Storm of Desire

by Bec McMaster

  Rage obliterated any thought she had. She was might and power and pure vengeance. She was immense and weightless and formless.

  She was Death.

  She flung Roar to and fro, her teeth ripping at his mortal flesh. Driving her claws through his unprotected belly, she tore him open.

  Something hissed through the air behind her, and Árdís turned gleaming eyes upon Ylve as the bitch ran at her mortal body with her sword in hand.

  A single pounce and Árdís ripped her way through Ylve, tearing the dreki's spirit free of her mortal body. Ylve collapsed, her body thrashing and jerking as Árdís's claws curled through her spirit form. Ylve's spirit opened its mouth to silently scream, but then she was fading, her form evaporating from between Árdís's claws like smoke.

  A heavy weight began to suck her back down again.

  She could feel her body dragging at her, lured by the proximity of her spirit. And though the rage still burned within her, she didn't know how to maintain her form, or keep herself burning through the Chaos magic that twined around her.

  The world went black.

  Árdís came back to herself, her body swaying, something hot and wet dripping from her nose as she slumped to her knees.

  All three dreki lay on the ground around her. Balder kicked his heels in the shale as he drove himself back against one of the rocks, the whites of his eyes gleaming.

  There was blood all over Roar's chest, and he made a wet sucking sound deep in his lungs as he scrambled to escape her.

  Ylve stared sightlessly at the sky. When dreki died, their spirits turned into pure Chaos and streamed across the skies like the northern auroras, but nothing of her spirit remained. Árdís had torn it clean from her body.

  It was only so much meat, left behind.

  "Sweet... goddess," Roar gasped, trying to stuff his entrails back inside him.

  The steely rasp of a sword leaving its scabbard caught her attention. A hand locked around her arm, and then Haakon was there, limping a little. He'd wiped his bloodied nose, but it smeared his teeth.

  Árdís flung her arms around him, her racing heart finally settling as she felt the press of his hard body against hers. Relief flooded through her. The dreki settled, no longer fighting to push free of her skin. "You're alive."

  She'd never been so grateful in her life.

  He squeezed her ribs, and then drew away when she flinched.

  "What happened?" he demanded. "There was this enormous glowing green dragon in the air—"

  "Dreki," she corrected fiercely. "And that was me."

  "Are you all right?" He rubbed a hand down her arm, his eyes serious.

  "Are you?"

  He pressed his fingers to his temples. "I was doing fine until they hit me with something. It felt like an invisible punch." He winced.

  "A psychic attack." And she wasn't able to shield him.

  She could barely shield herself.

  Haakon's fist clenched around the hilt of his sword as he stepped past her.

  "No," she said sharply, catching his hand and forcing him to lower the sword.

  "They won't stop hunting you," he said, turning and giving her a look that almost made her shy away from him.

  "If they have any sense they will," she said, partly for the benefit of Roar and Balder. She squeezed Haakon's wrist. "But if you kill a dreki, then my mother will call a blood debt down upon your head. They'll never stop hunting you. Never. And they'll make sure your death is particularly bloody."

  He opened his mouth, but she shook her head sharply.

  Her ears were starting to ring.

  "Please, Haakon."

  His gaze narrowed in on the blood dripping from her nose, and he gave a short jerk of his head. Árdís sighed in relief as the sword returned to its scabbard.

  She had little doubts this husband of hers—a man she barely seemed to know anymore—could cut a dreki down.

  But thankfully, there was enough of her Haakon left inside this brute warrior to listen to her.

  "Perhaps you should see to your bastard prince," she suggested, meeting Balder's eyes. "He looks like he might need some help breathing."

  Then she reached for Haakon's arm, tucking hers through the crook of his elbow as a lady might.

  He shot her another look, clearly feeling the way she leaned upon him. Árdís didn't dare let her knees shake. The second she betrayed any sign of weakness to the dreki, they'd attack. And she could lose him before she ever got the chance to love him again.

  Forcing herself to put one foot after the other, she let him guide her toward the gravel path. The horses had scattered, and she couldn't see them. Couldn't smell them. Her vision was starting to thin, little white spots dancing through the center of it as they left the dreki far behind.

  "What was that?" Haakon demanded, hauling her up the slope.

  "I don't know," she whispered, or thought she did. "Don't let them see me fall."

  "Are you all right?" he asked again.

  "No."

  His grip on her arm softened. "A little further, Árja. We're nearly there. You can do this."

  Blood still dripped from her nose, and she could barely see. Somehow they made it to the top of the hill, and then she was staggering over the crest of it. The world existed in a thousand different planes in front of her, crystalline lines running through everything. "Get me out of here."

  Her knees gave way, and the last she knew, Haakon swept her up into his arms.

  16

  Haakon rested his wrists on his knees by the fire as he waited for Árdís to wake.

  The night sky loomed above them, and he'd managed to put several miles between them and the dreki warriors who'd been hunting them down. He didn't think they'd be coming after them, especially at night, but he didn't dare rest. Not until Árdís awoke.

  If she woke.

