Storm Lord’s Bride

by Alana Serra

  Brek, a young one, looked at him with wide eyes. “Thank you, Drotun,” he breathed.

  “Go help the others.”

  Not waiting to see if his instructions were followed, Rheor put two fingers to his mouth and let out a shrill whistle. Varuk bounded to him, snarling, maw already covered in blood. It seemed the tales of Machai holding lifelong grudges were true, as he’d already taken it upon himself to further avenge his fallen mate.

  Swinging himself onto the cat’s back, Rheor held his spear at his side again, able to feel ice swirling about him in pointed shards. It was drawn to him, suspended in orbit just as the storm had been previously. He knew if he wasn’t careful, if he didn’t keep his emotions and his powers in check, they would both begin to overwhelm him.

  Riding hard into the main settlement, he bore down on the Svag he found there. Spear thrashing, Varuk’s teeth piercing flesh and bone. His warriors were doing their jobs, fighting to defend the innocent. Rheor merely lent them support, at one point leaping off Varuk to tackle a Svag to the ground before they could breach the home of an innocent.

  Cluster by cluster, they made headway, with Rheor picking up more riders along the way. The winds began to calm somewhat, his emotions calming with them as it became clear his people were going to win this battle. He gave instructions for patrols then peeled away from his men, riding back toward the mountain’s peak. Imara was there at the window, bow at the ready, arrow nocked. As he watched, she drew back the string and that arrow came closer and closer—so close some part of him thought she might be shooting at him. Sudden tension in Varuk’s shoulders told him that wasn’t the case, though, and he looked all about.

  Finally, he heard it—the slavering, snarling sound of one of the Svag as it leapt from the nearest roof. Rheor barely had time to ready his spear, but it didn’t matter. The arrow embedded into the creature’s eye and it instantly went limp, falling gracelessly to impale itself on his spear. He turned to look back at Imara, a surge of pride flooding him at how proficient a shot his Korun actually was, but what he saw brought shards of ice straight into his veins, his heart standing still.

  Three Svag clambered up the walls of the palace, affixing themselves to it like great, gangly spiders. Pulling Varuk around, Rheor rushed back up the peak, his eyes on Imara as she drew back from the window and readied another arrow. This one went wide in her panic, though, skimming off the side of the palace’s supports and landing uselessly in the snow as the Svag continued to climb.

  He pushed Varuk harder, a roar tearing from his throat, the storms following at his heels as he watched one of the creatures reach a bony hand out to grab her. Drawing back, Rheor chucked his spear with such force that it whistled through the air, striking straight through its target, tearing flesh and shattering bone as it pierced the leg of the Svag and embedded itself in the palace wall.

  That might have stopped one of them, but the other two merely climbed over it, using its struggling body as another ledge to help them up. Climbing up onto the back of his mount, Rheor manipulated the strength of the winds to thrust him upward. He gripped the windowsill, his body impacting hard against the flailing Svag who tried even now to get at him. Devoid of any weapons, it raked elongated claws across his armor, but Rheor let out a booming yell and ice shattered around him, hundreds of shards embedding in the creature. It fell away, dead, as he pursued the other two who’d made it into his chambers.

  Imara was there, pressed against the wall, wielding her ice bow with the edge of it directed outward like some kind of sword point. Her last arrow was sticking out of the neck of one of the Svag, but that hadn’t stopped it. Even as Rheor sprang into action, he could tell he was too far away to reach the one nearest her.

  It lashed out, daggers clutched tightly in both hands, the metal biting into her arms. Red pulsed behind Rheor’s vision as he saw the flash of blood trickling from those wounds. Rage pounded in his ears, drowning out all other sounds, and a forceful wave of ice blasted outward from him, slamming the Svag against the walls.

  He stalked toward them, his whole body shaking, that violent cold seeping into every cell. Lifting his open palm to the head of one of the Svag, he concentrated a shock of frost into the creature’s skull, freezing it instantly. Drawing him back by the shoulders, Rheor slammed his head into the wall and shattered it.

