by Alana Serra
But the Raknari were stopping right in front of the cave, brushing the snow and ice out of their beasts’ pelts, feeding them scraps of raw meat they’d wrapped in cloth, then leading them into the icy depths.
“You can’t be serious,” she said, her jaw hanging open as she watched all three of the Storm Lord’s companions disappear inside the caverns. “I’ll freeze solid in there.”
If his plan was to humiliate her and neglect her until she succumbed, he could have just saved himself the trouble early on.
“Warm yourself, then. I don’t know why you haven’t done it thus far. You’ve been shivering for hours.”
“The clothes I’m wearing are the warmest clothes I own. Not that you gave me much of a chance to get more.”
It was a bit unfair. He’d let her say goodbye to her family. He might have let her get warmer clothes. She should have, if she’d been thinking clearly. But hindsight was always clearer, and Imara became far more practical the colder it got. Something about losing feeling in her fingers and toes had that effect on her.
“I’m not speaking of your clothes. Warm yourself inside,” he said wearily, as though he were speaking to a child.
“Inside there? It’s colder in that cave than it is ou—”
“Inside your body,” he growled. “Stop acting as though you don’t understand me.”
“I don’t understand you!”
God, he was infuriating. There was so much arrogance in him, and he was so ready to assume that he was right and she was just a brainless human who liked playing games.
The more she cursed him, though, the more her brain mulled over what he’d said, as if in spite. When it finally clicked, she shot a look up at him.
“I can’t do that. Not to the extent that you mean. My body stays warm enough, but there’s a limit to it.”
She was no naturalist. She didn’t understand the ins and outs of it all. All she knew was what she observed. Her mouth didn’t get much colder, under normal circumstances. That was why steam curled before her even now. To offset this heat, though, she would’ve needed an inferno boiling within her. Far too hot for her to endure.
At first she thought the Storm Lord might accuse her of simply not trying hard enough. She thought she might smack him if he did, for all the good it would do. But his clenched jaw slackened somewhat, and he let out a huff of breath.
“Then you will have to make use of mine.”
A tingle wound through her, unbidden. His body was strangely warm, she’d realized. The ice armor that coated his front was predictably cold, but everything else pulsed with the same heat she would’ve expected from a human. Especially his thighs. They were scaldingly hot, and she’d wanted to burrow deeper into him, press her whole body against those hard muscles.
But staying warm in an ice cave would mean being close to him all night. She wasn’t sure she was prepared for that and everything it would mean to her traitorous body.
She also wasn’t sure she had much of a choice.
The Storm Lord dismounted behind her, the cat’s muscles shuddering as he got off. Instinct had her burying her hands in its ruff, holding on in case it decided to throw her now that its master was on the ground. But it just waited somewhat patiently, and she started to slide off, having to grip hard to keep herself from just falling.
Her captor—or the man who now owned her, at least—apparently grew impatient. Massive hands gripped her, completely covering the edge of her hips. Warmth seared into her skin even through the layers of clothing and she shivered. As much as she wanted to maintain her dignity and tell him she could have made it down on her own—eventually—she wasn’t eager to say anything that would have him foist her off on someone else or order her to sleep curled up next to one of the man-eating cats.
For as alien as he was to her, as much as she distrusted him and his kind, she had a better idea of what to expect from him than any other creature here. So Imara kept her mouth shut and let him lead her into the ice cave.
Stepping inside, she was immediately struck by the biting cold. It seemed to seek out every joint, every bone, gnawing away until she felt as though she was being torn apart from the inside out. Chills swept over her, sudden and violent. Though she tried to suppress them, there was no stopping it once it began.
“Take off those clothes,” the Storm Lord commanded her.
“Wh-what?” her teeth were chattering but she still managed the energy to glower at him. “I thought you said you wouldn’t… ‘t-take what was yours’… until we reached the mountain.”
“I’m not going to fuck you, human.”
Deeper in the cavern, his men snickered. Imara felt heat suffuse her cheeks. Perhaps she could keep herself warm through embarrassment alone. Embarrassment and anger.
“Imara,” she said through gritted teeth. “You’ve heard my name. Use it.”
The Storm Lord lowered his face to hers, having to duck low to do it. She could see the almost iridescent shimmer of the runes now, like an ink that had flecks of metal worked into it. It was magic. She knew that. She could sense it as clearly as she’d once been able to sense the summer rain. Even now, she wanted to touch them.
But part of her also wanted to draw back and smash her forehead into his angular nose.
“You are mine now, and I will call you what I like,” he warned in a low voice.
“Don’t expect me to respond.”
He was so close, she could feel the heat radiating off of him. She would have torn away her clothing in an instant just to get closer to that warmth, but she needed him to know she was not going to be treated worse than a common whore. If she was going to spend the rest of her life with the Raknari—with the Storm Lord—she refused to turn into a simpering mess who agreed to his every whim.
There was every chance his discipline would turn to something more physical. She half expected him to take a hand to her now. Bend her over his knee and spank her as though she were an unruly child. There was fire burning in those cold eyes of his, and she could see he wanted to do something. She held her breath, waiting. Almost hoping he would.
