Storm Lord’s Bride

by Alana Serra

  She could smell that same soap from before as Nava lathered it with a cloth and began washing her. Hair first, then skin, before Imara just finally took the cloth and did it herself. She’d been dazed enough that first day to allow it, but she knew her skin would be rubbed raw if she let Nava continue. So she washed on her own, ignoring the older woman’s nagging about scrubbing harder.

  “I’d like to keep some of my skin,” she ground out after one such nag.

  Nava scoffed. “Humans are so fragile. You’re not losing your skin, it’s still as obnoxiously pink as ever. Even more so now. See?” She gestured to Imara’s thigh just above her knee, where splotchy redness rose to the surface in response to her vigorous scrubbing. “You need to get this oil into your skin before Roinim or it’ll be… harder than it should.”

  She’d been in the middle of scrubbing her back when the woman said that. Stopping, gaze narrowed in suspicion, she leveled her ire at Nava. “What?”

  “You’ll get the same markings he has,” she explained. “It happens as his power begins to seep into you. The oil helps the process, primes your skin to receive Kiova’s mark.”

  “So not only do I have no choice, but it’s going to hurt when it happens. Wonderful,” Imara muttered, lifting her left leg out of the tub to wash, the water chilling on her skin as soon as it was above the surface.

  “I don’t know what it feels like,” Nava said with a shrug, “I’ve never gone through it. And you certainly have a fixation on ‘choice.’ Is that something all humans are so concerned with?”

  Imara frowned, thinking of the rest of her people. Everyone in the village had a role. It wasn’t exactly determined by birth, but the sons of blacksmiths tended to remain blacksmiths, the daughters of fishermen tended to learn their way around a fishing net. There was truth to what Nava said, in that some things were out of her hands and always had been, the same with everyone she knew. Few of them felt the same as her, and most seemed to grow out of it.

  So why hadn’t she? Why was she still so reluctant to take her place?

  “No,” she admitted softly, “I’m… I don’t know. I think I’ve never felt like I’m suited to the things that destiny seems to want for me. I wasn’t fit to be chieftain, and I’m definitely not fit to have crazy ice powers; to help Rheor lead this place.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  The plain certainty with which Nava agreed was both refreshing and hurtful. Imara hated that her pride was wounded, that this woman who didn’t know her had no faith in her ability to figure out things that were beyond her comprehension. People who actually knew her wouldn’t think her capable of this. Rheor wouldn’t want her to do this if he’d spent more time around her, saw how unsuited she was to a leadership role or really anything that required that level of authority and maturity.

  But Nava wasn’t done. “Not yet,” she finished, wagging a finger before her. “No one’s ready to do something the first time they do it. That’s the greatest sack of shit they try to sell. You need time. Practice. People around you who are willing to help. I can guarantee Rheor would be that for you, but you have to want to master it. That is your choice and no one else’s. If you squander it, then… well, then you’re an idiot.”

  Imara couldn’t help the laugh that erupted from her. It was so loud, that obnoxious braying sound everyone always teased her about. She put a hand over her mouth to stifle it, but she couldn’t seem to stop. Rather than tease her about it, though, Nava joined her in that scratchy, awful cackle of hers. There was something oddly endearing about it, and about the fact that she seemed to have no shame in that or anything else she did.

  “Thank you,” she said softly, once the laughter tapered off. “I’m… not very good at making friends, and I didn’t expect to do it here. But you’ve been a comfort to me.”

  The woman snorted, busying herself around the room. Cleaning up, it looked like. Straightening things, tidying here and there. That was a mothering quality in it that made this conversation all the more poignant. And strange. “That’s the first time anyone’s ever called me a comfort. But… I’m glad. I came here after being… rejected by one of the other clans—by the Tempest they followed. So I understand what it’s like to feel alone.”

  Imara gave the woman a curious glance, observing her as she moved about. Very little of her skin was exposed, but what she could see wasn’t the same pale blue as everyone else, and the lines of magic that followed her veins were faint. Barely there. She wanted to ask more, but it felt invasive and rude to bring up what was obviously a sore subject. After all, she wasn’t eager to talk about how separate she felt from the rest of her people.

