Storm of Desire

by Bec McMaster

The second she saw who knocked, she almost found her feet again.

  Balder staggered in with Roar draped over his shoulder. They wore the signs of failure all over them, and her nostrils flared as the stink of charred flesh hit her.

  "What happened?" Amadea demanded, but she felt that twist of unease unfurl within her again.

  Roar collapsed to one knee, his face a smoking ruin. Drekling were barely scraps, but Stellan had insisted upon keeping the boy, when his human mother left him on the doorstep of Hekla. Over time, she'd come to see Stellan's argument. Roar was hungry for attention, for power. An ambitious drekling was a dangerous tool, but if wielded correctly....

  And Roar had managed to shift, through pure will power alone, if nothing else.

  "We found the princess," he said, wincing as his lips pulled against the burn scars marking his cheek. "She was with a mortal man, and she refused to come with us."

  Árdís. Again.

  Amadea's fingers curled over the ends of her throne. "I don't believe I suggested you should request her return."

  Roar looked up, revealing the full horror of his face. "We didn't. We were forced to the ground. The man had some sort of weapon that nearly tore me from the sky." He swiftly filled in the details. "And then your daughter unleashed some kind of green fire upon me." His breath caught. "It won't heal, even with the shift. I've tried everything. I can still feel it eating away at my flesh—"

  "Do you mean to tell me Árdís killed Ylve in single combat, and then forced you and Balder to flee?" Amadea found her feet, her voice trembling with rage. "Three of my finest dreki warriors couldn't handle a spoiled princess just past her first cycle and a human?"

  "She had some sort of magic!" Roar snarled. "We couldn't fight it. And it burned right through my shields. We had no choice but to flee."

  Amadea gave a twist of her hand and a ball of Chaos fire sprang to life in the air above her hand. "Did it look a little something like this?"

  Roar fell back on his hands, his face paling. "Yes! Sweet goddess, what is it?"

  Amadea advanced upon him, the ball of fire burning a sickly green that lit his face. She rarely wielded it in front of the court. Just the threat of it was enough. "Chaos magic. Tell me, how did my daughter wield it? Was it a pale green? Or hot and burning like this? Did she have full control over it?"

  He flinched, shielding the ruined side of his face with one hand. "It was bright green, like yours. But it wasn't fire, it was a flaming dreki that soared above her. It attacked me, and I could feel its fangs and claws rip through me as if they were solid, but there was nothing to fight. Nothing but air, when I lashed out. It wasn't real."

  Amadea froze.

  "A spirit form," she whispered, half to herself.

  Stellan caught her eye and she knew they shared the exact same thought.

  The spirit form had eluded her for years, no matter how many times she'd tried to master the art of it.

  But her grandmother had known how to create one.

  "How long did she hold it for?"

  Roar shook his head. "I don't know. It felt like forever. She was tearing me apart."

  "Seconds at most, my queen," Balder said from the side.

  How long had her daughter been meddling with Chaos magic right beneath her nose? How much did Árdís know? What could she do with it?

  Did she have the instinct for it, or had she been keeping secrets all along? Was there a reason Árdís had chosen Norway for her exile? Did she know that was where the roots of her Zillittu ancestry came from? Or had she been looking for something else? A mentor? Someone to train her?

  None of the Zilittu clan would have helped her.

  Their loyalty belonged to Amadea and her brother, but there were other dreki out there. Outcasts. Loners. Some mystics who could no longer survive at the Zilittu court.

  How had Árdís learned to cast a spirit form?

  "How much of a threat is she?" Stellan murmured in her mind, linking with her as if he sensed her unease.

  "I don't know."

  And the unknown scared her.

  "Where was the girl going?" Stellan asked. "Do you think she means to join with her brother Rurik?"

  "She was heading for the north coast," Balder said. "They were on foot for some reason, and she never took wing."

  Interesting. Amadea mapped Árdís's path in her mind. "She was trying to hide on land," she murmured, straightening to her full height. "Now she's on a ship. I didn't expect this level of subterfuge from her. She could have been at Rurik's side within a day if she'd taken wing, and we'd never have been able to stop her."