Then he let out a deep, resonant chuckle in the back of his throat.
“Take off your clothes, Imara, so that you may better benefit from the heat of my body.”
There was a taunting note in the way he said her name, but it still sent a shiver up her spine. She wrapped her arms around herself and looked about her at the gathered men and the cave itself. There would have been something beautiful about it, were it not so cold. Ice clung to every surface in thick fractals that reflected what little light there was this way and that. It was all a shimmering blue, so clear that it seemed like the frozen run-off from a mountain stream. Judging from the solid waterfall that cascaded down one of the cavern walls, frozen in the midst of its fall, she suspected it was.
The three men just staring at her were less appealing, however. She shot the Storm Lord a look that was almost—but not quite—a plea. He followed her gaze to the others, and for a brief moment she saw a flicker of something fierce in his eyes. Something sharply possessive that was accompanied by a rough growl to his words.
“You all have preparations to make. Make them.”
His men followed the order, brushing and feeding their beasts, turning their backs to her. Her gaze lingered on the Storm Lord as he pulled a thick hide blanket from one of his saddlebags. Not for his benefit, she was sure. Imara turned away, ignoring the little flicker of warmth in her gut. What did it matter that he wasn’t a complete savage? She was still being kept by him like a pet. She still didn’t know him. She didn’t even know his name, she realized with some shame after she’d demanded he use hers.
Sighing, she began to unlace the ties and cording, first taking off her coat, then the jerkin and the two shirts beneath, then both her hose and breeches and the boots that had done her no favors thus far. She stood shivering, her arms covering her bare breasts, pendant touching her collarbone. The only other garment she wore was
her smallclothes, and those she intended to keep on. There was no way that tiny amount of skin was going to make a difference, and she had a feeling that part of her body would get plenty warm all on its own.
“Here.” His voice was softer than she expected, and she turned to see him crouched over the furs, the blanket spread across the ground.
Then she took in the whole picture before her.
His chest had been bare before, only his breeches and boots covering him. Both were gone now, and he wore absolutely nothing underneath. She could see every hard mass of muscle, every sculpted plane of his chest, his arms, his thighs. And she could see his cock, hanging between his legs, half-erect already. It was thick and solid, and those runes… God, they were there, too. On his inner thighs, his hips, and tattooed upon the flesh of his cock, both on his foreskin and the member itself.
It was fascinating, entrancing, and Imara couldn’t look away. She wanted to touch even more, to feel it throbbing in her hand, between her legs, inside her cunt. What would that pulse of magical energy feel like? Would it make any difference that his cock almost seemed to glow with the frosty blue light? She could find out right now. She doubted he would deny her.
Her fingers curled so hard into her palm that she could feel the nails digging crescent-shaped indentations into her skin. No. Whatever madness seemed to overcome her when she was around him, she needed to control it. She wasn’t going to throw herself at him. She’d make use of his body heat and that would be that. If he decided to take advantage in the middle of the night, though, she didn’t think she’d stop him…
It was a thought she tamped down quickly, settling onto the furs with her back to him. She curled tightly into herself, because while there was a definite heat sliding through her body, it wasn’t enough to warm her through. Just enough that she could feel it between her thighs. And somehow, he knew. The smirk she caught from him before she lay down was enough to tell her that. She squared her jaw and tucked her chin, determined to ignore him despite how much she needed the warmth of his body.
She felt him lay down beside her, felt him radiate heat that almost made her groan with how good it felt on her bare skin. It was like slipping into a steaming hot bath, letting herself go all the way under so that her entire body was submerged at once.
But he didn’t stop at that. He slid close to her, until his thighs were touching the backs of her knees. Until his chest was firm and solid against her back. Until his muscular arm clasped around her front. Until his cock rested, weighty and obvious against her thigh, searing her like a molten brand.
She held her breath as he got himself to where he intended to be, then shuddered once the heat of him suffused her. Instead of a common bath, this was like dipping into a hot spring in the middle of the afternoon when the sun beat down overhead. It would have been too hot, were they not in the middle of an ice cave. As it was, she had no idea how the ice around them wasn’t melting.
“Are you warm enough now?” he asked, his voice a rumble by her ear.
Her muscles spasmed, a current of desire running through her despite her best attempts to tamp it down. Imara closed her eyes and breathlessly said, “Yes,” hating that she couldn’t control her voice better.
Or the rest of her, for that matter, because she felt all too tempted to nestle back against him. She told herself it was solely for warmth, but as his cock continued to firm against her thigh, she couldn’t deny just how wet she was, and she couldn’t find the presence of mind to be ashamed or even disappointed in herself.
Then the Storm Lord’s grip tightened, almost painfully so. “Stop. Moving,” he warned her in a low growl.
“Forgive me for trying to get comfortable, my Lord,” she used his title sarcastically, tempted to add another backwards roll of her hips just for good measure.
She thought better of it. Instead she stilled and just enjoyed the warmth and the strength of his embrace. It was all necessity. There was nothing behind it—nothing beyond the insane desire she couldn’t seem to control, at least. Once that was slaked, he’d go back to being nothing more than a brute.
