by Bec McMaster
They’d dismounted to give the horses a rest, especially on the shale-coated side of the mountain path they traveled.
"Curse the gods," he muttered under his breath. "It doesn't feel like a dreki storm."
"It's not. It's the cold northern wind meeting the warmer air from down south. Or perhaps Thor took exception to your tone."
Haakon slicked his wet hair back off his face and led Sleipnir forward. Rain washed runnels in the dirt track. "We need to take shelter."
Árdís scrambled along behind him. He had to grant her this; she had a will of pure iron when she set her mind to something. Every step she took was stiff with the ache of sitting in an unfamiliar saddle, but she’d barely complained.
He helped her crest the top of the slope. Sleipnir bounded over the stone lip in their path, and then hauled up short at the end of the reins. Árdís bent over at the waist, sucking in breath. The hems of her skirts were a sodden mess.
Haakon turned and surveyed the valley. The storm wasn’t going away anytime soon, and she was wet through and exhausted. The horses needed a rest too.
"There!" He pointed along the valley to where a black mouth gaped in the side of the mountain. "We’ll take shelter there."
The cave afforded them some shelter from the weather, though it wasn’t deep enough for more. Haakon unsaddled the horses, moving brusquely as he rubbed them down and settled their nosebags over their faces.
Árdís's teeth chattered by the time he returned to her side. She’d unrolled the bedroll, but hadn’t moved beyond that. Strands of her hair hung in a bedraggled braid. She looked wet, sore, and hungry. His lips pressed together. "Sit."
"I’m wet."
Cold could kill a man faster than a gut wound, in these lands. "We both need to get out of these clothes and dry off. I’ll get the fire started."
His store of kindling was small. He’d need to keep an eye out tomorrow. But he set a small fire, and turned to find her unmoving. "What's wrong?"
"Can you...?" She turned around, presenting him with her back as she dragged her damp hair forward over one shoulder.
Haakon stared at the row of buttons tracing her spine. Hunched over and shivering, she didn't precisely present the picture of a woman determined to torment him, but you never knew what she had in mind.
Still, she was wet and cold, and judging from the long periods of blessed silence in the last hour, probably miserable.
"Truce," he muttered. "Just for tonight?"
"Are you trying to say you find my drowned look irresistible?"
He smiled a little at that.
"Utterly. If I gave you some soap, you could simply walk outside." They'd both bathed in a frigid river that morning, one at a time, but it had been swiftly done, out of necessity.
She sighed. "I don’t think I even have the energy for that, let alone seducing you."
Moving to her side, Haakon wiped his hands, then began to undo each small button with shriveled fingers. She’d managed the task herself this morning, with some small help, but the wet wool of her dress constricted her tonight.
"I like rain better when I'm in my dreki form. I forgot how cold it is to wear skin rather than scales. I miss my volcano."
He helped her strip her dress down her arms, then paused and encircled them with his hands. She was freezing. Haakon rubbed briskly, and she tilted her head forward in surrender, her eyes half shut. A soft purring sound echoed in her throat. Pleasure. Only, not of the erotic kind. If he didn’t hurry, then he was going to have a sleeping dreki princess in his arms.
"Here," he muttered, kneeling at her feet and tugging her sopping gown down over her hips.
Lightning flashed behind her, highlighting the wet press of her chemise to her body. Every single curve was seared into his retinas as the world plunged back into darkness. He could even make out the darker circle of her nipples.
Haakon released a slow breath. So it was going to be torture tonight, no matter whether she was the instigator—or his own frustrated imagination.
Gathering her up in his arms, he carried her to the bedroll and laid her down, Árdís blinked at him sleepily as he drew the blankets up over her.
"Are you hungry?" he asked.
"Not really."
"Then sleep." He needed to eat, otherwise he'd be feeling it tomorrow. Finding some dried strips of beef in his pack, he chewed them mechanically as Árdís shifted in the bedroll.
