STORM OF DESIRE

JANUARY, 2017

LEGENDS OF THE STORM #2

 

The old Eddas speak of dreki—fabled creatures that haunt the depths of Iceland’s volcanoes and steal away fair maidens.

Haakon wants none of such myths. For years he's searched for the beast that stole his wife, desperate to slay the golden dreki and rescue his precious Árja. He has sacrificed everything to gain vengeance for her loss—including his honor—but now Haakon knows the truth. His entire marriage was a lie. The woman he knew as his wife was no victim, but the dreki herself. And when he finally tracks down the deceitful princess, there will be a reckoning of passion and glory….

She came to him on a storm…

 

Long ago, Árdís gave her heart to a mortal man; despite knowing it could only end in tragedy. When her clan summoned her home, she had no choice but to leave—or see her husband pitted against her vicious cousin, Sirius.

When Sirius insists upon a betrothal that will help him gain the dreki throne, she is forced to flee—straight into the arms of the now-ruthless dragon-hunter she once called husband. But can Haakon ever forgive her deceit? And can she save him from a spurned dreki prince who would see them both dead?

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

Reykjavik, Iceland

 

THERE WERE MANY ways one could woo an estranged wife, and as Haakon Haraldsson nursed his ale at an inn in Reykjavik as a storm blew over the city, he heard them all.

“…gift her with flowers,” Bjorn argued. The boy had swollen into a giant of a man in the past two years, but he was still barely able to grow fluff on his chin. “It's a time-proven method to win a woman's heart.”

The lady's more interested in emeralds, Haakon thought with a bitter smile. All the more to add to her horde of gold.

But none of his men were paying attention to him.

Haakon's massive cousin, Tormund, snorted and shook his head. “Flowers? Sweep her off her feet and throw her over your shoulder. Make a woman of her.”

Which would work perfectly if the lady in question couldn't breathe fire…

Bjorn snorted. “In my experience—”

“What little there be of it,” Tormund said.

Bjorn slammed his tankard down and shoved to his feet. “There's damned near enough to make your toes curl. When was the last time you saw a woman naked?”

“Last night as a matter of fact,” Tormund snarled.

The two men stared at each other, their chest's almost touching.

“Sit down, you bloody fools,” Haakon's second-in-command, Gunnar, bellowed. “You break any of this furniture and I'll break your heads.”

Gunnar shoved the pair of them apart, even as Haakon sank his head into his hands. What was he doing here?

Trying to get answers….

Tormund scraped at his beard. “Mind you, when I were chasing Gertrude, she did like flowers—”

Haakon faded out of the conversation. Loose timbers flapped against the inn's cladding as the storm began to drive through the town. He crossed to the window, peering through it. Light flashed in the distance. The heart of the storm hadn't arrived yet.

But when it came, it would descend on the town with driving force. There was a crackle of energy in the air, one he'd slowly learned to recognize.

This would be no ordinary storm.

Would it be her out there on the winds?

He'd spent months camped out in this hell-forsaken traders town, hoping to lure her out. Months showing the townsfolk the portrait he'd drawn of her face.

Yes, one or two of them had declared. I've seen her. She comes to buy books every few months.

She likes jewelry too, someone else had said. I think she made Ivar a very happy jeweler…. Bought a pair of emerald earrings off him without even blushing at the price.

            That sounded like her.

Before his wife vanished in the middle of a storm, barely two years after they'd married, she'd been enamored of precious gems. Even the single wink of light on a set of rubies had caught her eye from across the room. He'd not thought anything of it at the time—except to think he'd like to buy her a set of her own one day—but in hindsight, there'd always been signs of the truth.

Seven years given over to hunting the dragon who took his wife. Seven years of lies…

His only purpose since her loss had been to hunt for any news of such a creature, until he'd finally gotten word earlier this year of a golden dragon in Iceland.

Well, he'd finally tracked down the golden dreki—as it preferred to call itself—only to hear the truth from its lips.

“You hunt the dreki who took your wife,” Rurik had said. “There is only one golden dreki beside myself. Her name is Árdís, and she is my younger sister. She resides in the dreki court below Hekla.”  

“That dreki took my wife!”

“She did not steal your wife, you fool,” Rurik had hissed. “She was your wife.”

And in that moment, he'd no longer been able to deny the truth.

The storm rattled the shingles on the roof.

“Fucking cows,” he muttered, staring into the skies and laughing humorlessly. “I was hunting these cows.” He should have known the truth the moment he met her.

Why else would she have been naked in a storm?

