A Soul to Protect: Duskwalker Brides: Book Seven, page 1
A Soul to Protect
Duskwalker Brides
Book Seven
Opal Reyne
Copyright © 2024 by Opal Reyne
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
ISBN: 978-0-9756630-0-4
This book is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
No AI was used in any part of the creation of this book. The author also doesn’t give permission for anyone to upload their books, covers, or commissioned art to AI training sites.
Cover art: Sam Griffin
Editing/Proofreader: Messenger’s Memos
Author’s note on language
I’m from AUSTRALIA.
My English is not the same as American English.
I love my American English spoken readers to bits. You’re cute, you all make me giggle, and I just wanna give you a big ol’ hug. However, there are many of you who don’t seem to realise that your English was born from British English, which is what I use (although a bastardised version since Australians like to take all language and strangle it until it’s a ruined carcass of slang, missing letters, and randomly added o’s).
We don’t seem to like the letter z.
We write colour instead of color. Recognise instead of recognize. Travelling instead of traveling. Skilful instead of skillful. Mum instead of mom. Smelt is a past participle of smell. We omit the full-stop in Mr. Name, so it’s Mr Name. Aussies cradle the word cunt like it’s a sweet little puppy, rather than an insult to be launched at your face.
Anyway, happy reading!
Trigger Warning
Major spoiler below
Please only read further if you have triggers, otherwise you will seriously spoil the book for yourself.
Firstly, I will list what triggers AREN’T in the book so you can stop reading in order not to spoil it: No purposeful harm done between the characters, torture, physical abuse, cheating, suicide, abortion, incest, drug/alcohol abuse, ow drama, or child harm. No main character death.
Please consider stopping here if your trigger has been detailed above as the rest are major spoilers.
This book contains sensitive and triggering details revolving around rape and domestic violence. None of which is done by our sweet and caring Duskwalker.
I do not go into any flashbacks or on page details, so as to not disturb the reader too deeply. I’ve attempted to skirt around it as best and as respectfully as I can. However, this trauma is quite startling, and the healing process is hard to swallow. Linh doesn’t wish to look back on it, but it is there. You will go through her healing with her, and there may be potential triggers revolving around particular, heart-wrenching details. She is depressed, but quite a sunshine despite her pain.
I also try to combat this with humour, and as much heartwarming and very naughty smut as I could shove into the book.
Nathair is suffering from a special kind of Duskwalker eating disorder. It is not like a human eating disorder. He is also suffering through a magical disorder involving voices, that sometimes lead to accidental self-harm.
There is a vorarephilia and snake phobia triggers – due to Nathair being part serpent. However, I have tried to make him very sexy, so hopefully this is a quality many are able to overlook!
Breeding kink. One anal scene. Epilogue pregnancy.
As always with my books, there is gore.
To all the serpent loving MonsterFuckers out there,
this book is for you.
Will he have one peen or two peens? Will he coil his long tail around you for some sweet, therapeutic cuddles, or will he smother you with his lust? One thing is for certain, he is big, he is long, and he is deadly.
Enjoy our danger-noodle.
I would like to give a big shoutout to the wonderful sensitivity readers who helped to make this book a safe place for those I am trying to positively represent. As you all know, representation is a big part of what I want to do, but I want to do so in a way that isn’t harmful.
Thank you to Susan, Marcella, Emily, Sue, Charna, and Amanda for your contribution towards Asian sensitivity.
Thank you to Rosie, Jonah, Kay, and Rebecca for your contribution towards disability sensitivity.
I would also like to give a special thank you to Crystal for your contribution towards BIPOC, disability, and overall sensitivity.
I appreciate all the time and effort you put into helping me with this book. You will forever have a place in my heart.
Curled up at the bottom of his lake, Nathair attempted to ignore his creator’s bellowing. Leave me be.
The gills on both sides of his neck opened and closed, yet he couldn’t perceive the comforting flow of water easing in and out of them. His lungs, which usually expanded and compressed on land, were still as oxygen entered his bloodstream from the capillaries connected to his gills.
Then again, if he so chose it, his lungs could have remained still within Tenebris. Much like missing the comforting flow of water, he breathed on the land within the afterworld to attempt a sense of normality.
Normality he was never given – until the abnormality had become life. Until it was all he knew.
“Nathair!” Weldir yelled once more, likely standing next to Nathair’s flat lazing rock.
He just rolled his head before burrowing beneath the coil of his tail even further to block him out. Hopefully Weldir didn’t come to stand under the water as if it didn’t exist, since he’d done that a few times with his hands on his hips to show vexation at Nathair’s antics.
Why must he insist on speaking with me when it is obvious I do not wish to? Were those not the actions of a foolishly insane being? To repeatedly do something, to persist over centuries, despite the result never changing?
Nathair was tired of repeated conversations. He was exhausted of learning about the outside world beyond Weldir’s soul-confining stomach. What use was there in sharing with Nathair the new thing the deity had discovered?