  “In any case, whatever you feel about it, I’m not sure there’s any stopping Kiova. Not if you want Rheor to live.”

  Again the words were so blunt, so sudden that Imara almost staggered to hear them. The cloth stopped on her calf, her fingers curling into it as if desperate to find purchase. She did want Rheor to live. If she could sort through her feelings on nothing else, she knew that much. And deep down, she knew what she had to do. Deep down, it felt right in a way few things in her life had. As right as it’d been to speak up on Elora’s behalf when the Raknari first came.

  She wasn’t ready for Roinim. Not in the slightest. But she might be ready for the idea of it—to explore what it meant and embrace this new stage of her life.

  “I think you’re right,” she said softly, drawing in a long breath and letting it out in a slow, steadying exhale. “But if he’s not willing to engage in Roinim, how am I supposed to…” Imara made a series of gestures, each more useless than the next. Heat climbed into her cheeks and she rolled her eyes at herself. “How do I get him to fuck me?”

  A broad grin spread across Nava’s lips and she returned to the side of the tub, crouching low to look Imara in the eyes. “Now you’re speaking my language. All right. So. Here’s what you do…”

  Chapter 16

  Recovery was becoming more and more difficult.

  His body was weakened, not doing any of the things he needed it to do, and yet his mind was still razor sharp and moving at a pace Rheor could not keep up with. He thought of his people and what they must believe of him now that they’d seen him collapse. He thought of Brunyr and the other Drotuns and wondered if they were experiencing the same issues. He thought of Tiva and the rites that would likely be postponed now, until he was well enough to handle them properly.

  But mostly he thought of Imara. The clean scent of her skin, so close to the smell of summer itself. The fiery red strands of her hair and how they felt between his fingers. The lustful challenge in her eyes, the husky plea in her voice, how wet she’d been for him and how much he’d ached for her. All thoughts he knew he shouldn’t have, when he was here in this bed because he hadn’t allowed himself to take her as he wanted.

  Ice crept across his skin, a familiar itch he couldn’t scratch. He curled his fingers into his palm, concentrated, and willed it back inside. He couldn’t keep doing this. It would only get worse each time, and his people would not be able to survive this. Every violent shift in the Peak’s weather affected the animals that were hunted in the forests and the plants those animals fed on. Much like the humans, his own people would begin to starve if he wasn’t able to sort through his own issues.

  Lying back on the bed he’d been imprisoned in for the last several hours, Rheor tried to think of an alternate plan. Perhaps if he allowed her to touch him, to finish him, Kiova would be more willing to accept his reluctance. Even as he thought it, he knew he was fooling himself. Kiova disliked half-measures, and so too did Rheor.

  He wanted Imara. He’d wanted her from the beginning, but now that Roinim was so deeply involved, he was afraid of that want. Less afraid now of betraying a ghost, but afraid instead of history repeating itself. He could not lose another Korun. Once he bound himself with Imara, he would need her as fiercely as he’d needed Atja. Perhaps even more, considering the circumstances. He didn’t know if he cou
ld survive another loss at his own hands.

  But Kiova didn’t seem inclined to give him a choice. “You are very cruel sometimes,” he mused aloud, his gaze unfocused as he looked up at the ceiling.

  The temperature in the room dropped significantly, an icy chill raking down his chest. Half the caress of a lover, half the grasping claws of someone who was feeling particularly possessive. He’d known it was so. To be the Chosen of Kiova was to accept that her heart was cold—frozen beyond recognition. She expected Rheor’s to be, as well. Perhaps if it was, he would not have handled the loss of Atja so poorly. Perhaps he would not burn just to think of Imara.

  He was imperfect. He’d always known that, just as all Chosen did. They strove to be better, to take the Tempest unto themselves. But they were never truly complete until that storm was shared with a Korun, and Rheor suspected he would not feel anywhere close to strong enough until he accepted Imara as his.

