Storm of Fury: Dragon Shifter Romance (Legends of the Storm Book 4)

by Bec McMaster

  Tormund put a hand over his face. “Aunt.”

  My gods. This was worse than he’d expected.

  “What?” Brunhild asked. “She is big and beautiful and has wonderful hips. And if my Haakon has been running you ragged, he has probably not had time to feed her either.”

  Bryn stared at the potatoes as though she wasn’t sure what her hips had to do with it.

  He knew. Oh, he knew.

  “Many babies with those hips,” Brunhild said, stabbing a potato and putting it on Bryn’s plate. She added two more. “And they will be easy births—”

  “Mother.” Even Leah seemed aghast.

  Tormund sank his face into his hands. If he was lucky, Bryn would only flee into the night, never to be found again.

  “I… do not think I will have children,” Bryn replied slowly, as though trying to work her way through a potentially dangerous conversation. “I’m a warrior.”

  “It does not mean you will not be a mother too,” Brunhild said with a shrug. “Some of the women here are farmers, some are fighters, some have children, some do not.” She finally seemed to realize what she’d been saying. “You will have easy births if you choose to have children. That is all. I know these things.”

  It was not good to be home.

  “How did you learn to fight?” Mille demanded, and thank the gods for smaller, bloodthirsty cousins. “Who taught you the sword? Did you find it? Did you steal it?”

  Bryn gave her a smile as if relieved to be drawn into a subject she could safely answer. “A sword like this is never found. It can only be earned. It was my mother’s once upon a time.”

  Tormund swished a mouthful of ale. She rarely spoke of her past and deflected comments about it whenever they were made. Considering her history as a Valkyrie—he still knew relatively little about them and their kind.

  “And she taught me how to use it,” Bryn continued, deftly stabbing a fourth potato and putting it on her plate, much to Brunhild’s satisfaction.

  Bryn and Mille exploded into a conversation about the art of swordcraft, and he could see his cousin’s eyes getting bigger and bigger. The jury—the rest of his cousins—might still regard her with some suspicion, but Bryn had definitely won a convert.

  “I can give you a lesson in the morning, if you’re awake early enough,” Bryn finally suggested.

  Mille’s eyes lit up. “Really? Oh, I’ll be awake! I have my father’s old sword, the one Haakon gave me to spar with. He was starting to teach me how to use it before he left, but…. He hasn’t been home for such a long time.”

  “I will give you some exercises to work through by yourself,” Bryn said.

  Mille would barely sleep a wink that night.

  “You’ve been quiet,” Leah murmured in his ear as Bryn started describing the different ways a woman fought, as compared to a man. “Though you can’t take your eyes off her.”

  He swiftly lowered his gaze. “She’s a tall, strapping lass.”

  “With wide hips,” Nora muttered, on the other side of him. “I can’t believe Mother said that.”

  Leah dug her elbow into his ribs as she leaned across him for the bread. “Mother likes her.”

  Leah, clearly, wasn’t so sure.

  “She’s a good companion,” he replied with a nonchalant shrug. “She fights well, she doesn’t snore, and she’s braver than any woman I’ve ever met. Thinks beards are the devil’s work though, so she has her flaws. It will be sad to see her leave when we finish this quest. She’s quite handy.”

  “Oh, please,” Leah snorted. “You’re fooling no one. Every time you look at her, your heart is in your eyes. And she’s going to break it.”

  He pinched her on the thigh. “Don’t make me tip the potatoes in your lap.”

  “I dare you.” Leah’s eyes spat fire. “Mother’s still not forgiven either of us for that last fight we had.”

  “Leah’s right,” Nora murmured. “I know you, Tor. You’ve been searching for someone to love your entire life. You’ve always wanted something epic, something like what Haakon has. And as soon as you met Bryn, I have no doubt you fell head over heels.”

  It took me a day or two.

  “Is there anything wrong with that?” he growled.

  Nora kissed his cheek. “You’ve always been afraid to be alone. You’ve always been afraid to be left behind. And I know my brother has found happiness. I know his life—and yours—has changed. He’s married to a dragon princess now—”

  “Dreki.”

