by Bec McMaster
"We'll go slowly," he promised her.
Árdís wrapped her arms around his waist. "I'm dreaming of a hot spring right now. I want to soak in it for hours."
Maybe they'd find one. He nodded brusquely, his anger subdued and diminished. He could handle her games, and her argumentative nature. Even her teasing offers. But he was not immune to her pain.
The ride north stretched into hours. Árdís dozed against his back, and Haakon kept his eyes on the sky. Despite the ploy he'd played last night, they seemed to have settled into somewhat of a truce today.
Tormund's words kept tormenting him.
But did you ask the right fucking questions…?
He still hadn't discovered what had driven her away. He'd been too consumed by pride, by anger, to think his way through her careful answers in Reykjavik.
He needed to start thinking, if he was going to discover the truth.
"This Sirius," he forced himself to say, after lunch. "Your mate."
"He's not my mate. We were only betrothed, and that was the queen's idea, not mine." Árdís's arms tightened around him. "What of him?"
"Has he ever kissed you?" he asked bluntly.
Árdís stiffened against his back. "What?"
"It's a simple question."
"I thought you didn't care."
"I don't." Even to his own ears, his voice was so rough it had to be a lie. It had been easy to play games with her last night. But it hurt when those games skirted dangerously close to the truth.
"And if he has kissed me?"
Haakon forced himself to shrug. At least she couldn't see his face.
"Once," she admitted.
Nothing else.
There were a thousand different sorts of kisses. A gentle caress to the back of her hand. A soft brush of lips against hers. But Haakon's mind forced him right to the other end of the scale. The one he knew so well.
Lips capturing hers, his tongue stabbing insistently into her mouth. And who said the kiss had to be upon her sweet, lying mouth? He could almost taste the musk of her body, his gut curdling with an odd mix of jealousy and lust.
He wanted to fill the air with curses. Mostly at himself.
"Lost for words?" He could hear the flicker of triumph in her voice. "What's wrong, husband? Does the thought of another man kissing me bother you?"
"No." The blatant lie sounded like rough gravel on his tongue. "I was wondering what you consider a kiss."
"What do you consider a kiss?"
"A chaste press of his lips to yours."
Árdís laughed, a smoky sound that reminded him of another time. "It wasn’t chaste, if that is what you’re asking. But it was on my lips, and it never went further." She sighed. "Sirius kissed me long before you came into my life."
A tension he hadn’t known he was holding relaxed within him.
"And what of you? No other woman?"
He ought to say yes. He wanted to spike her wheels, destroy some of her equilibrium, the way she'd done to him. Instead, all he could summon was a shrug. "Would it matter?"
Árdís fell silent.
Her hands were laced around his middle, and yet he could almost feel the tension in them, as if she didn't want to touch him in that moment. The press of her breasts against his back didn't come; she hadn't drawn breath, but it was a quiet sort of shock. No swift intake. No gasp. It seemed as though she'd swallowed that brief spurt of pain and was trying to manage it, somewhere deep within her.
He'd wanted it to hurt her.
He'd wanted her to feel some part of the pain he'd felt.
And yet, all it left him with was a bad taste in his mouth, and the sense he wasn't cut out for cruelty.
"No," he added curtly. "There has never been another woman for me."
And there probably never would be.
He heard the gentle exhale of her breath, and squeezed his eyes shut for a brief second. Despite her studied nonchalance, this was affecting her too.
"You were gone for seven years," he added, in a roughened voice, "but it never felt as though you were dead. I was so certain you weren't. I would have felt it somehow. And there are tales of dreki seducing mortal women, or stealing them away. It was the only thing I could focus upon; that you'd been stolen from me, and all I had to do was find you and rescue you, and...."
Then she'd be back in his arms where she belonged, and this hideous nightmare would be over.
There was always a happy ending to the tales his mother told him as a child.
But not this time.
Perhaps that was why this hurt so much. It was one thing to lose her to a dreki or death. The pain hurt, but the memories he had of her—of them—had been pure and untainted, his love for her the one thing that sustained him through those dark days. He'd been able to put one foot in front of the other for her. Not once had he given up, pushing his body out of bed each morning in his quest to find her, taking grievous injuries and fighting on, because he'd known she was out there somewhere, and when he found her....
When he found her, he could wrap her in his arms and never let her go again. They would be together, and somehow he'd forget the dark days, the pain, the torment. He would remember what it felt like to be loved, to be happy.
He would be the man he'd once been, without so much weight on his heart.
Discovering the truth had torn him apart.
He'd have sold his soul to the devil for her.
He'd have offered his life, in order to protect her.
He'd have burned the world to ashes for her, or fetched the moon from the fucking sky.
But she'd walked away and hadn't looked back.
Had she ever truly loved him?
"Haakon?" Árdís rocked against him, and her arms tightened around his waist. "What's wrong?"
"They're not particularly pleasant memories. I don't want to think about the last seven years. I don't want to speak about it."
He could practically hear her thinking.
And that was dangerous.
"And you?" He studied the landscape, seeing none of it. Just because this Sirius hadn’t kissed her since she met him, didn’t mean there hadn’t been others.
