Storm of Desire

by Bec McMaster

  "There's a man with her. Just one."

  And: "What in Tiamat's name is she thinking to venture into Fáfnir's territory?"

  He'd finally given the horses to a farmer, with coin and instructions to hold them for him, and led her up here to the top of the cliff.

  She had a bad feeling about his intentions.

  "I'm changing form. I'm done with this slow meander, and this body." Sirius paused, his black cloak fluttering around his heels. "We'll hunt her from the air. We know where she went, but we can't follow her. Not in mortal form."

  Malin glanced up, to the flapping shapes on the horizon that were not birds. Roar and his fellow hunters had all wheeled toward the volcanoes that graced the interior of Iceland, presuming, perhaps, that the princess would have sought allies. But they'd been circling back around all morning.

  Unsuccessful. She smiled on the inside.

  Sirius held his hand out toward her and growled. "Do you want them to find her first?"

  "No." Malin's good humor faded and she eyed his hand. "I've never flown before."

  Something shifted in his expression. "Never?"

  "Did I forget to mention the one time I finally changed shape and managed to flap my ways into the skies?" she snapped. "No? Oh, that is right. It never happened."

  "Ah." Faint amusement crinkled the edges of his eyes. "I get to be your first, then."

  A flush of heat went through her. Surely he hadn't meant that the way it sounded...?

  "I can stay here," she protested. "You'll be unencumbered without me."

  "I swore I'd deliver you to Rurik," he replied. "And that's what I intend to do. You're not safe here."

  "I shouldn't think you'd be so concerned."

  Dropping a bag at his feet, he swung the cloak off his shoulders. "I keep my promises."

  "A sense of honor, my lord?" A startled laugh burst from her. From you?

  Sirius's eyes narrowed, and his fingers went to the buttons on his shirt.

  What is he—? Malin stared at him for a second, but when he began to slip the shirt from his broad shoulders, she suddenly comprehended. Sirius paused, as if aware of her eyes, and gave her a very smoky look.

  "I don't mind if you watch me strip," he said, "but something tells me you'd rather chew rocks."

  Malin turned around so abruptly her skirts swished. "You stole the words right out of my mouth."

  Except she could hear the rustle of fabric, and even though she wasn't looking, some infernal part of her mind insisted upon filling in the details she was missing. The Blackfrost was a large man with broad shoulders, and she'd caught a glimpse of his heavy pectoral muscles as he undid the buttons on his shirt.

  Imagine what the rest of him looked like?

  Gods. What was wrong with her?

  A shimmer of power washed over her, like molten honey dripping down her skin. She heard the rasp of his breath, loud in the quiet, and knew he'd made the change. Every inch of her skin prickled, and she looked down, feeling something shift inside her in response to his magic.

  But then it died.

  As it always did.

  Malin looked around.

  The enormous dreki twisted its sinuous neck, eyeing her with eyes the color of blue-gray ice. Malin's breath came a little quicker. Regardless of what she felt for the Blackfrost, his dreki form was pure perfection. Every black scale gleamed, and the lash of his tail was like a whip. Where his brother Magnus had been the size of a brutish conqueror, Sirius was sleek and agile. An arrow of death that mastered the winds he rode.

  Sirius lowered his wing, inviting her toward him. Her breath caught in a strangled mix of fear and temptation.

  What she wouldn't give to fly just once....

  The brush of his mind caressed her own, and Malin threw up fierce barriers against his psychic touch. She might be unable to shift, but her psychic protections were strong.

  There was no way she was going to allow him inside her mental shields.

  The dreki bared its teeth at her, and her gaze darted to the side but there was nowhere to run.

  A growl caught her attention.

  They stared at each other, and again she felt his mind brush against hers.

  "No," she said sharply, and very loudly.

  If anything, it almost looked like he sighed.

  Then he picked up a fist-sized stone in his enormous left claw and deliberately released it over the edge of the cliff.

  Malin blinked. "You're going to drop me off the side?"

  The dreki shook its head vehemently.

  "Oh." You're not going to drop me.

