Storm Lord’s Bride

by Alana Serra

  Rheor’s heart sank and a bitter taste flooded his mouth. He finally looked away from her, closing his eyes in the process. His hands did go to her hips, but it wasn’t to pull her onto his waiting cock. It was to lift her away from him and deposit her as far away from him as he could manage. She gasped in surprise, then let out a sound of frustration when her rump hit the mattress.

  “I don’t understand. I can tell you want this! Why—”

  “Because you don’t!” he snapped, the words harsher than he’d intended. Louder. She even flinched away from him, but quickly recovered. “Because you don’t, Imara. I know what they told you. I know they sent you here to initiate Roinim.”

  “Is that really what you think? That I’m just here for the good of your people? Because they asked me to come here and save you?” A bitter laugh caught in the back of her throat. “You really don’t know me if you think I would do anything I didn’t want to do.”

  “You came with me,” he challenged, his gaze lifting to hers, boring into the stubborn resistance he found there.

  “If you haven’t figured out by now that part of me wanted to go with you, then I don’t know what to tell you.”

  She pushed herself up from the bed, her frustration obvious. But there was more there, he realized. There was something heartbreakingly fragile in the way she walked to the window, her arms coming around her bare chest. Less to cover herself, it seemed, and more for protection. From him.

  “I know I’m not what you expected your Korun to be,” she murmured, so quietly he could barely hear her. “I—”

  “No.” His response was immediate, and Rheor was on his feet with a speed he hadn’t shown since before his powers overwhelmed him.

  He went to her, coming behind her, every instinct giving him the tools to comfort her. It wasn’t something he would have known how to do otherwise, and he thanked Kiova for the insight as his arms slid around her, bringing her closer to the solidness of his body. For once, the bond didn’t immediately take over. He was still aware of her, of how it felt to have her pressed against him, and how he’d made her climax the previous night. But it wasn’t an all-consuming need.

  For now.

  “You might not be what I expected, but you are my Korun. I cannot deny that, nor do I wish to fight it,” he admitted softly.

  “Why, then?”

  When she turned to him, her hands resting on his chest, he saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes. It felt as if someone had stabbed through his heart, and Rheor had the sudden, agonizing sense that he’d failed her.

  “I don’t want you to do this because you feel you have to,” he told her, his hands lifting to her face, thumbs brushing away the freshly fallen tears. She looked up at him, chin trembling as she struggled to hold all of it in. “There will come a time when you wish to on your own, and I—”

  “We don’t have the time for me to get over every fear and insecurity I have,” she said with a humorless laugh. “That would probably take a lifetime.”

  “You are afraid of what Roinim will mean. You should have time to understand, to watch me use my powers in a way that isn’t so taxing and destructive.”

  She looked down, more tears falling. Rheor just continued to brush them away, feeling more helpless than he had in that bed. His Korun was unhappy, doubting herself and him, yet there was little he could do to help with that.

  “It’s not just that,” she said after drawing in a gulp of air. “I’ve… never done this before. I don’t know what to expect, or what you expect of me. I always assumed my father would marry me off to someone before I had to worry about this, and that he’d tolerate my body and the rest of me because he had to. You and I are… bound, I suppose? Which likely means you’d have to tolerate me too, but—”

  It seemed once she began speaking, she could not stop herself. The words tumbled out of her, words she’d kept close to her heart for years, if he had to guess. He didn’t fully understand them—didn’t understand them at all, really—and he couldn’t let her continue disparaging herself and speaking for him at the same time.

  So he brought a finger to her mouth, gently pressing until she stopped speaking. “Enough,” he told her, the word spoken gently, but in a way that would not allow her to argue with him. For once, she didn’t try. “Understand I do not tolerate you. I tolerate no one. I don’t have the ability to do that,” he admitted. “You would know if I found you distasteful in any way. And the truth is…”

  He stepped back just enough to look at the entirety of her, no part of her hidden from him. Again his cock twitched, that urge to take her rising again.