If she thought there was anything tender or protective about him—if she thought she’d heard possessiveness in his tone earlier—she was wrong. She would likely be one in a long line of women who warmed his bed.
Those thoughts were a cold comfort as sleep began to take her, but before she drifted off, she heard four words from him that challenged everything she’d just worked so hard to tell herself.
“My name is Rheor.”
Chapter 7
In the morning, Rheor awoke just as stiff and unsatisfied as he’d been when he finally let his exhaustion claim him.
She moved in her sleep. At first he thought she’d done it on purpose just to taunt him—to tease him with the fact that he could shift his hips just so and sheathe himself inside of her. Seek out the warmth he desired as much as she sought warmth from him. But she’d been sound asleep, unable to hear him when he admonished her. He’d had to shift carefully, pull his lower body away from her, and still that wasn’t enough.
Once he woke, he found he’d moved as close as he’d been before. Close enough that his right leg rested atop hers, his knee bent at a slight angle, his cock cushioned against the round curve of her rump, so close to her lips. He bit back a groan and pulled away, tucking the furs around her as he retrieved his clothing.
His men were already up and about, breaking camp, readying for the day’s travel. All but one. Loken was likely doing a morning patrol, getting a head start without being asked. Tiva was gone, as well, which explained why his own mount was restless, sounds of dissatisfaction rumbling through his chest.
“Be at ease, Varuk,” he said, stroking through the Machai’s mane. “She’ll return soon.”
But the beast’s agitation wasn’t assuaged, and Rheor could feel something clench in his gut. Cold washed through his veins like jagged floes of ice set adrift in the ocean. The layer of frost that had melted during the night reformed, creating a protective barrier around his chest and neck.
“Something has happened,” he told the others, “ready yourselves.”
There was a part of him that thought it best to wake Imara, but she would be safest in this cave, so long as he and his men guarded the front of it. Varuk padded out first and he followed, a spear of pure ice manifesting in his hands.
As he stepped out of the cave, he could feel the stillness of the canyon. There was no wind, no sound of birds winging overhead or vermin skittering among the rocks. Even Kiova’s touch seemed absent, the atmosphere around him stagnant.
In the distance he heard a fierce roar that echoed off the canyon walls. One hand at Varuk’s shoulder, he swung himself onto the beast’s back and let him lead the way, his superior senses taking them straight to Tiva and Loken.
They weren’t far.
Turning one winding corner, he spotted them, Loken on the ground, holding up a shield to protect himself from attackers that leapt down from the rocks. Someone else might have mistaken them for Raknari, but they were not. These were spineless serpents seeking to leech power off of any being they could.
The Svag.
And evidently they’d already drawn ample blood to do it. Tiva lay on the ground, struggling to stand, a pool of crimson spreading beneath her. Rheor could feel Varuk’s muscles tense beneath him, heard the roar rip through his throat, and managed to jump clear just in time before the Machai charged the Svag.
The giant cat ran down the one closest to Tiva, his blades stained with her blood, and slammed him into the ground. A sickening crack sounded in the canyon, followed by tearing flesh as Varuk ripped into him without mercy. With a deafening roar of his own, Rheor lunged at another, his ice spear held tight in one hand, the sheer cold of it burning his skin. To others, the weapon might have looked fragile—almost crystalline. But Rheor’s spear was far from fragile. It tore through leather armor, through skin and muscles, striking all the way down to the bone and beyond as h
e drove the impossibly sharp head of it into the Svag’s ribcage. He yanked backward, sending a spray of blood over the fresh, white snow as the cowardly Svag slumped to the ground.
Between Rheor and his men, all of the Svag were similarly dispatched in just a few minutes. There were six in total, a small ambush party that had obviously been waiting for them, intending to jump from the rocks with the element of surprise on their side. Evidently they’d become impatient and thought it would be more prudent just to attack a single scout. It was an unwise decision and it cost them their lives, in the end.
But it would also cost Tiva hers.
Rheor approached the Machai where she lay, still on her side, her limbs twitching every few moments as if she thought she might be able to outrun her predicament. Varuk was at her side as always, crouched down on all fours, nuzzling under his mate’s body as he tried to roll her into at least a sitting position. She let out a pained moan that lanced through Rheor’s heart, her ice blue eyes looking up at Varuk almost as if they were apologizing.
She was suffering. That much was obvious. And she deserved an honorable, dignified death, not one where she gradually lost all the blood in her body until her heart stopped beating. Fingers gripping around the ice spear, he stepped forward, only to be stopped by Loken who placed a hand on his chest.
“You cannot save her,” Rheor said quietly.
“I know.”
His voice was thick with emotion as he unsheathed a large, long knife from where it was hooked into his belt. With the blade held out flat in his palms, Loken approached, kneeling down before his Machai. Varuk growled in half-hearted warning, but he didn’t lunge and made no move to interfere. Rheor stood back a respectful distance, watching as his Raknari spoke the rites, and continuing to watch as Loken passed a hand over her body, a fine tremble barely shaking his arm.