  He stared at her patiently.

  "It's not that." Once again she glanced over the edge, and then closed her eyes when the ground fell away sharply. "I'm... I'm afraid of heights."

  There was... a certain silence she could almost interpret.

  "Yes, I'm a dreki and I'm afraid of heights. It's not that amusing. If you fall off this cliff, then you can fly away safely. If I fall off this cliff, then I'll become a bloody splat on the ground below. It tends to play on a girl's mind."

  Wings flapped, and Malin's eyes slammed open just as the dreki filled her entire view. The downdraft of his thrust almost flattened her against the rock, and she screamed and curled herself into a small ball.

  The expected pluck of his claws didn't come.

  Malin lowered her arms.

  The enormous dreki landed in front of her and sunk its chest toward the ground, in some strange almost bowing maneuver. Then he paused and glanced up at her, a soft whumpf sound echoing in his chest.

  "You want me to sit on your back?" she blurted.

  Dreki were lords of the storm. They didn't carry people around like pack mules. The best she'd hoped for was for him to curl his claws around her and haul her into the air, but that would be painful and precarious.

  One arctic eye blinked.

  Oh.

  Malin stared at his sleek scales. What would it be like to fly? For a moment she could almost forget her fears, for the only thing more powerful was the yearning for the air. For years she'd watched dreki take to the skies, and stared longingly after them. Sometimes she stood outside Hekla when the storms raged, and let the wind whip her hair around her face as she closed her eyes and imagined what it would be like.

  Her fingertips glanced his scales. They felt like polished gemstones to the touch, though the heat beneath his skin was hotter than she'd expected.

  The enormous dreki prince curled his wing around her, and Malin froze as it curled her against his side. Then she realized he was dipping the finger joint of his wing low enough for her to use his shoulder to climb up.

  Her mouth went dry.

  He nudged her.

  "Yes, well," she said sharply, squeezing her eyes shut. "I am trying."

  The ripple of muscle shifted beneath her hands, sharp-edged scales rasping her palms. Malin blinked. It was easier if she thought only of him, and not of what he intended. Her gown constricted around her ribs as her lungs expanded. Malin stroked his scales, blanking everything out of her mind except the sensation of his warm scales. He felt almost like an enormous cat, sinuous with muscle and covered in diamond-hard armor.

  Somehow she put the tip of her boot on the spine of his wing. It shifted beneath her foot, and then she was gasping, clinging to his side like a nervous rider hanging precariously of the side of a horse. Malin scrambled for purchase as he shoved her higher, and then there was nothing she could do except swing her leg over the curve of his shoulders, or fall face-first over the other side.

  Before she knew it, she was sitting astride him, her dress hitched up around her calves and her heart hammering in her chest.

  Sweet goddess. She was mounted upon a dreki prince with a notorious reputation.

  One who glanced at her as if to assure himself she was fully seated, before spreading his wings.

  "Not yet!" Malin cried out, her knees and thighs clamping around him.

  The dreki beneath her froze
.

  Wind curled through her hair. Malin looked up at the rosy skies above them. By all the gods, this was amazing. And the heat of his skin warmed her right through her stockings.

  She had the sudden horrific thought she was straddling what was technically a naked dreki.

  You have the Blackfrost between your thighs.

  You are not going to think of that.

  But a burst of nervous laughter tore from her, and Sirius bared his teeth as if to question what the hell was wrong with her, and she had no answer to that. Or at least, none she could share with him.

  The laughter subsided, and she suddenly felt ill.

  This was going to happen.

  "I have a confession to make." Traitor, whispered her heart. But she was so damned confused. And he... he hadn't hurt her. Perhaps he truly did want to rescue Árdís. "I didn't tell you earlier, because... well, I didn't really want to help you. And I didn't trust you."

  Muscle shifted beneath the plated scales, and she grabbed hold of the heavier ones that ridged his neck as he glanced at her.

