Storm Lord’s Bride

by Alana Serra

  There were questions about Imara. Not many, because few were bold enough to ask him to his face. He answered very little. She was from the human village to the north, one of several that fell under Kiova’s domain. She was here as a means of trade, given to him by the chieftain of said village. And—above all else—she was to be treated as a guest.

  He knew Imara’s assumptions about his people. The legend of the Raknari stretched far and wide, to all four corners of the land. Few of them painted his people in a flattering light, no matter what Tempest they followed. And at one time, perhaps the image had been justified. They’d been ruthless raiders once, concerned only with conquering. Taking more than their share, claiming it was in the name of their Goddess. That had always been a lie, and they were struck down for it. Kept down until they learned to exist perhaps not peacefully, but in a way that was more honest.

  Like the other Drotuns, Rheor was vital to keeping that balance now. He knew more than most of his people, and so their surprise didn’t shock him. He remained firm, used intimidation when he had to, and made it clear she was not to be harmed in any way. But speaking of her so much had an additional effect. It brought her to the forefront of his mind again, and Rheor could feel need pulse through him as he thought of her soft, warm body cradling his cock while she wriggled against him in her sleep.

  By the time he sent for her, he was already rock hard and imagining all of the things he wished to do. To her. For her. The list was practically endless. His mouth watered as he imagined tasting her, plunging his tongue into her. His fingers itched to travel the length of her body, to tweak and pinch her hard, pink nipples. And his cock throbbed insistently every time he thought of sheathing himself inside of her, pounding her pretty little cunt until she begged him for release.

  He stood in his bedchamber, still dressed in his leathers from the waist down, the runes that lined his body glowing softly with the sheer amount of energy that pulsed through him. He was not used to Kiova having a say in these activities. She’d been there once before, allowing him to channel his powers into one other. But she’d remained dormant when he’d taken care of his needs afterward, and Rheor had always preferred it that way. It was worrying that she wished to make herself apparent now. Worrying enough that Rheor’s mind was occupied with doubt, his lust momentarily forgotten.

  Until he saw her.

  Imara’s fiery red hair had been the first thing that caught his attention in her village, and it was the same now. It was undone from the braid she’d had it in before, the full length of it brushed out as it cascaded down her back. It looked achingly soft and Rheor wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through it. Curl them around the strands and tug tightly as he mounted her and fucked her until she screamed his name. Her eyes caught him next. A bright, piercing green that took in the entirety of his room—of him—and seemed to miss nothing at all. There was wit and intelligence there, along with a shock of desire that sent another thrum of heat straight to his cock.

  “So. I spent the afternoon being scrubbed raw by a stranger. How was your day?”

  There was a certain shyness in her voice, despite the challenging slant to her words. A smirk twitched at the corner of Rheor’s lips and he was tempted to respond immediately, but he wasn’t done taking in the sight of her. If he could only have her for one night, then he was going to get his fill. His hungry gaze roved over her form. Pale skin blushed a faint pink, glistened with oil, making the light dusting of freckles stand out even more. There was a hint of redness left behind from the brush, mostly at her neck. Rheor resolved to soothe it with his tongue and continued, taking in the swell of her breasts beneath the furs she’d been dressed in, the breadth of her hips that begged to be gripped by his strong hands alone, the curve of her thighs, so soft and yielding, all the way down to slim ankles that were met by slippers.

  He stalked toward her, feeling like a Machai on the hunt. He was starved for her, ached to just devour her immediately. Tear the clothes from her small, supple body and feast upon everything he found beneath. Suckle at her breasts, lap at her cunt, drag his lips over every inch of skin in between until he’d learned the taste of her by heart. Then and only then would he fill her with his cock, driving into her until she shuddered around him, denying his base urges until the last possible moment.

  He wanted to make the most out of all of it, including matching himself against her smart mouth. But when he stood this close to her, his runes glowed, pulsing energy through his body. His cock throbbed with it, his fingers yearned to release some of it into her, and Rheor found himself reaching for his little human and pulling her to him unbidden. She gasped, and suddenly there was far too much clothing separating them.

  “I want you,” he growled like some feral beast, turning her in his arms so that the curve of her rump was pressed against him. His hips jerked, rolling in a needy rhythm as he ground his still-covered cock against her.

  “I can feel that,” her words were breathless, a tremor to them.

  She wanted him too. He sense it, deep in his soul. It overwhelmed him with the certainty that he needed to be inside of her right now. Nothing else in the world mattered.

  Another growl rumbled through him, his chest vibrating with it. He reached for the leather cording that tied his pants, his fingers made for strength more than dexterity. The resulting tug broke one of the cords completely, but the ties gave enough for him to be able to open the front of them and free his straining cock. He was so unbelievably hard, and hardened even further still when he felt Imara instinctively press back against him.

  Rheor was not typically like this. He’d felt lust run hot through his veins before, but this little human seemed to spark it like no other before her. It should have startled him. He didn’t like taking leave of his senses. It was too dangerous and the one time he’d let it happen before, he’d lost someone who meant the world to him. But he couldn’t seem to even think beyond the need to bury himself in her tight cunt, fuck her until she called out his name, and give himself to her in every way possible. Not just his seed, but the blessing Kiova had bestowed upon him, as well. He wanted that more than he’d ever wanted anything before.