The world suddenly came out from under him as he was sucked to the surface against his will. Nathair clawed at the dirt to keep himself beneath the surface, only to be dumped on land seconds later. Droplets didn’t stick to his scales, but rather dragged off him when he was unwillingly forced from the lake.
In a rapid strike, he orientated himself, spun to Weldir, and hissed. Two fangs, long and once deadly, fell from the roof of his maw. His lower jaw segments split in the middle, revealing the patch of flesh that kept them together.
Weldir, the little shit, bashed the bottom of his chalky fist against the top of Nathair’s skull so hard he was sent hurdling to the ground.
“Don’t hiss at me, you ill-mannered snake,” Weldir growled.
Opening and closing his maw, Nathair mocked him by pretending to speak as he lifted himself on straightened arms. With his orbs an angry crimson, his tail slithered underneath his body until he was able to support his humanoid torso. Then Nathair threw his arms to the side, silently asking what he wanted.
All the while, Nathair ignored the chatter in the back of his mind – dozens of voices that refused to relent. The cause of his lack of voice, the screams that overshadowed his own. The mess of memories that tangled with the few he knew belonged to him.
Some moments, his will to hold them back was strong. If he went without a long rest, they broke through the metaphorical barrier of his will, and ate him alive. Which, given the fact he rarely slept, was quite often.
He’d been suffering a sleepless life for what felt like eons.
Weldir, a cloudy version of himself with a chalky centre, glared at him. Nearing Weldir’s usual eight-foot height, they saw eye to orb. Staring into Weldir’s black eyes, that didn’t show a single bit of white nor iris, had once been daunting. They were like voids, an abyss that stared back at him, threatening to suck Nathair into their dark depths.
Now, they just irked him.
“Good,” Weldir stated, nodding his head in approval. “I can see you’re lucid today.”
Lucid? Rarely. His mind was never stable, and even now it threatened to weakly collapse. I wish he would hurry. I need more rest.
After teasing Aleron, his silly sibling, he’d used up his rare lucidity to... play with him. He chuckled every time he remembered. Although he was sure Aleron would be rather annoyed for quite some time, it was one of the few new memories he’d obtained in Tenebris that wasn’t soaked in boredom or a haze.
He’d forever cherish it.
An image flashed within Nathair’s grip on his sight, and he winced at the blur of it speeding past. Once quiet, a scream bombarded his senses. He managed to swiftly wrangle it back where it belonged – in his subconscious.
Noticing some kind of tell, even though Nathair hadn’t moved a muscle, Weldir sighed.
“I wish I could give you back your voice,” Weldir grumbled, remaining unmoving as well. He didn’t often move, as if the urge only came consciously, rather than an instinctual muscle reaction like every other living creature.
Wanting to get past the useless repetition of Weldir’s wants and wishes, since he’d b
The point, Weldir, he thought.
The sign language they’d created was unique. Nathair had been here for hundreds of years, and without his voice for much of it. Weldir hadn’t liked that he couldn’t speak with his own child, so they made what Weldir liked to call ‘Nathair speak.’
Nathair had no idea if he was speaking an actual sign language from a specific country, but doubted it, as he and Weldir created many of the gestures themselves. He also used his orb colour changes purposefully, since he didn’t have skin upon his face to mimic an emotion to go with them.
This, unfortunately, meant he couldn’t sign like a human.
“I want to preface this with the truth: I am unsure of what will happen, or if it will work,” Weldir started, holding up a clawed finger. “I also ask that you do not take this in the worst way possible, but I am choosing you to experiment with, as you have no earthly ties.”
Purposefully shifting his orbs to a dark yellow to signify his curiosity, he tilted his serpent skull.
Weldir noted it and then shook his head. “It is not that I care less about you. Aleron has Ingram, and they are not doing well apart. Should something go wrong, this gives me a chance to try again without damaging his soul. You have been here for so long that I wish the best for you as well, but...”
Nathair raised his hand to stop him.
He understood, and he also cared very little about whatever reasonings he had. He trusted in Weldir’s judgement, trusted that if he put him in a dangerous situation, he had the best intentions.
He had no reason to think otherwise.
He refuses to let go of his guilt. It was not Weldir’s fault that he didn’t know destroying a Mavka’s skull would kill them. Yet, he always tried to make amends, while never being able to, since the only way was to bring Nathair back to life.
Nathair tapped his dominant index finger on top of his left wrist, telling him to hurry up.
“Fine. Here.” Weldir brought his chalky hands forward, and a skull materialised within his palms.
Cupping the lower segments of his jaw, Nathair lowered his torso to gain a closer look at his own skull. The last time I saw this, it was in pieces. It had once been harrowing to look upon it, but he’d gotten over it. Nearly two hundred and eighty years had passed, and he’d long ago accepted it.