  He resolved to speak to her on the morrow and explain why he’d denied her the night before. She was still struggling with that, such that he could feel the doubts and worries coming off of her in waves. He would need to coax her—and himself—rather than letting the bond do all the work for him. It would be better that way, if they made the choice consciously instead of complying with Kiova’s plan in every regard.

  It was a fine plan with enough agency that Rheor didn’t feel completely useless, and he spent the next several hours receiving reports from his men to feel even less useless. The builders were already hard at work on repairs, the snow that was left was being shoveled and deposited into the well or else melted down immediately for use. Some of the trees were beyond saving, but the arborists had already begun a plan to plant more. And it seemed—much to his surprise—that Tiva’s cubs had even managed to survive the sudden, glacial freeze.

  By the time he took his evening meal and decided to rest as the healers begged, Rheor was feeling somewhat better about the plans and systems that were in place. Until one tiny human swept into his chambers like the winds of spring and shattered all of that careful planning and the certainty that went along with it.

  No one accompanied her, which was strange. He’d sent for Nava to stay with her, to make sure she was taken care of while he was otherwise incapacitated. A silly thing, since he knew Imara could take care of herself, but it gave him some peace of mind. The fact that she simply strolled into his chambers in traditional dress, smelling of icebloom oil again and glowing with the warmth of a recent bath told him he’d made a mistake in that. No doubt Nava had readied her for Roinim again, insisting on it this time.

  Rheor watched as she approached his bedside, her head held high, eyes on his, even when his own began to stray. She was dressed in simple clothing—a long wool shift that covered her from her wrists and neck to mid-thigh. Tight leather breeches hugged her hips, thighs, and calves, making every curve visible and enticing, even if it was all mostly covered by the heavy furs she wore for warmth. White with soft browns, draped over her form, hugged close. He suddenly ached to have her in his arms, to warm her himself. His cock ached for an entirely different reason, though not unrelated. He could feel the blood rushing south, the sudden surge of warmth in his body as he stiffened and pulsed with need.

  “You look better than the last time I saw you,” she finally said, standing close enough now that he could touch her.

  He refused, curling his fingers tightly against his palm to keep from giving in. “They have forced me to rest this evening. I will return to my duties in the morning.” Rheor swallowed hard, looking up at her. “And you? You seemed… worried.”

  It hadn’t quite registered within him until that moment, as she very visibly looked him over not with desire in her eyes, but concern. She’d been concerned when he fell, too. Worried for him. As he’d come in and out of consciousness, he’d seen her there, remaining at his side until he was stable. She knew nothing of his people or what her role would be as his Korun, yet she was already fulfilling it perfectly.

  “I was,” she admitted, meeting his eyes again. “You collapsed. I thought…”

  He heard genuine emotion in her voice and his treacherous heart wanted to believe it was only her. That she’d somehow come into these feelings without the aid of the goddess. But it was the bond alone. If not for that, she would not have doted on him so; would not have cared. Without the bond, he was just the “Storm Lord” who’d taken her in exchange for fixing a problem he now realized he’d likely caused.

  “I will be fine,” he said softly, again having to resist the urge to touch her.

  It certainly didn’t help that she was right by his bedside now, and slowly sitting on the edge of it, her round rump and luscious thighs so close. Rheor’s skin burned, his mouth practically watering, but he stayed the course.

  “They told me it’s because you haven’t undergone Roinim. That you’re running out of time.”

  He cursed his people, having to resist the temptation to ask her who, exactly, had told her this. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that she knew, and he could sense what was coming next.

  “They also told me I’m the only one who can help you.”

  There was caution in her voice and her eyes when she looked at him. Rheor felt his heart squeeze in a way that was far less pleasant than the other things he typically felt when she was near. That caution was borne of fear. A fear of Roinim and perhaps of him. The fact that she was still here could mean she was willingly trying to help. Or it could mean she was put up to the task.