  "It's the human," Roar spat. "It wasn't until I threatened his life that she formed her wretched attack."

  Stellan's lips pressed firmly together. "How dare she slight her bloodlines like this?"

  She'd not truly considered him a threat until now. Merely a bedmate her daughter despoiled herself with, and a means to toy with Árdís.

  It's the human.

  Haakon Dragonsbane.

  She should have killed him when she'd had the chance. Now Árdís would be on her guard, and she didn't dare.

  Amadea turned, her leather skirts sweeping behind her with a faint serpentine swish. "Tell me," she whispered, "about the human. Tell me about the fight. Every little detail."

  Roar complied, and a thought began to form.

  "What are you thinking?" Stellan asked, his eyes heavy-lidded as he surveyed his bastard.

  "She only resorted to her magic when the human's life was threatened." Amadea's eyes narrowed. "I don't think she's trained at all. I think she was desperate, the same way I was when I tore grandmother's soul to shreds. You were my catalyst to push me over the edge into Chaos. Just as the human is hers."

  "It's been mere days," he scoffed. "She couldn't have formed an attachment to him in such a short time."

  "Has it been mere days?" Amadea turned to confront him, and the room fell silent, as if they all sensed their words were no longer being heeded. "She was unaccounted for during three entire years. Seeing the world, she said. Spreading her wings. I didn't pay enough attention to her. I've never paid enough attention to her."

  She'd never expected Árdís to be the threat.

  "My queen?" Roar dared to ask.

  "Find them," Amadea said, turning back to the mirrors. "I want the human dead."

  It would shatter Árdís's newfound confidence. Make her weaker.

  "But what of her magic?" Roar asked. "We can't fight that."

  "You won't have to," Amadea said coldly. "When you find her, you will contact me."

  "And we will handle it," Stellan murmured, his gaze meeting hers once more. "Don't do something foolish, Dea. She might be your match."

  Never.

  "I'll bring her back," Roar promised. "She will be my mate. And then I shall repay her for this." He gingerly touched his raw cheek.

  The queen merely smiled.

  Poor boy. He thought she was going to allow Árdís to live.

  Chapter 21

  Haakon took a slow breath of relief as the enormous volcanic peak of Krafla came into view.

  Árdís peered around him, her arms squeezing him tight. "We're here. We're finally safe."

  The breath eased out of him. The ride had been fraught, with all of them watching the skies closely.

  "I cannot wait to see Rurik," she breathed, giddy with happiness. "Do you think his mate will like me?"

  Freyja was as different from the princess as the sun from the moon. "She'll like you," he said, unable to avoid a smile. "I should warn you though. She'll probably put you to work cleaning the barn."

  "Barn?" Árdís's chin rested on his shoulder as she tried to see his face.

  "She made your brother clean her barn for her, while he was courting her."

  "The dreki prince heir cleaned a barn?" Árdís sounded both a little horrified and in awe. "What sort of powers does this Freyja wield?"

  Haakon laughed. "He did it of his own volition, I believ
e. Freyja could give the tide lessons in wearing away a rock." His laughter faded. And she'd forgiven him for trying to use her to lure out the dreki who had a fascination with her. That didn't mean she'd welcome him back into her life. His voice roughened. "But she'll adore you, Árdís. Who could not?"

  Árdís made a strange purring sound in her throat. "The only one whose adoration I seek is a certain thickheaded dragon hunter."

  "Well, you've already won him over, despite the fact you like to call him unruly names."

  "Have I?"

  Haakon captured her hand, and brought it up to his lips to kiss. "You had him from the very first moment he saw you. You had his heart. His soul. It was fate, and he knew it. He'd found the one woman he intended to marry. His adoration was never in any doubt. He just wonders if this capricious dreki princess could ever love a lowly dragon hunter."

  Árdís squeezed her arms around him. "He might think himself merely a dragon hunter, but he's proven remarkably skilled. He captured the heart of a dreki princess," she whispered, "before she even knew it herself."