  “You are not what I would have expected, but there is not a single part of you that doesn’t make me burn,” he insisted, his hands moving down her body, as if illustrating that very point. Her breathing grew heavier, more labored as he moved down to her shoulders, her breasts, her abdomen, her thighs. “I have never wanted anyone as much as I want you.”

  It was a truth he hadn’t even realized until he spoke it. He’d felt strong desire before, even desire that was sparked by Kiova’s will. But this was something he found almost impossible to resist. Something that consumed every waking moment and ensured his dreams were filled with images of one very specific human.

  “But there’s more to this than wanting each other,” she said, her breath hitching as one of his hands roamed inward, his fingers slipping between her thighs. “If I were in your position, I wouldn’t want an outsider to have the power Roinim will give. I definitely wouldn’t want me to have it. I’ve never been responsible in my life. I would have made an awful chieftain, and I can’t imagine myself having magical powers to try and control.”

  Every remark she made against herself, every cut she struck into her soul was one struck against Rheor, too. His brow tensed as he concentrated on stroking that bud at the apex of her thighs, feeling her almost fall against him, a moan drawn from her throat. “You see yourself far differently than I see you,” he said, using his free hand to pull her closer to him. “I see someone who is fiercely loyal. Who is kind and compassionate. Who is not afraid to challenge those who might be perceived as above her.”

  “I—”

  He pressed more firmly against her clit, cutting off her protests in a whimper. “Someone who is aware of her weaknesses and thinks about what kind of leader she will be, and what she would become with power.” His finger slid down further and he slipped the digit inside of her with ease. Imara moaned against, bucking against him. “This is why Kiova has chosen you, just as she chose me. I had the same doubts you did, and I am here because there is nowhere else I ever could be.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes hooded with desire, but also searching. Trying to find something that her heart needed. Rheor held his breath, suddenly wanting her to see whatever it was. A few heartbeats later, she apparently found it. Her arms came around his neck, fingers pressing insistently against the back of his head. He ducked down and met her waiting mouth, a hungry kiss waiting for him there that seemed not to be entirely driven by the bond.

  Rheor kissed her back, let himself be consumed by what she offered, and gave in return. He added a digit, sliding two fingers in and out of her slick cunt. When her leg came up to curl around him, urging him closer, he was forced to pull those fingers out of her and grip her rump with both hands, lifting her up against him. Her legs hooked instinctively over his hips and Rheor pinned her back against the nearest piece of furniture—a chest of drawers that was just tall enough for him to settle her on top of.

  “Please,” she breathed against his mouth. “If you think so much of me, you have to trust that I want this. It’s not just the bond.”

  He did. He could feel that this was something she wanted; could think clearly for the first time since being near here. What existed in this space, in this moment was between them, as if Kiova had allowed them to see beneath that thick curtain of unavoidable need to the very real desire that burned just as bright. It should have been all the co
nfirmation he needed. He should have carried her to the bed and taken her there.

  But with everything he’d said, it became even clearer to him: He couldn’t lose her. She had become the most important thing in his world in a very short amount of time, and Rheor couldn’t imagine not having her. He could find a way to stave off the weakness inside of him. He could focus every day, every hour on training her to be able to accept the powers she would gain.

  He could avoid completing their bond, fully making her his Korun before she was ready for Roinim.

  Only, doing so meant he should very likely pull away from her now, and he couldn’t do that. Instead his mouth traveled down her body, tasting the hollow of her throat, teeth scraping along her collarbone, tongue tracing a path to her breasts. That oil was driving him mad, and he felt the overwhelming desire both to taste her, and to bury himself inside of her. One desire could be fulfilled, and he focused only on that one.