Gods, he was tired. He'd barely snatched a few hours last night.
"Haakon?" A plaintive question.
"Yes?"
"I know you're going to think this is some trick, but would you consider joining me? Please," she whispered, shivering despite the blankets. "I'm cold, and that fire is pathetic."
Scrubbing at his face, he sighed. Fending her off when she wanted to fuck him was bad enough, but the idea of falling asleep beside her did something far worse to him.
"I promise I will keep my hands to myself."
It wasn't her hands that were the problem.
"Move over," he murmured, stripping his boots off, and then his wet clothes. Laying them by the fire, he turned back to the bedroll.
Heat warmed the blankets from her body as he lay down behind her. But she'd not been lying. Her skin was cold to the touch, and her chemise damp.
"You're not wearing anything," she blurted.
"I know. Everything's wet." He shifted a little to tuck the blanket between her bottom and his burgeoning erection. She fit against the curve of his body as perfectly as she ever had. There was an inch between them, and a fold of blanket. It wasn't enough.
Árdís lay still for long seconds. "I thought we had a truce. This isn't fair."
"I'm not trying to tempt you."
"You don't have to," she muttered under her breath.
He smiled a little at that, and shifted. The press of her chemise against his chest made him flinch momentarily. It wasn't a good idea to stay in wet clothes.
It was a terrible idea for her to be without them.
Could dreki even fall ill?
"At the risk of having my intentions mistaken," he muttered, "I think you should remove your chemise. If you fall ill from the cold, it's going to be a difficult trip."
Árdís groaned. "You're making this very difficult to behave."
Wriggling against him, she began slipping the hem of the chemise up her body. His world narrowed to focus on every hint of contact between them.
Inch by inch, she dragged the wet linen up between them. His cock, which had been mildly interested before, but hampered in its enthusiasm by the cold, surged to rampant attention. Sweet merciless Hela. Haakon rubbed at the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. It mattered little. Every whisper of movement gave his imagination far too much to work with.
"There," she whispered, and threw the wet chemise toward the rest of their clothes.
Árdís lay back down with careful precision, maintaining the space between them. The blankets shifted up, revealing enough space along his back to allow a small draft in. His ass hung out.
The bedroll had only been made for one person.
Silently cursing her, he wrapped an arm around her middle and hauled her back that precious inch. Árdís yelped, then relaxed the second she realized what he was doing. A single fold of blanket kept the caress chaste. The chilled skin of her back against his chest made him flinch, but neither of them would get much sleep if she spent all night shivering. He managed to tuck the blankets around the both of them, and then draped his arm over her waist.
The storm raged outside. Sleipnir whickered.
Haakon nuzzled his face into the curve of Árdís's nape and breathed in the scent of her hair. Too late, he realized how dangerous this was. Denying his lust was one thing, but he hadn't realized how much his soul hungered to simply have her in his arms. To feel her fingers stroke lightly over the hairs on his forearm, a simple habitual move she probably wasn't even aware of doing.
He could almost forget the l
ast seven years.
This. This was real.
And it made his heart ache fiercely, for the sheer want of it.
"Thank you," Árdís whispered. "You're so much warmer."
"My foolish mortal body is good for something, it seems."
There was a long moment of silence.
She had to break it. "As I recall, it was good for a lot of things."
Haakon groaned, burying his face in her hair. "I swear to the gods...."
"You swear to the gods quite often, it seems. That's new."
He'd begun this quest thinking of revenge. He'd pictured how he'd repay her a thousand times. Kissing her, and then denying her anything more. Making her beg for sweet mercy. Or walking away after he coolly told her she meant nothing to him anymore.
Somehow, it didn't seem as though he held the upper hand here.
Árdís was right. He was a fool.
"Just go to sleep," he growled, and shut his eyes, though the throbbing ache between his legs told him it would be a long time before he got any peace himself.