  And that was… strange. Roinim was a sacred act meant to occur between mated partners. Partners who’d deliberately chosen one another for life. The Drotun’s bride was meant to lead alongside him, to provide for and protect their people, to help create and nurture the next generation of the Tempests’ Chosen. To the best of his knowledge, a human couldn’t do that.

  And yet everything in him said otherwise. His body was preparing itself for Roinim. His runes hummed with that energy, Kiova’s wishes superseding his own, mixing with his lust to make some kind of potent magic that robbed him of all rational thought. Of everything but this intense need he had to bond with Imara. It didn’t help that he could smell the crisp, wintry scent of icebloom, a flower that only opened in the light of the Glacial Moon. He buried his face against her neck and inhaled, delighting in the shiver that followed, but something struck him as that scent washed over him.

  She’d mentioned being scrubbed raw. She was wearing Kiova’s scent and glistening with oil. She’d been prepared for Roinim. Intended this to happen. For him to take leave of his senses and claim her in a way that was irrevocable.

  That snapped Rheor out of his stupor. He pulled away from her so forcefully that she staggered forward. A snarl tore from his throat, accusation in his tone as he spoke. “Was this your plan all along, human? Achieve Roinim, then bring my power back to your people?”

  She whirled to face him, her lips parted, eyes wide. “What?”

  She must have been very adept at lying to pull off such an act, but Rheor was not going to allow himself to be drawn into her deception. Her father had likely planned this from the beginning. Perhaps they hoped to take the Peak from him. Drive his people out and take retribution for the destruction they’d wrought eons ago.

  “You’re not half as clever as you think you are,”
he spat, putting even more distance between them, “and Roinim won’t save you. You might be able to take from me, but you cannot hope to control Kiova’s blessing without my help.”

  “What are you talking about?” she demanded, anger rolling off of her in waves, like a wildfire burning out of control. “I don’t want Kiova’s blessing. I don’t want anything from her.”

  The answer seemed to surprise her as much as it surprised him. He was stricken by that look on her face, that distant realization he knew could not be faked. She didn’t want Roinim. She didn’t want anything to do with Kiova or the power she offered. That fact left Rheor feeling colder than before, when all he should have felt was relief.

  “You didn’t know about Roinim,” he murmured, more to himself than her.

  “No, I didn’t know about Roinim,” she hissed. “I didn’t find out until I was being forcibly prepared for something I didn’t agree to.” Her rage was palpable, and as she came toward him again, hands balled into fists, Rheor wondered if she might actually try to strike him. “Thank you for that, by the way. For making me look like a fool when this was sprung on me, then acting like some kind of beast when I was brought to you. You’re doing a wonderful job of dispelling all the ideas I had about the Raknari, I have to say.”

  Her tone got under his skin, practically begged him to fight with her. Snap and snarl back at her, put her in her place. She was a mere human. She didn’t understand anything, it was not his burden to tell her, and how dare she act as though he’d been anything other than excessively hospitable to her. But those words died in his throat, caught in a strangled growl as he realized she was right.

  He’d been tolerant of her. Patient with her. He hadn’t told her about Roinim because he hadn’t thought he needed to. It would never have occurred to him that he could feel the desire for it with a human, nor did he think he’d come close to going through with it. But he had acted like a beast, from the moment she’d entered his bedchamber. Something had taken over his senses, turned him half-feral. He’d wanted nothing more than to mate in the very primal sense of the word. To have her on all fours before him as he drove his cock into her and filled her with his seed.

  That wasn’t who he was, or who he wanted to be. Mindlessness was not a state he looked to achieve, even when he was slaking his lust. He wanted to be present, to be aware of everything he was doing and to know it was done with deliberate purpose. This was very far from that, and to think he’d almost initiated Roinim on top of it…

  “Can I go?” she asked, jaw held firm. As he looked at her, he saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes and guilt stabbed through him. “Or am I your captive now?”

  Something dark stirred within him, directed further inward. He wasn’t this person, and yet he could see himself in her eyes now. He didn’t care for what he saw, nor did he feel like he had any ability to explain why he’d reacted in such a sudden and violent manner. Memories flickered through his mind of the greatest joy he’d known, followed by the greatest sorrow. A betrayal that had ripped his heart out and left nothing behind for anyone else.

  “Go,” he said with a low growl.

  She hesitated, her eyes meeting his. Searching. When she took a step toward him, hand outstretched, Rheor was afraid of what he might do. Ice prickled at his skin, cold swirling around him as he drew it into himself. Kiova was not an especially warm Goddess, and he made the most of her example now.

  “Go!” he roared, his lip pulling back to reveal the hint of pointed teeth.

  That sent her from the room. Still smelling of icebloom, still perfectly prepared for a Roinim that was not to be, she fled his bedchamber, the door slamming closed behind her. As soon as she was gone, Rheor let out another bellowing roar and swiped his arm across the nearest table, sending ice-cold metal plates and cups clattering to the floor.