  Now was probably not the time to irritate him. Malin swallowed. "I wouldn't have told you this if you'd simply hauled me into the air. But there's something you should know about the princess. She's not going to be able to change into dreki form. That's why she's moving so slowly. Someone put a magical bracelet upon her, and trapped her in her mortal form. So Roar and the others... they're looking in the wrong place. If you want to find her, then we need to continue north. She's clearly heading in that direction for a reason. And she won't have gone as far as you think."

  He considered her for a long moment.

  "Well, what-are-you-waiting-for?" All of the words fell out of her mouth in one unbroken stream. She was not ready for this, but then she didn't know if she ever would be.

  And the wind was calling her name, lifting strands of hair off her back.

  "Please," Malin blurted. "Just do it. Before I lose my nerve."

  Once again she felt him brush against her mind as he hopped toward the edge of the ledge.

  Malin's fingers and thighs tightened around him. Oh, sweet goddess. The world vanished beneath his shoulders as he paused right on the edge, and her throat closed over in pure fear.

  "Be at ease, Malin," Sirius whispered in her mind, and she realized she'd somehow let him in during her panic. "And focus on enjoying the wind rushing past your ears, rather than the ground beneath your feet. I won't let you fall. I won't ever let you fall."

  The dreki prince exploded into the skies.

  "Haakon Dragonsbane?"

  The first thing Haakon noticed was the chill creeping along his arms. Cold? He'd fallen asleep in an oven, with Árdís curled up in his arms—

  Arms that were now empty.

  Haakon reached out blindly, turning his head to try and find her. The imprint where she'd lain held no heat, and the hollow of the blankets revealed only the ghostly shell of her body.

  He had a split-second moment of horror. A realization, she's gone, again....

  "Árdís?"

  There was no sign of her in the cabin. The ship lurched.

  "Haakon."

  Árdís. Her voice sounded very scared, and far away.

  He slung his legs out of bed, slipping into his trousers and grabbing his sword. The ship rocked as if a storm lashed it and the door to the cabin banged as it hit the doorjamb.

  Staggering through the door, he found himself in a nightmare. Enormous waves crashed and rolled. The skies were black, though lightning flickered all around the ship. No sign of any of the men. Where the devil were they? Water sprayed over him as a wave smashed against the port side.

  "Árdís?" he bellowed, staggering forward to grab hold of the mast. He needed to find rope and tie himself to it. But there was none lying around.

  "Haakon!" A soft cry.

  He saw a small figure in a white nightgown near the bow of the ship. What was she doing out in this weather? Fear twisted him in tight knots. He'd not said a thing to her about sitting in the crow's nest, but this was far more dangerous. Where the hell was Tormund? Gunnar?

  Another wave slammed the ship. No time for rope.

  That slim figure staggered against the railing.

  Haakon fought his way forward, casting the sword aside. He wouldn't need it. Spray wet his cheeks and face, until his hair dripped.

  Árdís slipped away from him, her skirts rustling around her legs and her bare feet leaving little imprints on the deck that glowed with green fire.

  "Árja!" He was losing her.

  "Please save me!" she cried, turning and reaching toward him imploringly.

  A monstrous wave curled up over the top of her. Lightning flashed. His scream tore the air. "No!"

  Her eyes widened in horror as she turned and saw it coming. Gray waters engulfed her, sweeping her over the side of the rail. He saw a flash of her white nightgown, and those frightened eyes locking on him as she reached for him—

  Then she was gone.

  Haakon slammed against the rail, leaning over it to search for her in the violent churn of the seas. "Árja? Árja!"

  A head bobbed, hair shielding her face as she lashed out, fighting to stay afloat.

  Thank all the gods. He tried to climb the rail, preparing to dive in after her.

  "Haakon?" a voice called in the distance. "Haakon! What the fuck are you doing?"

  "Please save me," Árdís cried, her arm reaching for him through the pounding surf. "Haakon! You're my only hope."

  A hand snatched at his arm, and a body slammed against his. She was going under, her blonde head vanishing for a moment. Haakon strained against the unseen grip, fighting to climb the rail. "I can't lose her. Let me go, damn you!"

  "Haakon?" Árdís's voice. Behind him.