  For goodness sake….

  “And Haakon’s story is epic. I hear the men down at the tavern speak his name in hushed tones. You’ve idolized him for years, and now his path is diverging from yours. Don’t throw yourself into something just because you’re afraid to lose him. Be certain. Be sure. You deserve the best, Tor, and as much as I hate to agree with Leah, I think your lady love has her shields firmly in place. When Bryn looks at you, she looks like you just uncovered her mortal weakness. And when you look at her, you look like you’re on your knees, offering her your heart on a plate. Don’t beg for some small scrap of her affection. That’s the wounded, angry boy we once knew. You’re the man we love, and you are worthy of more.”

  Tormund stared into his ale, swallowing hard.

  Not once had he felt doubt when it came to Bryn.

  Even when she’d told him that she was leaving when this quest was done. Even when she’d warned him that she would break his heart. He’d told himself that if he was patient enough, and gave her time… that she might come to feel the way he felt about her.

  But Nora’s words cut the feet right out from under him.

  And he saw himself as a boy—that angry, lonely boy—who craved kindness and loyalty oh, so much. The boy who watched Haakon from a distance, both worshipping him and hating him. The boy who learned to be funny so people would like him. The boy that gave his heart to his new family so completely, so desperately, that he could barely breathe sometimes.

  “You love hard, Tor,” Nora whispered. “But don’t forget to demand that kind of love in return. Acceptance is not enough. Not for you.”

  The children came running by at that moment—little Mathilde and Aksel. He snatched them up, tossing them over his shoulder and tickling them under the arms in order to hide the stab of pain in his chest.

  And it was easy to slide his smile in place.

  Easy to hide the gaping wound in his heart.

  “They’re supposed to be going to bed soon,” Leah told him in an exasperated voice, rescuing little Matti from his tickling kraken monster.

  He winked at her. “Oh, I know. Perhaps they’d like to hear the scary tale of the three draugar we fought?”

  “No!” Nora and Leah both exclaimed.

  “Then behave,” he mouthed to them. “And I will too.”

  Nora squeezed his hand.

  “Well,” Leah said, pushing back her chair with a squeal. “As lovely as this has been, I think it’s time to put the little ones to bed. Kari looks like she’s starting to get a little overwhelmed by the horde. And I’m sure Bryn and Tormund need to get some rest for their journey tomorrow.”

  Mille’s face fell. “Really?”

  “Really,” Leah told her.

  “The sooner you sleep,” Bryn called from across the table, “the sooner we can spar.”

  Mille brightened immediately.

  “Do you have room for both of them?” Leah asked, turning to her mother innocently.

  “Well, I’ve only got one room.” Brunhild frowned, as if in thought. “I’ve put all of the spare furniture in the others. And my sewing is in Haakon’s room. And—"

  “We can sleep in the barn,” Tormund said in an irritable voice. “It’s what we’re used to.”

  “Good heavens, no!” Leah looked aghast.

  Nora’s jaw dropped open. “The barn?”

  “I’ll have you know that my spare room—”

  Bryn shot him a bemused look. “The barn will be fine.”<
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  Half a dozen voices rose in protest, until Brunhild held up her hand. “The barn will be fine,” she said.

  Every single one of his cousins looked at Brunhild as if she’d sprouted a dragon’s head. To house a guest in the barn was scandalous. To allow a family member to stay there was something that would have horrified Brunhild if someone else dared suggest it.

  Even Tormund arched a brow.

  Clearly his cousins weren’t the only ones matchmaking.

  “The barn will be fine,” he told his aunt, tipping his head toward her. Maybe those words would reveal his hand, but Tormund was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  “You understand why I prefer to hunt dragons?” Tormund asked, resting his head on the palm of his hand as he lay sprawled on a bed he’d made in the hay.

  Bryn glanced at him, splayed there for her viewing pleasure. She’d always considered a man’s arms his best feature, and with his biceps flexed like that, she was having trouble keeping her gaze to herself. “I think they’re lovely.”