  Something even beyond rage drove him, blinding him to everything else as his attention fell on the other. Even now, knowing he wasn’t going to come out of this alive, the last Svag fought. His jaw opened wider than a Raknari’s should, the crack of bone a sickening sound as it almost seemed to unhinge. He let out a screech and launched himself toward Rheor, but the Drotun was faster. One hand shot out and grabbed him by the neck, his fingers freezing the skin on contact, ice burning deeper into the flesh. He squeezed, shaking all the while, until the Svag’s frozen neck just crumbled in his grasp, the creature falling to the ground in a miserable heap, his eyes bulging from his skull.

  Imara. He needed to ensure his Korun was safe. That was the only thing that mattered.

  As he looked for her, though, he found her still pressed against the wall, caged in by jagged sheets of ice. Rheor’s heart stopped, his lungs seizing as he took in the gravity of what he’d done. Those spears of frost touched her skin, pressing indentations into it, drawing spots of blood in some places. Her head was turned to the side, teeth gritted as she struggled to keep away from them.

  She was still alive, but he’d hurt her. His lack of control had hurt her, could very nearly have killed her. He was just as much a threat to her as the Svag, if not more so.

  The temperature in the room dropped dramatically, ice clinging to the walls and all the furnishings.

  “Rheor,” she called out to him, desperate, “don’t do this. You’re going to kill yourself.”

  She sounded so distant, as if she was beneath a thick sheet of glass that had frozen over a deadly lake. He couldn’t reach her, no matter how hard he pounded against it. Winter itself seemed to pound right back, bearing down on him, crushing inward as pain lanced Rheor’s body.

  He let out a roar, trying to break free of it, but those icy chains bound tighter around him. His power was surging too strong, beyond anything he could ever hope to control, and he could feel Kiova’s hand gripping his heart and squeezing. Hard.

  Suddenly motionless, his eyes rolling back in his head, Rheor dropped to the ground, the ice around him shattering as his hold was broken.

  Chapter 18

  She was so, so cold.

  Whatever Rheor had done, whatever his power had done to him, it was crushing inward toward her as well. It wasn’t just the shards of ice. So long as she didn’t move too much, she was safe from those. But that sudden drop in temperature wasn’t meant for humans. Perhaps it wasn’t meant for any living thing, but her body felt particularly fragile. It seemed like her blood was freezing, and even her fingers were stiff in her gloves, as if all circulation had just ceased.

  She started to struggle, enduring the scrapes and scratches from the ice, weathering that shock of cold as she reached out to grip one of the icicles, the gloves protecting her as much as they could. With a grunt of effort, she crushed it in her hand, then pushed outward against the rest. It was slow, but it was progress. Maybe she could get to Rheor before—

  All of the cold sucked into the center of the room, where the Storm Lord currently stood. He was the vortex at its center, and whether he’d intended to do it or not, he was drawing the storm back into himself.

  “No!” she called, pushing harder against her prison. More ice cracked, shattering around her in a glittering spray.

  But she wasn’t fast enough. As she watched, Rheor went completely still, his body rigid. His eyes rolled back and he fell to the ground, not bracing himself in the slightest. Imara’s breath caught as she had the sudden fear that he would shatter on the ground, too, but he landed with a loud thud that shook the room, breaking more of the ice that surrounded her.

&nbs
p; With a low, guttural sound, Imara bashed her arms against the ice, bracing for the pain. It came quickly, sharp stings lancing through her as jagged edges sliced across her skin. But it was over just as soon, and she was finally released, able to power past the rest and get to Rheor.

  He lay on the floor, crumpled at a strange angle, his eyes a solid, ice blue, a storm raging within them. She touched her hand to his chest, felt for breathing, but even through her glove the icy armor gave off a chilling air all its own, and she could feel no life beneath it. Everything was cold and still and wrong.