13
Sunlight washed down over her as Árdís strode along the grassy mountain slope, searching for her husband. The basket in her hands swung, and she wore a smile. It seemed she was never without one these days. Two months married, and her happiness settled over her like a warm cloak.
This world was so far removed from the one she'd known. She couldn't remember feeling this way in over half a cycle, since her father died and her brother fled. She'd still had Marduk at her side, but life had become different, wariness staining the court. She hadn't realized how empty her life had become once Marduk vanished as well, until she met Haakon.
Home.
It felt like she'd found a home. And there were people here who loved her, and drew her into their lives as if she belonged. Every time she saw Haakon, her heart seemed to expand in her chest, until it felt like it grew three sizes. She could chase forever in his arms, and never regret a thing.
Everything felt right.
Or almost everything.
Her dreki shivered within her. It had been weeks since she'd last shifted shape and flown. She missed it dreadfully, but there were always eyes upon her at the moment, and Haakon hadn't been hunting in over a month. He'd been too busy with the harvest, and then the cows were birthing, and now some of the goats had escaped and—
It was never-ending. But it pleased her, this simple life.
And if she had to sacrifice something, then perhaps it was worth it.
Her smile slipped. If she were being honest, it was no small sacrifice. It was the one thing that jarred her perfect life, but how could she expect Haakon to react if he knew what she was?
"Hiya, hiya!"
Her heart swelled. She knew that voice, and hurried over the rise, sighting her husband below. Stripped of his shirt, with sweat gleaming on his bare chest, Haakon was trying to capture the last goat. Sunlight flirted over his tanned skin as he made a lunge and brought the beast down. Muscles flexed as he knelt on its flank, binding its feet together swiftly as he panted. The others were lashed in their wicker pen, bleating when they saw her.
Some creatures couldn't be fooled. They smelled the truth on her skin. She kept telling him animals had never liked her, and he'd finally banned her from the milking shed after the cow kept kicking the bucket of milk over every time she went near it.
"I should have known you had something to do with this," he growled as he straightened and brushed his hands off. His hair was growing longer, the sides shaved, and a top knot of silky blond drawn back off his face with a strip of leather. He tried to maintain his fierce expression, but laughed when she rolled her eyes.
"I didn't go anywhere near them." The stupid creatures panicked within their wicker yard.
"Stay right where you are," he said. "I've spent half the morning hunting them down."
Haakon was forced to come to her, his long strides eating up the ground. Árdís bit her lip, exploring every inch of him with unabashed interest. Lean hard muscle gleamed with sweat, the ridge of his rippled abdominals sinking into the edge of his trousers. By the time he reached her that familiar twinkle was in his eyes, and he simply grabbed her by the back of the neck and jerked her against his chest.
Yes, please. Árdís moaned as their mouths met. The basket with his lunch pressed between them, and Haakon growled, tugging it from her fingers and setting it aside without breaking the kiss. Both hands tore through her hair, and she bit his lower lip as the tension between them began to shift.
She kissed him hungrily, her legs lifting to wrap around his waist. The playfulness evaporated, and Haakon's hands began to map her body, slow, gentle strokes down her sides that tormented her. Then they stilled on her waist.
"Árja—" He groaned as she captured his words on her lips.
A tongue lashed against her own, and a shiver ran through him. He set her down, and pushed her away, his lips breaking from hers at the last moment. "I thought you were here to bring me lunch. Not be lunch."
"Can't I do both?"
He cupped his hands behind his head, as if to remove temptation, his pectorals tensing as he looked at her with faint amusement. "You are going to be the death of me, woman."
A shiver of trepidation went through her, and she pressed her hand over his mouth. "Please don't ever say that again."
Haakon bit her palm, missing the shiver that ran through her. He winked, then turned and made his way back to the last goat, bending to throw it over his shoulders. It bleated as he wrapped his hands around both sets of its bound legs. "Come on. As much as I'd like to oblige you, there's a storm coming. We'll eat back at the house."