  His tongue flicked against pink, rosy peaks, making her gasp, her chest arching toward him, hands burying in his hair. She wasn’t gentle, and a smirk touched his lips as she tugged him where she wanted him to go, directing his attention back to one of her nipples when he pressed open-mouthed kisses outward, along the blush of pink that surrounded them and further to the expanse of soft, warm, pliant flesh. The pink of her skin, so foreign to him before, was quickly becoming one of his favorite things about her. It betrayed her arousal, that flush of heat rising in her body, and he sought ways to make it darken, his lips pressing firmly around one nipple as he sucked.

  Not content with that, he resumed his touch between her legs, sliding one hand over her thigh now that she had a place to perch. Motioning her thighs apart, he cupped her mound and pressed two fingers past her folds, rubbing her clit in tight circles until she was panting against him, little whimpers and gasps coming in quick succession. He could bring her to climax with ease, using just his fingers, but he wanted more than that. He needed more than that, or he was never going to be able to resist the temptation.

  Moving on from her breasts, he kissed a hot trail down her abdomen, past her navel and further. As he reached the soft, sparse dusting of red hair, she drew in a sharp breath, looking down at him.

  “What are you—?”

  Rheor didn’t give her a chance to ask that question. Instead he answered it before she could fully form the words, his tongue stroking along her slit, sliding between her folds. She let out a breathy moan, bucking against him, her eyes wild when he looked up at her.

  “Open for me,” he coaxed with a growl, insinuating himself between her thighs.

  She did, her knees falling further apart, her beautiful, wet cunt on full display. He lapped at her greedily, savoring the taste of her arousal, the slick heat of her as she readied herself to receive him. Burying his face between her thighs, his hands holding them away from his face, he was given every opportunity to indulge his desires. Kissing, licking, sucking the swollen folds, sliding his tongue into her channel, feeling her squeeze around him as she gasped. It was easy to imagine those powerful walls squeezing around his cock, and Rheor had to reach down and take himself in hand, desperate for some kind of relief.

  She moaned above him, grasping for any and everything she could reach. His hair, his ears, his face. At one point she discovered how easy it was in this position—and how convenient—to drape her legs over his shoulders, granting him complete, unfettered access to her. His hand moved swiftly over his cock, stroking and squeezing, desperate to do something with the tension that built inside of him. As he felt himself drawing toward that precipice, his attentions moved to that swollen bud nestled at the apex of her thighs. He flicked it with his tongue, matching the rhythm to his own strokes, then closed his mouth around it and sucked hard.

  Imara bucked against him, crying out, her hips rocking toward his face. He held fast with one arm, stroking desperately with his other hand as he felt her shatter above him. The strength of her orgasm drew him in as if it was his own, and he joined her soon after, a deep groan tearing through his throat as his cock jerked in his hand.

  It was some measure of relief, and Rheor did feel that temptation subside for the time being, his desire to mount and claim her currently at a more manageable level. As manageable as it could be, he supposed. But his body, his heart, his soul all knew that spilling outside of her, by the effort of his own hand, was not what he needed. His seed needed to fill her, his cock needed to be sheathed fully within her, and he desperately needed to feel that exchange of energy as her body accepted Roinim from him.

  As she panted, leaning back atop her perch, her chest rising and falling erratically, Rheor could already feel the prickle of ice at the edges of his consciousness. The storm was sweeping in, and he didn’t know if he had the power to stop it. When Imara opened her eyes and looked at him in question, he started to open his mouth to explain—to give her the answer she deserved. The whole truth of why he was reluctant to enter Roinim with her.

  But before he could get a single word past his constricted throat, a distant horn blared on the mountainside, then another closer, and another closer still.

  The Svag were here.

  Chapter 17

  He disentangled himself from her in a rush of movement, scooping her off of the chest of drawers and depositing her on the floor as he reached for his pants.

  “Stay here,” he commanded, pulling the garment on, ignoring the ache that still persisted.

  “What’s happening?” she asked, eyes wide. “Are we under attack?”