  “You can’t be dead,” she snapped at him, tears springing to the corners of her eyes. “You can’t!”

  But he wasn’t moving at all. There was no breath coming from his mouth. It was as if he’d been encased in a slab of ice, and Imara had no way of reaching him.

  No way but to initiate Roinim.

  She didn’t know how the thought even came to her. She knew so little about the Raknari and even less about this concept of power and how it was shared between a Tempest’s Chosen and their Korun. But she seemed to possess some instinct, and it kept her gaze fixed on his lips. They were blue, tiny cracks appearing in the soft skin. It seemed as if his goddess was taking him back, claiming him as her own completely, and Imara wasn’t going to stand for that.

  If she’d been able to examine her actions outside of this moment, she would have called them foolish at best. Childish. To believe a kiss could bring someone back to life as it did in the tales she’d been told when she was young. It was absolute silliness, yet she had no choice but to believe.

  So she took Rheor’s face in her hands, ignoring the burn of the cold, and she lowered her mouth to his, kissing him as if his life depended on it—because it did.

  At first, it was like every other kiss, save for the lack of response. She felt that spark, that flush of heat, but nothing inherently magical about it. In fact, it felt deeply wrong to do this when he couldn’t react to her, and she began to pull back. But the faintest shudder beneath her—a distant heartbeat she could hear as clearly as her own—made her stop, frozen in place.

  She felt warmth beneath her, as if it was slowly being infused into his body. It spread outward beneath her palms, a shuddering coursing through her, as well, at the sudden surge of heat. It was like sitting in front of a roaring fire in the middle of winter and suddenly thawing—that blissful yet almost painful feeling as she regained sensation in the tips of her fingers.

  Then Rheor moved beneath her.

  First it was just the motion of his chest rising and falling, his breath an exhale against her lips. Then he must have come to some kind of consciousness, because he was still again before suddenly she felt his mouth press back against hers, desperate and hungry. Imara let out a muffled sound of surprise, but quickly recovered. Her eyes closed and she kissed him back, melting against him.

  He still wasn’t well, though. She knew it as instinctively as she’d known what to do. And now that he was awake and greedily consenting, she drew upon that innate knowledge and attempted to pull something from him during that kiss. It was a strange thing, knowing deep down that she had the power to do it, but having no idea how to… activate it. She focused on what she wanted to do, gathered her energy as if preparing to leap to a high branch in a stubborn tree, and kissed him hard.

  Rheor gasped against her lips, which must have been a good sign. Shortly after, she could feel a warmth building within her, blooming from that point of contact, traveling from her mouth down to her heart. She closed around it, grasping it, keeping it there, and a feeling of cold washed over her. She would have expected to shiver, but it wasn’t unpleasant. It was like being given a few chipped pieces of ice during an unbearably hot summer day. It cooled her insides, made her more resistant to the air around her, and filled her body with an intense need for more.

  He drew back from her, his eyes wide, the color returned to his lips and the rest of his face. “What are you doing?” he asked in a pained whisper that told her he already knew the answer.

  “Saving you,” she said, gently stroking his cheek. His skin was warmer now than she’d remembered it being. Or maybe she was just colder. “I thought if I could start the process, it would stave off the worst of it.”

  Conflict gathered in his eyes, his pupils now focused on her rather than buried in a haze of sleet like they were earlier. For a long moment, Imara was certain he was going to reject her again—that he wasn’t going to let her do even this.

  But then he kissed her with the same force she’d felt that first time, as if he couldn’t control himself. She felt a surge of energy coming from him, felt the strangely comforting sphere of cold in her stomach answer, reaching out and grasping at what he offered. She expected those two energies to collide with how frantically they rushed toward one another, but what resulted was the sweetest embrace Imara could imagine. She felt as though her entire self—mind, body, soul—had been enveloped by his, held there desperately, cherished as if she was the other part of what he needed to survive.