  Árdís had done something, and it had terrified the other dreki. He'd thought her magic compromised with the cuff on her wrist, but an enormous flaming dreki of pure green light—like the colors streaking across the horizon right now—had burst from her skin and driven the others away.

  And then she'd collapsed.

  Slowly he focused on polishing his sword, on the rasp of the whetstone gliding down the oiled edge of the blade. Today felt like he'd stepped into a new world, one where nothing he knew seemed secure.

  "He's mine!"

  The words kept echoing through his head. He'd seen the anguish upon her face, and the knife coming toward him, and though he couldn't help himself, he knew he was the reason she'd managed to touch this new magic.

  Setting the sword aside, he crossed toward her, checking her color. Her nose had stopped bleeding, but he didn't like the heat of her skin, or the sweat at her temples. It was a brisk night, and though she was wrapped tenderly in his furs, she shouldn't have been this warm to the touch.

  Árdís murmured feverishly as he cupped his hand over her forehead. "Don't go," she whispered, and her eyes blinked open, though they stared right through him. "Don't go. Please don't leave me."

  "Árja." He brushed the back of his fingers down the smooth slope of her cheek. "Árja, you're dreaming. You're safe. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

  The two smallest fingers on her right hand curled around his pinkie. Árdís burrowed her face against his thigh and settled back into sleep.

  It was a pose they'd assumed so many times in the past. His throat felt dry. He'd been struggling to understand who his wife truly was, but the hardest part was comprehending that the Árja he knew was still there. Along with a powerful dreki princess who faced battles he couldn't even imagine.

  She was both a stranger—and the one person in this world he knew intimately.

  And she'd loved him.

  He finally believed what she'd been telling him last night.

  Settling the curve of his spine against a boulder, he stretched his legs out in front of him, and ran a hand through her unbound hair. Árdís curled a hand over his thigh and set
tled against him, her entire body softening into sleep as if she felt safe there at his side.

  Haakon tucked her hair gently behind her ear. Despite all of his best intentions, it was clear he wasn't going to be able to walk away from this unscathed.

  But maybe he didn't have to walk away.

  She wanted him.

  But something was keeping her from his side, and despite her declaration last night, he didn't think it was merely the inability to give him children, or both their worlds colliding.

  "What are you thinking?" came a silky whisper from her lips.

  Her eyelashes fluttered, but she merely pressed her face into his thigh, as if she wasn't yet ready to stop touching him.

  "Árja." His fingers stilled on her temples. "How are you feeling?"

  "Sleepy." She yawned. "I feel like an enormous dreki just battle-slammed me. Everything hurts. But I'll be fine by morning."

  "Are you hungry?"

  The feral look in her expression didn't vanish, but she nodded. "Starving."

  Crossing to the pot he'd swung over the fire, he stirred the soup he'd made. Game was scarce this far north and so late at night, but he'd packed dried strips of beef, and enough root vegetables to provide some nourishment. She'd devoured most of the goat by herself last night. He'd have to hunt soon if he wanted to continue to feed them.

  "You can fight," he murmured, as he ladled the broth into a small tin cup.

  "My father put a sword in my hand before you even drew your first breath," she said. "It’s tradition for dreki to duel with swords. We're such large, powerful creatures that the destruction we create when we battle each other can be catastrophic. My grandfather insisted blood debts and arguments be settled with the sword instead. I needed to learn how to protect myself from any challenges."

  He'd known she was older than he, but to hear it so blithely stated.... He knelt at her side, staring down into the broth. "You never picked up a sword when you were with me."

  "I never had to." Árdís hauled herself onto her elbows, but her hands shook, he noticed. Not quite recovered then. "I enjoy the physical side of dueling, but if I didn't have to...." She shrugged. "And I knew you were there to protect me, if anything should go wrong. It was nice not to have to be on my guard all the time."

  It wasn't the first time she'd hinted she didn't feel safe in her world.

  "What was that?" he murmured, tilting the cup of broth to her lips, and cupping the back of her head to help her. She drank almost all of it, not even wincing at the bland flavor.

  "What?"

  "What happened today? The green dreki of light that erupted from your body."

  "Chaos magic," she said, pausing to take a breath.

  Which explained precisely nothing. "How did you use it with the manacle on?"

  "I don't know. Chaos magic is.... It's not like any other magic in the world." She looked troubled. "It doesn't obey the normal rules. It was what Tiamat used to shape the world."

  "It scared them away."

  "As it should," she said, and pushed the cup of broth away. "No more." She tried to sit up, and he helped her as best he could. "I scared myself."

  "Why?"

  "The great goddess, Tiamat, created the dreki out of both Chaos magic and elemental magic. We're all able to access the elemental side of our power, but... Chaos magic is wild. Unpredictable. Some dreki can use it to create Chaos bubbles—a world outside our own—but what I did today"—she stared at her hands as if she saw something else there—"I was no longer inside my body. My spirit melded with Chaos magic, and I was able to affect the physical world with my spirit body."

  "I've never seen anything like it. One moment you were there, and the next this enormous being of pure light erupted from your flesh, like an aurora given shape and form." His voice softened. "It was beautiful."

  You are beautiful.