  Relief. Sweet relief.

  "It was never about capturing her heart. But about keeping it."

  She hesitated, and Haakon held his breath. "Haakon," she said in a confessional tone, and he twisted in the saddle to see her face. "There's something you need to know—"

  "Ho!" Tormund bellowed, showing inordinately terrible timing. "There he is!"

  An enormous golden dreki swooped in lazy circles in the air above them.

  "Rurik," Árdís breathed, staring up in delight.

  "The prince," Marek whispered, his voice rough with awe.

  Whatever she wanted to tell him, the moment was gone.

  Later, he promised himself.

  He watched the light break over her expression. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. And she deserved to be there in the skies, soaring like the wild creature she was.

  Gliding on wings of gold beside her brother.

  The dreki landed, a wash of golden light breaking across him. It was so bright, Haakon was forced to throw up a hand in front of his face.

  And then the light vanished, and a man stood there, tall and nude and completely unperturbed by the fact. Blond hair raked back from his brow, and his eyes were the same color as Árdís's. Someone had broken Rurik's nose long ago, but it only made him look slightly more dangerous. The first time Haakon had met the prince, he'd thought the man strange, but there'd been something about Rurik that unsettled him. The man had been vaguely amused by Haakon's determination to kill the local "dragon", and completely unthreatened. It was only when Freyja had been imperiled, that darkness rippled through Rurik's eyes, and a monster stared back.

  Don't turn your back on him, he'd thought, even though Rurik had never so much as made a threat against him.

  Rurik's gaze raked the company, locking on Árdís and softening. But Haakon had seen those amber eyes harden when Rurik had gone to fight Magnus, and knew if one crossed the prince, then the lazy, insouciant smile would vanish, and you would be facing a whirlwind trapped into human flesh.

  The carnage he'd seen as the pair of dreki fought had been furious and devastating. Two enormous beasts grappling in the air before him, tearing at each other with teeth and claws, and slamming shoulder-to-shoulder in an effort to cripple each other's wings.

  He couldn't face that. Not as a man. Not on foot.

  "Sweet Jesus," Tormund breathed. "Remind me never to piss beside that bastard."

  Clearly he was not the only one sizing Rurik up, albeit in different areas.

  "Here we are." Haakon offered his arm, and Árdís swung down, barely giving him a second glance. "You're safe."

  There was a bag at the dreki's feet. Rurik tugged a pair of trousers out of it, putting them on. "Welcome."

  "Rurik!" Árdís ran toward her brother, and he swept her up into his arms, twirling her in a tight circle.

  Haakon slowly dismounted. Time to pay his dues.

  Rurik's arms tightened around her, and Árdís drank in the sensation. Thirty long years without her family.

  "I missed you," she told him, burying her face against his chest. "So much."

  "I missed you."

  Her feet left the ground as he squeezed her so tightly she thought her ribs were going to break. This strong brother of hers, the light of the dreki court. She was so proud of him. So hungry to see him again, and talk of old times.

  So furious.

  The second he let her go, Árdís stepped back and punched him in the arm. "You barely ever contacted me."

  Rurik captured her fist before she could hit him again. "It was too dangerous. You were too young, and I didn't wish to drag you into the mess."

  "You’re my brother! Do you have any idea what it was like to be left behind, barely daring to mourn you or father?" She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't. But there was a storm of fury within her, one she hadn't even known she'd held.

  "Do you have any idea what it was like to leave?" Rurik snapped.

  Someone cleared their throat behind them.

  "Before we launch into a reminiscence of old times—or war, as it might be—do you think we ought to find shelter?" Haakon asked. "We don't know what else is in the skies."

  Rurik's eyes sharpened. "What does that mean?"

  Árdís took the opportunity of her brother's distraction to punch him in the arm again. "You told him all my secrets."

  "That's not fair," Haakon said, running a hand down her spine. "It's the best thing that ever happened to you, and you know it."

  "Still," she sniffed. "He's supposed to be on my side."