  “They do not need to be telling you anything of the sort,” he said, a slight growl to his words. “This is not your burden to bear.”

  He watched her whole body move as she drew in a large breath then let it out before speaking again. “Maybe it should be.” Rheor’s pulse hammered in his ears, his cock throbbing at her words alone, and even more insistently when she snagged her bottom lip between her teeth. “I spoke to your healers. Well. Nava spoke to them. To make sure you were well enough.”

  “I—” his mouth had gone dry, his throat suddenly constricting.

  Rheor watched helplessly as she undid the ties of the fur cloak. It caressed her as it fell to the floor, pooling at her feet. When she reached for the ties of her tunic, then drew it over her head and cast it aside, he found himself unable to look away. Her pale skin flushed pink. Her pert breasts, the feeling of them warm and pliant in his hands. Her hard nipples, already stiffened to firm peaks before he’d ever set eyes upon them. It was a struggle not to latch his mouth upon one of them and suck until she moaned for him.

  “What are you doing?” he managed, the sound scraping across his vocal chords. “Put your clothing back on. You’ll freeze in here.”

  “Just do what you did in the caves and I’ll be fine,” she answered, continuing with the rest of her clothing.

  The boots she’d already toed off, her delicate feet bare, her toes curled a bit. The breeches took more effort for her to remove and Rheor very nearly leapt to help her at one point. But eventually she slid those off, as well, along with the smallclothes she wore beneath. Smallclothes that were already damp from her juices, her pretty pink cunt glistening in the most inviting way.

  A growl tore through his throat, half anguish, half desire. “I’m not going to—”

  “Yes, you are. I know you want to, Rheor.”

  His eyes darkened, his cock twitching at the sound of his name from her lips and the commanding tone she took with him. Every instinct demanded he pull her down onto the bed, flip her over, and fuck her until she could scarcely move. She was already wet for him, and he was so, so hard. Nothing in the world could be more simple.

  “What I want and what I will do are two different things,” he said, even as he sat up more in bed and moved closer to her. His grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand down to the front of his own woolen pants. “There is no question of what I want.”

  She gasped, her gaze flicking downward to the obvious tenting in his breeches. Her eyes f
ound his again, and Rheor sucked in a breath as she closed her fingers around his length, the fabric barely noticeable. She pulled along the length of him, stroking almost defiantly as she looked him in the eye. It was a tactic Rheor greatly admired, and also one he hated at this very moment.

  “Then why won’t you take it? I’m offering. Right now.” Another breath drawn, and her fingers reached into the waistband of his pants, her eyes never leaving his as she began to pull them down.

  She did hesitate, searching his gaze for a long moment. Rheor held his breath, realizing she was waiting for him to stop her. He should. He knew he should. But that was the last thing he wanted, even beyond the bond. So he let her do it, a rumble in his throat as the back of her hand brushed over the length of his cock.

  Once the garment was past his knees, Rheor did the rest, not taking his eyes from hers as he pulled them down and off, kicking the covers away with them. He was bare before her then, and pride stirred in his chest as her gaze caught on his cock. The slightest widening of her eyes, her tongue snaking out to lick her lips, the desire he could practically feel thrumming through her body.

  But still a touch of hesitation. There was no getting around that, even as she began to climb further onto the bed, one leg thrown to the other side of him. Rheor held his breath again, kept himself perfectly still if only to avoid the primal urge to grab her hips and sheathe himself inside of her in one fluid motion. The idea of watching himself pump into her tight, wet cunt made his blood heat even further, and it took every shred of willpower to focus on anything beyond how close she was.

  He did focus, though. He focused on the slight tremble in her body that was not fully borne of desire. He focused on the uncertainty in her eyes, the way her teeth still snagged her bottom lip. She was unsure of this. Of him. And that meant she was here on someone else’s suggestion, because his people had told her he was going to die if she didn’t overcome her reservations and fuck him. So she’d come to him out of a sense of duty—duty that would carry her until the Korun bond kicked in. Nothing else.