  “Curious, nattering busybodies,” he said with a scowl. “Leah and Nora are the worst. They compete to see who can manage the family the most.”

  Bryn turned away, trying to shield her expression. He didn’t know how carelessly he spoke of his family. It was evident they loved him, and he them, but he didn’t treasure them as he should. “There are many people who may look at what you have and consider them a gift, not a burden.”

  Stripping off her trousers, she heard him shift behind her and knew her tone had been too sharp. Too revealing.

  “Do you have family?” he asked.

  She leaned forward and blew out the lantern, plunging them into darkness. “I did. Once.” Shimmying out of her shirt, she stripped her bindings from her breasts and then slipped beneath her blankets.

  Once upon a time, she would never have lain naked beside a man like this, but she knew he wouldn’t touch her without her permission.

  “I never thought about that,” he murmured in the darkness, rolling toward her. “You’re hundreds of years old. And here I am, regretting what you don’t have.”

  “My family was never like yours.”

  Her mother would never have cooked her dinner like that, nor would she have greeted any prospective suitor who sat at her table with politeness. Men made you weak, and food was a matter of necessity, not a social gathering.

  You ate to survive, you slept in your barracks, and there were frequent tests to prove your worth. Sometimes her mother had sent her out into the snow to survive for weeks on end. Only a weak daughter desired blankets and warm food. If you couldn’t kill it, then you didn’t eat, and if you didn’t eat, then you couldn’t fight.

  You never complained.

  You never desired more.

  To serve your god as his chosen warrior was the only calling you could ever aspire to, and even then, you would always have to prove yourself.

  She was Kára of Valmar’s daughter, and she was not weak.

  “You don’t speak of your family often,” he murmured, and she sensed the blankets shifting at her back. “Actually, you don’t speak of them at all. Nor your past.”

  Bryn closed her eyes. “What is there to say? I was Valkyrie, and now I am not. I have no home. I have no family. Mortal blood flows through my veins. All I have is this.”

  “Your blood is not weak, Bryn.” A hand came to rest upon her hip through the roughened blanket. “You’re the most amazing woman I have ever met.”

  Her heart caught in her chest.

  He barely knew the truth. He was still looking at her through a fantastical gaze, seeing something that wasn’t there.

  She rolled onto her back, looking up at him in the moonlight. “When this is over, I will walk away and I will never think of you again. I won’t regret leaving you, Tormund.”

  He leaned down, brushing a soft kiss to her mouth. “I know.”

  “Did you not hear me?” she demanded, her heart beating a little fast in her ears.

  He held himself above her, resting on his elbows. “I heard you. But I don’t think your words were meant for me. I think you’re trying to remind yourself.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath. He was such an infuriating man. “Do you always have to sound so certain?”

  He hovered over her, the thin stream of moonlight picking out the contours of his jaw as her eyes grew accustomed to the dark. “I’m not certain sometimes, Bryn. Especially about you.” He hesitated. “But maybe if I say it enough times, then some god will hear me and breathe life into my wishes. Maybe this one time, I will get what I’ve always wanted.”

  Bryn’s breath caught in her chest. There was no sign of his usual self-deprecating air. “And what do you want?”

  He kissed her. Sweetly. And it was answer enough.

  “I want to matter,” he finally said, lifting his mouth from hers. “I want someone to fight for me. Someone to think me worthy—”

  “You are worthy.”

  “Of them. I want forever in someone’s arms. I want… something of my own. A home. A family. A life. Love. Forever.”

  Bryn couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. She stroked her fingertips against his lips as tears sprang to her eyes.

  “And I want someone who is willing to fight for me,” he finally said, bending down but not quite kissing her. “I will give my heart, Bryn. Without reservation. But if I had one wish in the world, it would be this: For someone to love me the way that I love them.”

  And then he captured her mouth with a heated kiss, as if he couldn’t bear to hear her answer.

  Because not even Bryn knew what it would be.