  There was no time to appreciate her use of the word “we” in reference to the Frozen Peak, but Rheor kept that thought close as he tugged on his boots and manifested the ice armor he typically wore about his torso, a thick sheen of it appearing over his chest, abdomen, and upper arms.

  “By the Svag,” he explained through gritted teeth. “They were likely drawn by the storm.”

  Which meant it was his fault they were here; his fault his people were in danger. Calling ice to his hand, Rheor created a deadly spear, his fingers curling tight around it, the numbness that might be a problem for someone else barely fazing him.

  “I can help fight them,” she said, scrambling for her own clothing. “I just need to get my bow.”

  “Absolutely not.” His voice was low, threatening, yet he knew as he said the words that they would not deter her. His scowl softened into something pleading, and he put a hand on her shoulder, looking down at her. “They will know what you are to me. They will know you are my Korun, and they will try to harm you to get to me.”

  She let out a breath, her eyes seeking desperate defiance, but not finding the conviction to back it up.

  “I can’t just stay here and be useless.”

  His instinct was to tell her she should do exactly that, but Rheor felt as though they were kindred spirits. She felt as responsible as he did, not wishing to merely stand by when she could do something. Setting his spear against the nearby wall, he drew the residual moisture from the air and formed it into shards, shaping an ice bow with a string that was practically invisible, along with a few arrows, the tips of them gleaming like crystals.

  “Gloves,” he warned, placing the entire offering onto the chest of drawers where he’d placed her not ten minutes prior. “If you have a shot from the window, take it. Do not go outside.”

  She nodded, and the last thing Rheor saw as he went to retrieve his spear and rush out into the fray was Imara pulling on thick, fur-lined leather gloves before she reached for the bow.

  As he thrust open the door, he could see warriors already at odds with the Svag. Frost-rimed spears, swords, and other weapons clashed with the mundane arsenal of the brutes who attacked in numbers Rheor had not often seen from them. Just one quick scan of the settlement below revealed a good twenty of them, which meant there were more he couldn’t see, skulking about like the insects they were.

  Even in these numbers, it should have been no contest. Regular weapons had difficulty pi
ercing the ice armor Raknari created, and a Svag had no such protection. What they did have was a frenzied sort of desperation that posed a greater threat to Rheor’s people than he’d ever acknowledged when he was younger.

  He could see it in the distance, as Svag locked Raknari into combat, coming at them with relentless aggression, weapons biting, teeth gnashing, bodies contorted in whatever way was most advantageous at that moment. They’d been the same once, the same in stature and temperament, but generations of withdrawal had made them more fiendish than anything else, pathetic creatures who had never known the touch of Kiova’s blessing. She’d cast out their ancestors well and truly for their abuses, and now they had nothing to lose in pursuit of power and sustenance.

  With a bellowing cry, Rheor rushed into the fold, spear held at an angle perpendicular with his body, his shoulder and elbow locked. He charged the nearest Svag who was pushing back against a Raknari warrior, repeated weapon strikes managing to crack and splinter the ice armor.

  If he managed to bite too deeply with any of those strikes, the Raknari would succumb to a slow, energy-sapping poison that would leave him helpless. He’d collapse in a heap, vulnerable to the Svag who’d attacked him and any that decided to join. They would feast upon his power like vultures feasting on what was left of a kill, and they would each grow unimaginably stronger from it while the Raknari withered away.

  It had happened to Almir once, and he’d been one of the “lucky” ones. Most did not survive the siphoning process. Rheor had seen too many husks of his brethren wither and waste away into nothingness. He refused to see it happen again.

  Driving toward the Svag, he thrust his spear into the creature’s lower back and jerked upward, skewering him with a sickening squelch. The spinal cord was severed, the Svag’s limbs becoming all but useless. He wrenched the spear again, feeling some of the ice shatter inside the wretch’s body before he pulled it out. The Svag dropped to the ground in a heap and Rheor looked to the warrior he’d saved.