  Chapter 11

  By the time she made it back to her little house—after getting lost several times—Imara was ready to take her chances with the mountain itself.

  Every reckless impulse told her to find a bag, stuff some clothes and food into it, and make her way back down the treacherous slope even knowing there were wolves, bears, possibly wild snow cats like the ones the Raknari used as mounts. Not to mention people who likely wouldn’t hesitate to kill her despite her lack of power. All of it seemed preferable to staying here for another second.

  But as her tears slowed and eventually stopped, she realized what an awful idea that was. She wouldn’t make it through the night in her current clothing. Even if she did somehow survive those first crucial hours, the path back to her village had been dangerous when she was surrounded by Raknari. It would be next to impossible alone. She’d end up food for some wild beast at best, and taken by Svag at worst.

  Then she really would be forced into something. She was sure of it.

  Imara’s eyes burned, her hands balling into fists so tight her fingers hurt. She was angry at Rheor and how he’d treated her, yes. He’d acted like she was trying to trick him somehow, as if she had any power here among his people. As if she hadn’t signed her life away for the sake of her sister and her village. But she was just as angry at herself. One touch from him, one brief moment of him pressed against her, his cock straining so insistently against his clothing, and she’d forgotten every reservation she’d had leading up to it.

  She didn’t want powers. Didn’t want to link herself to Kiova or the Raknari or anyone, really. The only thing she wanted—and she was loathe even to admit that—was to feel what it would be like to have the Storm Lord’s attentions fully on her. His hands rough on her body, his frame dwarfing hers, his presence overwhelming her as he gave them both what they wanted. But the rest of it? No. It wasn’t for her. She hadn’t wanted to be a Chieftain and certainly not a Chieftain’s wife. She wasn’t going to be the mystical bride of a Storm Lord.

  Except none of that had apparently mattered once she was in the same space as him. She’d forgotten everything but that need to join her body with his—a need she began to fear was born less of lust and more of something she couldn’t control. It terrified her. She didn’t like feeling helpless under normal circumstances, and there was nothing normal about this.

  If she couldn’t go back home and she couldn’t give in, though, Imara was at a loss for what she even could do. She lay in bed until night fell in earnest, then crawled over to the stove, shivering so badly her teeth chattered. It wasn’t hard to figure out how to load the thing and get a proper fire going, and the small space of the one-room house warmed quickly enough. She returned to bed, finally feeling as if she could think, and decided she did have at least one course of action:

  She would avoid being alone with the Storm Lord. It seemed easier said than done, yet Imara knew it would be the only thing to save her, regardless of the unspoken deal she’d made with him when she volunteered to go in her sister’s place. As she closed her eyes and let this first horrible day with the Raknari end, Imara could only hope it would be enough.

  * * *

  The next morning, she was immediately woken by someone barging into her house. They’d tried to be quiet, she thought, but countless times spent sleeping in the wilds meant Imara was used to sleeping lightly. It was too dangerous to fall into anything deeper, and she was positive it wasn’t safe to do that here. So when she was startled awake, she immediately reached for her bow, grabbing it from the side of the bed where she’d managed to lean it the day before. She cursed under her breath, though, as her quiver was across the room, and even her knife was sitting in its sheath on the table.

  It was too far away for her to reach from bed and she had no idea how much the floorboards of this house might creak when she walked. So she stayed in bed, white-knuckling the bow, resolving to use the end of it she’d filed down to act as another weapon if absolutely necessary. Especially when she saw it was a man who’d entered her room unbidden.

  He wasn’t quite as broad as the others, but he was still muscular and much, much bigger than
her. He moved with grace and purpose, barely making a sound despite his large frame. He intended something, and as he crossed the room far from the bed, she realized that something had nothing to do with her. For now, at least, his attention seemed drawn to the stove.

  She realized, watching him, that she’d fallen asleep before she’d even been able to think about banking the fire. Metal screeched as he opened the grate and wordlessly poked at the embers. He picked up a handful of something that looked like sand from a bucket beside the stove, throwing it onto the embers. The residual warmth faded away as if he’d just snapped his fingers and turned off the sun.

  He turned then and his eyes met hers. Imara swore under her breath, her fingers curling tighter around her bow. If she had to scream, she would do it. If she had to stab him, even better. She was still looking for someplace to unleash all that pent-up energy.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I was hoping I wouldn’t wake you.”

  He spoke her language just as roughly as the others, but something in his voice was softer; kinder. It set her at ease in a way she couldn’t explain, and her grip slackened, her expression turning a little sheepish.

  “That’s okay. I was just planning to kill you,” she joked, the spike of adrenaline leaving her and creating a strange feeling that apparently made her say things she shouldn’t have said.

  But the Raknari just laughed. “That seems fair. I usually want to kill the people who are responsible for waking me, too.” He smiled at her, something gentle and warm. Imara couldn’t help smiling back. “I saw the smoke outside your house. Mine’s not far from here, and I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

  “Oh, absolutely,” she couldn’t seem to keep the sarcasm from her voice, “I was just taken from my home, poked and prodded by people I don’t know, and essentially called a lying whore by the Storm Lord. Everything’s great.”