He’d also forgiven Merikh, as neither had known what would happen. The truth was, Nathair could have been the one to kill Merikh had he ever grabbed his bear skull hard enough to shatter it. That journey of acceptance and forgiveness had been long, but one he made in the many years he’d been here.
Nathair pointed a claw at the multiple golden hairline cracks keeping it together, noticing it glittered in a way that was unnatural for ore.
“I asked Aleron to meet with the Gilded Maiden, and she offered me a fragment of her crown. In doing so, she has given me the ability to repair your skull. My theory is that I should be able to use her magic and my own to bond your soul back to your skull.”
Nathair pointed to the ground, then his sternum, before he moved his hand in a circle just in front of his skull. Then he fisted his hand and pulled it to his abdomen before pointing down to the ground. This is my skull. You kept it for this?
Nathair leaned back and folded his arms in thought.
“Yes. I held onto it in hopes I could one day bring you back with it.” Then Weldir peeked down at it as if inspecting it, his voice quietening as he said, “If it’s successful, I can then also return Aleron to his twin.”
Ughhh. Nathair dropped his head to the side in annoyance and audibly groaned. I have little interest in being returned.
His life here in the afterworld wasn’t too bad. Sure, there was no progress, but it was also peaceful. He rested, and he rather liked being lazy. Other than hunting, he did exactly what he’d done on Earth – which was nothing but sunbake. He had no need for goals, as he never truly had one to begin with.
Much had changed in the afterworld. He’d watched it grow, change, and form with every new soul Weldir consumed and drew power from.
It had once been dark in many places where no light or shadow could reach. Just a vast amount of nothingness. Nathair had watched it change into the bright world it currently was and had even helped partially shape it. He’d demanded lakes and waterfalls to play in, even if the water was false and felt unnatural.
If this helps the bat-skull Mavka, then I will assist. It was the only reason Nathair would agree to it. He’d feel guilty if he didn’t try, and then that would gnaw on his conscience like a scale ache.
He was tired of feeling guilty for his siblings’ sake, as he was quite aware of how his death had twisted Merikh into a spiteful being.
I can just be lazy in the living world as well.
“Lindiwe will be waiting for you when you come back to life,” Weldir explained. Seeing Nathair had easily been won, Weldir brought his detached skull closer. “Should you need anything, she will be there for you.”
As if he was putting on a hat, or perhaps a well-fitted shoe, the skull clung to his form as though it longed for its owner. There was no resistance. Although he didn’t look much different to himself, he instantly noted how his claw tips turned ghostly.
Before long, an orange spectral form completely covered him, and his head felt... heavier. He lifted his hand to inspect how his soul covered his entire body and wasn’t a tiny flame.
“How do you feel?” Weldir asked as he floated back.
Nathair shrugged in answer. Perhaps due to still being within Tenebris, the biggest change was that his gut twisted with hunger. I remember it being worse before.
However, the moment he was taken from Weldir’s stomach and set upon the living world, Nathair’s sense of smell bombarded him. That gut twist rotated further. Hunger, more prevalent now that he’d been without it for so long, became cruel and unrelenting within his mind.
A sharp gust of wind rustled the frosted autumn foliage around him, and it was entirely too loud compared to the muteness of Tenebris. The bright sun was somehow blinding, and the scents of the grass, the dirt, and the trees were too strong against his inexperienced senses.
And the chill... the one that surrounded him due to the oncoming winter, invaded him like blades beneath each of his scales. His lukewarm-bloodedness, the reason he instinctually sought the sun and warmth, shoved in like an ice shard lancing his sternum. It shattered and bled coolness within him.
The lucidity he’d gained a solid grip on was released, and he let out a roar when chatter instantly made him squirm.
Red infiltrated his sight as he gripped his skull, clawing at it, needing to silence it. He didn’t care how. He bashed it against the ground, the nearest thick tree trunk. Even if it broke him once more, he wanted his skewed peace back!
He pleaded, he begged, but those words never left his thoughts. His whines of pain, of distress, all of which broke low in his throat and chest, echoed within the forest. His mind’s speaking was still present, but he could no longer project it past his skull.
Had he not gorged on dozens of souls during a time in which Weldir had rested, this never would have happened. He’d hurt his creator by doing so, had prolonged his weakened rest, and hurt himself in the process.
Nathair would never have gained the humanity, intelligence, or knowledge he now possessed. A blessing yet a terrible curse that outweighed it.
He’d been hurtled into a much brighter mental state, yet it had cracked his mind. Weldir had rescued him at his worst. When the memories of all the souls he’d consumed ate away at Nathair’s consciousness, his subconscious, and every part of his mind, Weldir had removed all that he could.
Unfortunately, scars had been left behind. Ruminative fragments. Memories that refused to leave him, voices that had pestered him for centuries until they blended with his own. He’d been many people, had faced many deaths. He became them, or they became him, and they never ceased, never left him be.
And, as he was thrown back into the chaos of life, they, too, demanded a chance to live it.