  Twenty-Two

  Morning came and with it, the need to be on the road. Bryn packed their bags and hauled them down the ladder in the barn. Tormund had gone ahead to ready the horses. She hadn’t seen him since she sparred with Mille, though he and Leah had leaned on the fence and watched the pair of them hack at each other.

  And maybe it was for the best.

  If I had one wish in the world, it would be this….

  She stood breathlessly at the base of the ladder, clinging to the last rung. Every smile he flashed made her heart skip a beat. Every time she heard his deep voice, a little shiver ran through her. Every kiss, every caress, every whisper of his skin on hers…. All of it sought to ruin her.

  But it was those words that did the most damage.

  Because, curse her for a fool, they weakened her more than he could ever know.

  “Lift your shield,” the sound of her mother’s voice barked in her memories. “Do you want to be weak? Who are you? Some pathetic mortal girl who can barely swing a sword? Or my daughter? Kára of Valmar’s daughter? Are you Valkyrie? Or a sniveling human?”

  Each ringing blow of her sword had forged her future.

  “I am Valkyrie,” she had screamed, as she swung the sword again and again and again.

  Bryn opened her eyes, swallowing hard. “Who are you?” she whispered into the darkness of the barn.

  But there was no answer.

  Except for the faint shuffle of footsteps behind her.

  Bryn swung around, clapping a hand to her chest as one of Tormund’s cousins appeared in the shadows. “By all the gods, girl. You nearly gave me a seizure. What are you doing here?”

  A tumble of red curls gleamed in the sunlight that streamed through the barred windows as the girl flashed her sword a determined look. “I wanted to see your sword.”

  She couldn’t have been more than eight or nine.

  Kari, if Bryn remembered correctly.

  Bryn knelt, drawing her sword from her sheath. “It’s very sharp.”

  The little girl focused on the blade, tracing her fingers over the hilt, before they dipped to the runes etched into the steel.

  “You probably shouldn’t touch that,” Bryn murmured, though she was loathe to take the sword away. The child seemed absorbed by the runes.

  “What are these?” Kari asked.


  Bryn tilted the sword to display them properly. “They’re a blessing from the gods,” she said, pointing to a pair. “This begs for strength from Freyja, so your shield arm will always be strong. And this is Odin’s mark, a sign that he is watching over you….” She worked her way down each rune. Strength. Speed. Boldness. Courage. Valor.

  And above all, honor.

  To honor your gods. To honor your sisters. To honor yourself. It was this mark alone which was tattooed on the spine of every Valkyrie. Bryn’s finger slowed. They’d burned that tattoo from her skin. No matter how many years passed, she still felt the shame of her past twist deep within her.

  “I do not know this language,” Kari said with a frown, her little finger tracing the rune for courage. “I know Elder Futhark. And Younger Futhark. But not this.”

  “That’s because it is the language of the gods, and not meant for mortal eyes.”

  The little girl’s red curls tumbled over her forehead, and she wore an expression of such seriousness that Bryn instinctively reached out and traced the rune for protection on her forehead. Kari stilled. And as Bryn’s finger finished the last flourish, she swore the rune flared gold and then sank within the girl’s skin.

  Both of them stared at each other in shock, though Kari’s gaze darted away.

  But it was the catch of breath in her chest that froze Bryn.

  Freyja’s touch. She could almost feel the goddess breathing down her spine, feel the power tingling in her finger. There was no sign of the goddess’s magic when she turned her hand this way and that, but she’d seen it glittering along her fingers. She could have sworn she’d seen it.

  Which meant the goddess had not forsaken her, after all.

  Bryn pushed to her feet unsteadily, wiping her suddenly sweating palms on her trousers. What did this mean? She’d thought the gods had turned their backs on her long ago.

  Wind swept through the stables, blowing the doors open. It swirled among strands of loose straw, and Bryn could have sworn she heard the sound of dozens of voices singing. The words sounded like a chorus of Valkyrie rousing to battle.

  “What is that noise?” Kari whispered, rocking slightly.