  He'd always thought her the most stunning woman he'd ever seen, but this creature was powerful and exotic in a way he'd never been able to imagine. It was like holding pure flame cupped in his hands, and wondering if it would burn him.

  She shivered. "I can name three living dreki who are able to wield it like that and survive. My mother is one of them."

  Her mother.

  It wasn't the first time she'd mentioned the dreki queen, but she never spoke of the queen with any warmth or affection. No. There was fear there.

  He needed to understand what was going on. Something didn't feel right here.

  "So she's passed the gift onto you?"

  "I do not think she would see it that way," Árdís whispered, staring into the flames.

  "As a gift?"

  "Only my mother can wield Chaos magic," she whispered, grinding the heels of her palms into her eyes. "It's how she holds power, and why none dare challenge her. She doesn't have to challenge other dreki, for they all know she can rip the spirit directly from their bodies without ever touching them."

  "But surely she wouldn't think you would challenge her."

  "You don't understand," Árdís cried. "I shouldn't have been able to do that. But now I have... I'm a threat to her, Haakon. My mother will have felt Chaos warp the land, and if she doesn't, then Roar will tell her. And yes, she will know that given time, I could master the magic only she commands. Of course she'll see it as a threat."

  "She's your mother—"

  "Giving birth to Rurik, Marduk, and me meant she'd fulfilled the contract she owed my father." Árdís shook her head. "I know when you think of the word 'mother' you see your own. And I understand why, because Brunhild is the kindest, sweetest woman I know—"

  "When she's not harassing you for babies." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He couldn't forget what she'd said last night about being unable to give him children.

  Árdís paused. "If that is the worst thing your mother can do, then you know nothing about horrible mothers."

  "And your mother doesn't want grandchildren?" He couldn't fathom it.

  "Not if they're not purebred. A drekling child would be slaughtered before it could draw breath." Her fist pressed against her chest, as if she missed the ring. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "It would be an insult to my bloodlines to birth a half-breed. She'd probably kill me too."

  He froze, feeling the words wrap around him like ice.

  She'd said it might be difficult for her to go into heat and give him children.

  But had she been frightened, too?

  "I'm not strong. I cannot fight her, not like my brothers can." Árdís's fingers curled in his sleeve. "I wasn't born to be a warrior. I only wanted...."

  "What?"

  "To be safe," she whispered hoarsely. "To be free."

  His arms tightened. He had the feeling he knew exactly what she could not say. She'd been abroad in the world. And she'd found him. Suddenly her curiosity about his life when they first met made so much sense. She'd lingered there, beyond when she'd known she should. She'd stayed in his arms, when she'd never intended to do so.

  She'd married him.

  And then she'd suddenly left him, without a word. Without a goodbye.

  He felt breathless.

  "Why did you leave me?" He captured her face in both hands. "Why? If it tears you apart so much?"

  Tears glimmered in her eyes. "You stupid fool, have you not guessed?"

  She kissed him suddenly, with a storm of passion. Straddling his hips, she pushed herself into his lap, her fists curling in his hair.

  It was everything he wanted. But it wasn't enough. He wrapped his fist around her braid, and drew back. "I want to hear it from your lips."

  "Haakon." She moaned and rocked against him. “This changes everything.”

  He paused. He'd heard those words in his head, as clearly as if she'd spoken them out loud. "What does it change?"

  Árdís's eyes shone like glittering diamonds as her tears obscured the topaz depths. "Because she would have killed you. My mother would have killed you, if she came for me and found me i
n your arms. She would have salted the very earth your village stood upon until nothing remained, not even the memory of your family, or its name. I had to leave. I had to leave and I had to make sure you would never, ever come after me."

  She was right.

  It changed everything.

  Haakon paced in front of the fire, glancing at her now and then. Árdís sat wrapped in his cloak, watching him with an expression he'd never seen on her before: defeat.

  "Tell me," he said hoarsely. "Tell me everything."

  "I shouldn't have said it. You caught me at a weak moment."

  Yes, you damned well should have.

  But it wasn't her he was angry at.

  "Please. I need to know the truth, Árja."

  "Ten years ago," she whispered, looking down into her curled hands. "I fled the dreki court. I'd finally reached my majority, and it's expected that a... a dreki female will begin to consider certain alliances. Sirius wanted to mate with me, but he wasn't the only one. And, I don't know what came over me. My mother is powerful. She murdered my father—or arranged for him to be murdered, and then she blamed my elder brother for his death, so she could claim my father's throne in Rurik's stead. She drove my younger brother, Marduk, away from court, when he became another rallying point for those still loyal to my father. It was just me, and I was alone and on the verge of adulthood, and I felt trapped." She looked up suddenly. "I wanted to see the world. I wanted to know what my purpose in it was. And I wanted freedom. Choices. A life away from my mother and all the pressure to mate. And so I fled.

  "I spent weeks on the Continent. All these places, all these cities, all these people.... I was too frightened to enter the cities, for it was so new to me. So I watched, and when I couldn't meld with the mortal world I flew north, and there was this land, this beautiful land full of glaciers and rivers and forests. So alien to my homeland, and yet so familiar. And I was hungry and curious, and that was where I met you."