A storm. Her eyes shifted to the horizon swiftly. How had she not noticed?
Thick white thunderheads brewed, growing darker with every second.
"Are you coming?" Haakon called.
The storm rolled closer. Boiling thunderheads darkened the skies. Árdís looked up, feeling something unnatural on the horizon. Pressure pushed inside her head, as if something was trying to force its way inside.
"Aye, little dreki, the storm is coming," something whispered, running its mental fingers all through her memories.
Árdís blinked. The storm vanished, though she could hear it in the distance, and Haakon was swept away. There was only darkness now.
Where was he?
"Haakon?" No matter where she looked, he was gone. "Haakon!"
"You dare walk my dreams?" said that voice.
"I'm not in your dreams."
A husky chuckle shivered over her skin. "No, but you're in my lands. There is a price to pay for those who trespass."
The pressure started to push harder. Árdís cried out, grinding her hands against her forehead to try and ease it.
"Árja? Wake up," said a low, sharp voice in her ear. "Wake up!"
Árdís came awake with a gasp, feeling a hand curl over her shoulder. Her ears popped as the pressure vanished. For a moment she didn't quite know where she was, still feeling the warmth of sunlight on her skin.... No. Not sunlight. The heat of a male body against hers.
She was in a cave that smelt strongly of horse, curled snugly in blankets that still held the warmth of her husband. She'd been dreaming, but not about everything, it seemed. Some of it had been real.
"What is it?" she whispered, holding the blankets to cover herself as lightning flickered outside the cave.
Haakon knelt by the bedroll, clad in his leather trousers and nothing else. The sight of his bare chest seared its way into her memory, but her heart was rabbiting in her chest. Unease spilled through her.
"There's something moving out there in the night."
"Dreki?" she breathed.
"I don't know."
She pressed the heel of her palm to her temples. "I think I was dreaming. I think something was in my dreams."
Some dreki could do that, if they willed, and though she still had the gift of her psychic shields, perhaps they'd weakened with h
er exhaustion.
Haakon's fingertips brushed her cheek, "You're not hurt, are you?"
She felt light-headed, after all that pressure, and simply shook her head. The concern in his eyes felt like a lance through the heart. She pressed a quick kiss to his fingers in response.
"Get dressed." He moved toward her saddlebags, and tossed them toward her. "I'll see if I can catch another glimpse of it."
Árdís dressed swiftly, dragging on a shirt and tunic and the leather trousers she wore for sparring practice instead of a gown, just in case they needed to run. The horses were still loaded with the gear, their girths loose. Árdís joined Haakon at the cave mouth.
Mud streamed down the side of the mountain, slick in the rain. It had lessened to a drizzle, but the slope looked treacherous. Nothing moved. Nothing she could see anyway, but Árdís settled down patiently, resting her hand on Haakon's thigh.
"I cannot see anything," she breathed.
"Maybe it knows we're watching?"
Silence.
"I can definitely feel something out there." Her senses were muted, but an itch prickled down the back of her spine, and her dreki was on edge. "A pity," she said with a soft sigh. "I was hoping to wake in your arms. I'd finally gotten you naked."
His eyes cut to hers, dark in the night. "Feeling better, I see?"
"Our truce only lasts until the sun rises."
"Fair warning. I'll be on my guard." His lips kicked up.
Clearly, his ill temper of the day had been dulled by sleep. Árdís stroked his thigh with her thumb. He'd been pushing himself for two days, snatching a few hours of sleep curled up in his cloak. He should have taken her offer of the bedroll the night before.
A flicker of movement shifted in the corner of her eye. Árdís leaned forward, her grip on his thigh tightening.
"What is it? Is it He Who Should Not Be Woken?"
She held her breath. A shape shifted. It was big, whatever it was, but it blended into the countryside well. Too well. Another rock shifted behind it, and Árdís nostrils quivered. She could just make out a faint hint of basalt and rotten flesh on the breeze.
Damn it.
"Trolls."
