpose? She had failed in her duty, failed to destroy the vile creature that ravaged the poor village they had ridden through. She had promised the villagers vengeance, and she had failed them.
    The failure cut deeply. Never before in her life had she been unable to fulfill a vow she’d made.
    Mentally she cursed her fate. In her mind she could still see him, the towering warrior who was her nemesis. As tall as Larangar and Olan—who were considered giants—her personal demon had been dressed completely in black, with dark hair spilling past his shoulders, eyes like thunderclouds and a menacing scar that ran from his left temple through his close-cropped beard to his chin. He fit closely to what the Irish monks described as the Christian devil.
    Erika ground her teeth in frustration, for a moment close to tears. Angrily, she brushed them away. Tears would not save her, not from a man heartless enough to ransack a village full of women and children. She forced herself to remain still, even though the pain made her want to writhe and scream in agony. Her mind raced with plans, for she knew that while there was breath left in her body, there was still opportunity for vengeance.
    She would make the Devil pay for what he did. Or she would die trying.
     
     
    By the feeble light of a single torch, Conor watched the Valkyrie feign sleep. The earthen room, scarce large enough for both of them, had no windows and only one heavy, ironbound wooden door. Light was not a common occurrence for the occupants of this pit. Yet the light found her, illuminating the silvery braid and pale skin, making her seem an apparition.
    The shift Gwynna had found for her was too thin and too small. He could see the supple length of her legs beneath its hem. Even in the sputtering light, he noticed the flat stomach and a surprising small waist for so tall a woman. He could also see the firm, high breasts that pushed against the flimsy fabric of the bodice.
    How long had she walked the warrior’s path? Years, ’twas certain. Her grace with a sword could not be learned in a year’s time. Yet if a sword did not protect a man at all times, truer than true it would not protect a woman. How many men, he wondered, had she given herself to when her sword proved useless?
    He felt the desire that had sprung alive in him and shook his head, erasing his sudden need. He had been too long without a woman if he was attracted to this bloodthirsty wench.
    His anger returned as he remembered the faces of the dead. “Open your eyes, Angel of Death,” he ordered. “I know you are awake.”
    Against her better judgment, Erika obeyed the harsh command. Every part of her body ached, even her hair. Opening her eyes only intensified the torment. But she would look upon the face of evil and prove herself unafraid.
    Her devil, she discovered, was a