"No," she whispered.
"You were betrothed."
"Not by choice. Ten or so years ago, Sirius made it quite clear he intended to pursue me as a mate. He's ambitious, and knew mating with me strengthened any claim he might make to becoming my mother's heir. I hated him. He’s the threat hanging over the court, keeping us in line. The Blackfrost.
"But... It's all a little confusing now. The night I escaped, he caught me in the cellars as I was leaving. He wanted me to leave, to forestall the mating ceremony my mother insisted upon. It seems he's found his twin flame, and no longer desires to own me."
"Twin flame?"
"The other half of his dreki soul," she said, and he heard the quiet yearning in her voice. "Our true mates. It's a dreki myth that when the goddess, Tiamat, created us, she gave us a piece of her soul. It both strengthens us and weakens us, for we all feel the yearning within us, a hollow ache, as if we’re not whole. Not complete. Humans are. They have their full soul. But we do not. And the only thing that can complete us is the one mate who can fulfill us."
"And there's a twin flame out there for all of you?" he asked carefully. So carefully. "For you?"
Árdís rested against his back, as if she'd leaned her cheek there. "I don't know. That's half the problem, you see. The males always know first. It's an instinct I lack. I suspect I shall never know."
And she longed for it.
He heard it in her voice.
"So...." He stared straight ahead. "Seven years without a man in your bed. I suppose last night starts to make sense."
"When you left me wet and aching in my bedroll alone?"
Despite everything, his mind locked on the words “wet” and “aching” and stayed there. Because she hadn't been the only one whose bed was empty for those seven years.
"It's your fau
lt," she said, leaning against him, and her hands sliding down his hips, pausing to rest innocently at the tops of his thighs. "You've ruined me for all other men."
"Árdís." Damn her.
"What?" She shifted, her breasts brushing against his back. "You started this last night. Does it ache, Haakon?"
A growl echoed in his throat. He wanted to tumble her down to the ground and drive himself into her.
Those fingers stroked up and down his thigh, so lightly he barely felt it. Heat flushed through him, his cock hardening. Which was a damned dangerous thing for a man on a horse. Haakon caught her hand and squeezed in warning.
Árdís laughed and withdrew her devilish hands. "Two can play that game, I’ll have you know."
"Not on horseback."
"Oh?" She brushed her lips against his ear. "Are you setting some rules?"
"Would you listen if I did?" He half turned his head, wanting to meet those damned lips.
"Maybe," she teased mercilessly, then held her hands up. "Not on horseback. Everywhere else is fair game."
He groaned. The second they dismounted for the night, she was going to renew her assault. And the only person he had to blame for that was himself.
He’d practically thrown the gauntlet down between them.
"Haakon!" A sudden tug came on his sleeve.
"What?" He reined Sleipnir in tightly.
Árdís pointed over his shoulder, and he looked up. Massive white clouds boiled on the horizon.
"A dreki storm?"
"Worse. A dreki. I can see him flying in the skies. He’s flying back and forth, as if he’s looking for something."
He couldn't see a damned thing.
Sleipnir nosed at the reins as if he wanted to continue.
"We cannot take this road," Árdís whispered.
"I thought you said they'd be looking for you in the skies? Wearing scales?"
"They will be," she snapped. "But they're not stupid. And they have better eyesight than an eagle. If they see a strange pair of travelers riding this road, they might overlook it. There have been enough farmers and riders to make us unusual, but not extraordinary. But they also might not. And while I can drag the hood of my cloak up, if they catch even the slightest glimpse of me...."
His hands tightened on the reins. "Dúrnir's village is along this road."
"And so is the dreki."
"We need to go north," he said. "Gunnar's given us a week at most, and we need to get to Hólmavík and confront my sorcerer before then."
The problem was the roads. The center of Iceland was one large inhospitable mess to traverse, which meant the best way to travel was a circular path around the coast. Practically the only way. That meant they couldn't diverge. It would add days to the journey, and with few roads there was more chance they'd be seen, but they had no choice.
Árdís's hands tightened on his hips. "He's looping toward the coast. If we cut across country—"
"Do you have any idea what the terrain is like?"
"No, not at all. It's not as though I fly regularly. Or have spent decades in these skies. Why, I spend all my time lounging around at court, or counting the coins in my collection of gold and jewels—impressively collected over the years, might I add. Sometimes, when that grows wearisome, I venture into the world of mortal men to find some particular fool to seduce."
He turned in the saddle and stared at her. Árdís stared back, one eyebrow rising in a challenging manner.
"It's not difficult to find one," she added, unnecessarily. "A fool, that is."
He was not going to answer that.
"It's different on horseback. Put one foot wrong, and we're walking to the coast."
"These beasts are frustratingly delicate."
"Would you prefer to walk?"
One ear flickered back, but Sleipnir largely ignored them.
"We're staying on the roads," Haakon said, straightening up and taking the reins once more. "He's heading toward the coast. There haven't been a great deal of other riders to hide among, but we can avoid the dreki if we keep our eyes open."
"You cannot even see them until they're on top of you."
