Darkyn's Mate

An image of Darkyn appeared forefront before the images swirled and began to play a disjointed movie. It showed him in battle, his hardened body moving with unearthly speed and agility against enemies that were obscured. He went from battle to the halls of Hell to a horse, leading a rebellion of the demon army across the mortal plane. She watched the battle with the Dark One - the one Darkyn lost - and saw him banished to the bowels of Hell. A born warrior, he earned his way out by honing his dealmaking skills. Battle made him ruthless; Hell made him shrewd.

She covered her eyes when she saw him take his demon form.

"To restrict his powers, he can move between Hell and the mortal world but not beyond without the permission of those deities who rule the other domains," Zamon continued. "He cannot enter Death's domain or other areas of the Immortal world without invitation. His magic is limited on the mortal world as well. He must rely upon physical prowess and dealmaking skills to lure Immortals and mortals to Hell in order to tap into the great stores of magic."

Darkyn spent much of his lifetime in battle, she noted. If not with Hell's enemies, then within the ranks of demons. He fought his way from a lowly demon to the position of Demon Lord and finally defeated the Dark One. Merciless, cutthroat, aggressive, he purged the oldest demons from the demon ranks. Any contender for the Dark One position was slaughtered by Darkyn personally. The demons remaining were all young and loyal, trained by him over the years. It made sense he was so skilled a warrior and dealmaker, if his magic was so limited in the mortal world.

Deidre watched the movie in both fascination and fear. Violence and command weren't second nature to Darkyn; they were his first. Her eyes traveled over the image of him training others, his whip-like upper body bare to reveal the roped muscles of his shoulders and chest, the tucked waist and flat abs. He wore black pants that hugged his lower body to reveal the lean hips and long, muscular legs. He was lean and agile. He handled weapons as if they were extensions of his body, never dropping them or misplacing a strike. He was a brutal disciplinarian with no more mercy for his demons than he showed humans who lost deals. He also generously awarded those who helped him win battles. His men were fanatically loyal, revering.

Watching him move made her blood heat. She'd never seen anything like it.

She glimpsed Selyn and even herself in his story. The image of him drawing her blood for the first time on the landing scared her. She'd been terrified that day, unaware she'd be mated to him twenty four hours later.