  He paused.

  Árdís?

  "Don't let go of him," she cried.

  "Trying not to." Tormund. A grunt. "He's as strong as an ox."

  The storm lashed against the side of the boat.

  The blonde woman surfaced again, her eyes glowing green, and a shiver ran down his spine as she smiled at him. It wasn't Árdís. Now he could see her face properly, he could make out minute differences. She could have been Árdís's twin, if his wife had ever looked at anyone with that sort of malevolence.

  Mocking laughter filled his ears. Haakon froze. What the hell was going on? He could still feel the spray of water against his face, and taste the salt on his lips.

  Raising her hand, the woman clenched her fist.

  His lungs arrested as if a fist wrapped around his heart and squeezed. Agony seared through him, and he felt his knees hit the deck.

  He couldn't breathe.

  "Haakon!" Someone screamed, and a soft hand pressed against his chest, letting his airways open up. He could feel heat pouring through him from that touch, and a golden tingle of lightning in his veins. "Stay with me."

  Always.

  "A pity," the strange woman whispered, directly in his mind. "It would have been a kind death."

  Then the squeezing sensation vanished, and Haakon surged awake with a gasp. He felt like he'd run thirty miles. In heavy chainmail. He was on his back on the deck, with a handful of faces looming over him. The only one that mattered was Árdís. Green light glowed around her, but she looked frightened.

  "What the hell was that?" Tormund demanded.

  There was something wet in his throat. Haakon convulsed, turning onto the side as he coughed. Árdís's hands held him there, her hand rubbing his back as he vomited a small amount of blood.

  "Haakon." Her voice came out anguished. "Damn her!"

  The ship rocked beneath them. His throat felt raw as he sucked in air. Sweet, precious air. Other sensations began to intrude. Every inch of him was wet. He felt cold from the tip of his toes to the top of his head. The only warmth came from where Árdís rocked him in her arms. She pressed her cheek to his, and somehow he managed to grab her hand.

  "You'd better explain yourself,
dreki," Gunnar growled.

  "That was my mother." Her fingers tightened unconsciously on his arms. "She was in his dreams. Trying to lure him to his death." A sob caught on her breath. "That bitch. That bitch."

  "I thought it was you," he rasped. "I thought you went overboard."

  Árdís's face was far too pale. "He's freezing. I need something to warm him up. Tea. Or soup. And we need to get him back to the cabin."

  "I'm fine."

  "You are not fine," she suddenly screamed, and all of the men fell silent.

  Tormund helped her to her feet, tucking her under one massive arm. "Aye, lass. He'll live. I've seen him take worse."

  A storm of tears suddenly rolled over her. Árdís never cried. His stomach dropped. Haakon tried to sit up, and Bjorn helped him. "Árja...."

  "I'm fine," she whispered, pushing away from Tormund.

  Who opened his mouth to say something. Haakon shook his head sharply. Now was not the time.

  She dashed the tears from her face, shaking violently. Every move she made was stiff with a growing rage. Tears gleamed in her eyes, but there was a fierceness there he barely recognized, and her pupils were cat-slit, as though the dreki rose to the surface. "What did she say to you? Did she say anything?"

  "She said it would have been a kind death."

  Árdís bared her teeth, as Tormund and the others reached down to help him to his feet. "That vindictive bitch. I swear to all the gods I will show her what an unkind death means."

  Finally ready to fight.

  But for the first time, he had a true idea of just how powerful the dreki queen was.

  Chapter 19

  Árdís paced the small cabin they shared, and if she'd been in dreki form, he would have sworn her tail lashed behind her.

  He was practically swaddled in enough blankets to warm an army, and the tea warmed him from the inside. Every inch of him ached with tiredness, but a part of him didn't dare fall asleep again. He wanted to drag his wife into bed and hold her in his arms, but she was having none of that.

  Rage burned within her.

  The clouds outside weren't quite a storm, but winds whipped them into large gusts, and though she wore the manacle, some part of her power must have been leeching through. If he wasn't so bone tired, and she angry, he might have kissed her.