  Rurik tilted a lazy brow up. "I am on your side. Sometimes brothers need to do what is best for their little sister, not necessarily what she thinks she wants. Where have you been? What are you doing here? Why are we supposed to be taking shelter?"

  Both she and Haakon took a deep breath and looked at each other.

  "It's your story," her husband said.

  So Árdís told him.

  Most of it.

  "And you didn't think to fly here?" Rurik demanded, when she was done.

  "It's complicated," Árdís said. "I—"

  "I bartered with a svartálfar for a manacle that would trap her in her human form so I could talk to her," Haakon said brusquely. "The problem is, the manacle is will-based. I can't remove it, because a part of me doesn't want to lose her again."

  "I see." The dreki's golden eyes narrowed, and tension slid through his shoulders. "I gave you the truth about my sister because I thought she owed you a debt."

  "Rurik," Árdís growled. "Don't you dare."

  The prince blinked down at her.

  "I haven't seen you for half a cycle," she said, advancing upon him and digging a finger into his chest. "You do not get to play the overprotective dreki male with me. It is a matter between Haakon and me."

  Rurik held his hands up and backed off. "Fine. Haakon's correct. We should probably get you back home."

  Home. "You don't mind?" she whispered.

  He rubbed his arm. "I had initial doubts, but if you promise not to hit me again, then I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement."

  Árdís burst into a nervous laugh. "Thank you."

  Rurik kissed her forehead. "Of course I'll protect you. You can always come to me."

  She'd been so long without an ally that there'd been a part of her that had wondered. "And Marek? He's a drekling from the court who swore his loyalty to you."

  Rurik's gaze sharpened as he made out the angry 'T' on Marek's forehead. He would know what it meant, and looked troubled. "You seek asylum?"

  "If you would have me, my prince."

  Rurik hauled the drekling upright when he made as if to bow. "If you are loyal and true, then I shall shield you. But you shall not grovel before me. Not with this mark upon you."

  Clasping both hands around Marek's face, power spilled over his hands in a heated shimmer. The scab flared with gold light, and the
n vanished, revealing smooth, unblemished skin. Marek gasped, and pressed his fingers there.

  "My healing abilities are limited," Rurik said, stepping back from the drekling. "You're lucky the scab hadn't begun to scar."

  "My prince," poor Marek whispered, as if he'd seen a god land upon the earth.

  Rurik chuckled, a deep rumble in his chest. "A prince in exile, Marek. Nothing more."

  And nothing less.

  "He's going to worship you forever," Árdís said, as she connected with her brother. "You'll be insufferable."

  "Not with Freyja to keep my feet firmly upon the ground." Rurik held out his hand to her. "Come. You can fly on my back. I want you to meet my mate."

  "What about Haakon and the others?" She looked back.

  "They can follow," Rurik said curtly. His eyes met Haakon's. "I might have to warn Freyja he's coming."

  "Why would you have to warn her?"

  Rurik's grin widened. "Didn't he tell you? Haakon was trying to lure me out of my volcano. So he tied Freyja to a stake and offered her as my monthly tithe. As you can imagine, she wasn't very happy with him."

  Árdís gasped.

  "I apologized," Haakon said.

  "And then you saved her life," Rurik said, his eyes glittering. "Which is the only reason you're still alive today."

  "You're not the one I was scared of," Haakon replied coolly. "And I am trying to make amends."

  "Freyja is dangerous?" Árdís asked.

  "She shoots lightning bolts from the sky, and rips the earth apart with a thought," Haakon muttered. "She broke my ballista twice."

  "Fierce," Rurik said, with some satisfaction.

  Árdís stepped inside the small farmhouse, feeling a little nervous. It was one thing to meet her brother after so long—quite another to meet his mate. His fierce, dangerous mate, who had a powerful magic.

  She ran a hand over the wooden paneling on the walls. The house was small, with grass on the roof, and goats in the yard. It seemed incongruous that her brother—a dreki prince—could find his happiness living here, but Rurik had already told her this house belonged to Freyja's father, and Freyja insisted on spending several nights of the week here, rather than in Rurik's Chaos bubble.