  His hands buried in her hair, his touch electrifying every part of her. She could feel his presence beneath her, against her, around her, inside her, and she desperately wanted more. It must have been the same in Rheor because he pushed himself up to a sitting position, then stood, pulling her with him and into his arms, only breaking the kiss for a moment to do so.

  She felt delicate against him, something to be protected, and yet she could still feel the pull she had over him. The power that kept him here, kept his attention on her and nothing else. The mountain had just been attacked, for all either of them knew there were still Svag ready to storm the palace, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered right now was completing the process she’d started—something that felt so inevitable, and so surprisingly welcome.

  Rheor lay her down on the bed, caging her in his strong arms. She started to wrap her legs around him, to pull him closer to her, but he let out a resistant growl. Breaking the kiss, he tore at her clothes again, just like before. Imara helped him as she could, seeking out his mouth, unable to take being parted from him for anything more than a few seconds.

  Despite the power that was beginning to grow within her, she felt warmer than she’d been since arriving here. Even when he tossed her clothes aside, baring her to the temperature in the room, the fire that burned within her was more than enough. It made her confident, ravenous, and she sat up to pull at the ties of Rheor’s pants, gripping his cock once they were past his hips.

  He let out a groan, his head falling down below the line of his shoulders, and she leaned in to press her mouth to the junction where his neck met his shoulder, heating his skin with her breath.

  “Fuck me,” she heard herself beg as she stroked him, “please.”

  Everything in her needed it. She felt empty inside, desperate for him to fill her, and as he moved her further back on the bed, she thought she was going to get her wish.

  Instead, Rheor flipped her over so that she was on her knees, her hands catching her on the mattress, her ass in the air. She let out a gasp, prepared to make some kind of quip, but the feeling of his body pressing against her from behind set off a chain reaction in her mind. There was something primal about it, his weight and strength bearing down on her from that angle, his cock sliding against the cleft of her ass. That power inside of her pulsed, demanding more, and she knew this was what she needed. Whether it was the effects of instinct again or some other intervention by Kiova, she didn’t know. She also didn’t care. Reaching behind her, she clutched at Rheor’s thighs, her nails digging into his skin as she tried to pull him closer.

  The first time she’d felt him like this, he’d come so close without giving her what they both wanted. She could feel his cock slide between her thighs again, felt the heat of him, the velvety head spreading her lips. She arched back against him, determined this time, but deep down she sensed they were finally in agreement.

  She felt his breath hot on her skin�
�almost too hot, with that growing, pleasant tingle of cold inside of her—as he tucked his chin above her shoulder, his hands moving over her thighs, caressing and claiming. She angled her hips back, begged him with her body, and at last he began to comply.

  On some level, Imara knew she needed him to go slow. She’d never done this before, and his cock was large enough to give her pause. Just the head breaching her was enough to create a sensation of fullness and stretching that only grew as he continued to press forward, parting her folds around his thick girth, his cock radiating that same kind of chill he’d used on her before.

  But the part of her that craved this, that yearned for Roinim to be completed, wanted him sheathed inside of her right now. Buried completely, their bodies joined together, where they could share this beautiful energy between one another.

  She could feel Rheor’s muscles shaking with the strain of going so slowly, with the effort of overpowering that instinct she knew he felt. Reaching back, she threaded her fingers through his hair and turned her head, capturing his mouth in a kiss that was more tender than what they’d shared previously. Acknowledgment of his care, and perhaps a promise that she wasn’t going to break if he gave all of himself to her.

  He seemed to understand. Groaning against her lips, he rolled his hips forward and sank a few inches deeper into her. There was a slight moment of pressure, the pinch of pain, but it faded quickly, replaced by an overwhelming sense of fullness as her body did what it was made for and accommodated him. She moaned, her head falling back against him, hips pressing toward his pelvis to demand more.

  And Rheor gave her exactly that. A deep sound rumbled through his chest as he thrust the rest of the way into her, until his body was flush with hers. Imara’s mouth opened, a stuttered sound leaving her throat as she squeezed around him.