Haakon ground his teeth together and nudged Sleipnir into a trot that should silence her for at least a minute. "Then perhaps you ought to stop arguing, and start keeping an eye out."
11
It doesn't feel very fair of me to take the bed again," Árdís protested, as Haakon rolled out the bedroll that night.
"Are you offering to take the watch and doze in my cloak?" he muttered.
His wife looked at the fire, and the cloak he'd been wearing. Dark shadows dwelled under her eyes. She took a crippled step toward the cloak, and then slowly dragged it over her shoulders. "I can sleep here tonight," she said, moving with slow, careful steps as she aimed for the boulder he'd been planning to rest his back against.
His eyes narrowed. Every time they'd dismounted today, she'd hobbled. He knew she wasn't used to the saddle, especially perched so precariously behind him, but she hadn't breathed a word of protest. Instead, she'd merely rested her forehead against his back, and held onto his waist, growing quieter with every mile.
Quiet was not a natural state of Árdís's.
Her silence infected him too, leaving him lost in the thought that she'd never taken another man to bed. Dreki males had thrown themselves at her feet, but she'd never been tempted.
"You've ruined me for all other men."
It had been said laughingly, but there'd been a hint of truth there too.
He didn't know what to think. Rage had been smoldering within him ever since Rurik told him the truth. All he'd wanted to do for the past month or two was smash things, and demand answers.
What he hadn't expected was for those answers to raise more questions.
Árdís might have revealed a hint of her reasoning, but he was fairly certain she hadn't told him everything. He could practically see the iceberg floating in front of him, barely the tip revealed. There was a depth of secrets between them that he didn't like.
And yet the anger was softened, the edges of it dulled by the knowledge he wasn't the only one hurting here.
He'd always been a careful man. A hunter who followed the near-invisible tracks of his quarry. And anger had blinded him, for there were signs here that something wasn't quite as it seemed.
"Take the bed," he said, tugging the blankets open for her. "I'm used to hard travel. You're not."
"No." She tried to drag his heavy cloak around her shoulders, and he fought the urge to help her. "I'm not even that tired."
"Árdís, stop being bloody stubborn."
"I will as soon as you do," she snapped back. "I'm not weak. I can handle this body. And you barely slept last night."
Starting toward her, he stopped when she tried to hobble around the fire to avoid him.
"Lie down," he said. "You need the rest more than I do. You have several more days in the saddle ahead of you."
The look on her face said it all.
"I'm fine," she insisted, but it lacked her earlier adamancy. "You've been taking all of the watches, and doing most of the work. It's your turn to sleep. I'm not just some pampered princess."
It wasn't as though he'd forgotten how stubborn she was, but the years apart had dulled the frustration. Árdís could give a mule lessons in obstinacy. Years ago he'd argued against her, their wills clashing in a storm of passion, but he was a different man now. Not a young man who'd never left his village, his days sorted into a routine of monotony, but a man who'd challenged the seas, and the storms, and the beasts themselves. A man who no longer simply met each challenge headlong, but one who sidestepped it, outthought it.
He stared at her.
She stared back.
Haakon's eyes narrowed with slow determination. "Fine."
The second she relaxed he made a sudden grab for her, and swung her up over his shoulder. One hand clamped firmly on her backside, he turned and strode toward the bedroll.
/> She was tired. She was sore. She was stubborn.
There was more than one way to deal with this.
Árdís yelped, kicking him in the gut. "Put me down, you big oaf!"
He stroked his hand over her bottom, and she sucked in a startled breath. Haakon smiled to himself. Revenge against her earlier entreaties on the horse. "You're not going to win this argument, so you might as well simply concede."
"Concede?"
"Yes, concede." He dumped her down onto the bedroll, one of his knees trapping her skirts to the ground, as he followed her. "You have heard of the word, have you not?"
Árdís lay flat on her back, staring up at him with her mouth agape. Haakon pinned her there, hands on her wrists, and just like that they were seven years into the past. This could have been any night during their marriage. Argument ringing in his ears, even as blood raged through his erection. He wanted inside her. Now.
Old habits died hard. If this was seven years ago, then he would have simply fused his mouth to hers and kissed her. Dragged her skirts up, as he settled between her hips.
He did not.
Amber eyes narrowed in glorious fury. "While I have heard of the word, I have simply chosen to strike it from my vocabulary."
"You would."
"Dreki do not concede. We fight until the bitter end."
Haakon lowered himself, until their faces were barely an inch apart. Some part of him was enjoying this. "You're not going to win this fight."
"You sound so certain." Her voice roughened.
His thumbs stroked against the inside of her wrists. "Should I not be?"
Uncertainty sat like a foreign object on her expression. For all her bravado, she seemed to hesitate, and that gave him pause. Árdís had been a virgin before their marriage, but her manner had always been unabashedly sexual. She'd pursued him with such fervor it had been all he could do to deny his base instincts as he courted her.
But here, now, he saw a hint of vulnerability in her eyes he'd never seen before.
She cleared her throat, and the faint flickering smile that stole over her lips was nothing more than an act, he was certain of it. "Do you mean to share the bedroll then?"
Haakon's lashes lowered. "No." There were limits to what he could tolerate.