Why else would she have been endlessly curious about the customs of his hearth and home, as if she'd never lived them before?

For a man who'd lived all his life among myth and legend, it had been remarkably easy to haul the wool over his eyes.

Anger brewed. Seven years spent believing his wife was either killed or kidnapped by a dreki who rode one of these storms, only to discover his wife was the actual dreki, had left him bitter and hollow.

It was time for a reckoning.

“Are you certain kidnapping your wife is the best way to go about this?” Gunnar muttered, leaning against the wall beside him. “Bjorn might have a point about a dragon princess not appreciating being manhandled like that.”

“Dreki,” Haakon corrected absently. “They don't like to be called dragon.”

Gunnar gave him a strange look. “Either way, I would prefer to dine on the pig on the spit out back tonight. Not be the one roasting.”

“Rurik said few dreki own the gift to actually breathe flame.”

“Aye, and Rurik's her brother. Where do you think his loyalties lie?”

Haakon glanced toward the flicker of lightning through the window, before slinging back the rest of his ale. “He wouldn't have told me the truth about her if he intended me to die at her hand. He's… an admirable creature. He believes in debts of honor and fate.”

He'd have never believed those words would come from his mouth before he set foot on these shores.

“Let us hope his sister believes in honor too.”

Haakon's smile felt tight. “I wouldn't trust her sense of decency. She's already proven she has no compunctions with deceit, but I have means to counteract her powers, if it comes down to it.”

The heavy weight of the gold cuff in his pocket seemed to warm.

Gunnar stared at him. “I hope you know what you're doing. She was your wife—”

“She was a lying, conniving creature with a heart of ice,” he corrected coldly.

“Still….” Gunnar hesitated, but Haakon paid him little attention.

He'd spent months learning the difference between a regular storm and a dreki storm. This was it. She had to be here in Reykjavik somewhere. He was weary with waiting, but without magic he couldn't get into the dreki court beneath the volcano of Hekla, according to the exiled dreki prince, Rurik. He'd needed her to come for him, and he'd baited the trap appropriately. “Do you have any better ideas? Preferably ones without that flower nonsense?”

After all, he wasn't here to win his wife back, or to woo her, or whatever other nonsense the men were discussing.

He was here for answers.

Gunnar winced. “Kidnapping it is then.”

 

***

 

There were few things that gave Árdís pleasure these days, but the promise of an emerald necklace the likes of which she'd never seen before, came close.

Gliding above the storm, she turned in slow barrel rolls, excelling in the wind beneath her wings. Reykjavik sprawled beneath her, the very sign of its humanity calling to her as she began her dive.

The storm lashed out as she pulled out of the dive and alighted upon a rocky crag overlooking the town. Lightning flashed as Árdís threw her wings out, a shimmer of power spilling through her. Heat washed through her veins. And then she was squatting on bare feet, her hands held aloft as she transformed to her mortal form.

Instantly fat raindrops splashed her bare skin. It always felt so strange to shift forms. The dreki was mighty and impervious, gilded by scales of gold that protected it from danger, but also from so much raw sensation. In her dreki form she heard each groan of the earth, and the whisper of winds through the skies in a way her mortal ear could not perceive, and yet to be human connected her to the world in ways she'd never been able to imagine before her first shift.

She'd felt hands on her skin in this form. Lips trailing down her neck. The weight of her husband pressing her down into their mattress as he made love to her for the first time.

And the utter destruction of a heart she'd broken herself.

To be human meant pain, suffering, and wretched emotion. But it also lured her with whispers of joy and freedom, and the sheer warmth one gained from other humans. Árdís had been born from fire, but she loved this mortal realm with a curious heart other dreki curled their lips at.

Picking up the leather bag she'd carried in her claws, she swiftly drew her gown on, lacing up the pale green wool dress over her chemise. Stockings and shoes followed, and then she looped the silver chain she always carried around her throat.

She could only ever wear it when she wore this form, and for a second her fingers fumbled on the plain silver ring he'd once given her. It dangled from the end of the chain, and warmed against her flesh as if it were finally home.

She'd taken it off over a dozen times, and even managed to bury it once, before she succumbed and dug it back out of the earth. The only reminder of a moment when she'd given into the whim of her heart, it was past time she finally put it away, but… Her fingertips grazed the silver ring. To put it away forever meant burying her heart entirely, and she wasn't certain she had it in her to do so.

A flash of icy gray eyes lit through her mind. A smile. The shape of his mouth, as he leaned down to kiss her… She refused to speak his name, but the memory of his face would not leave her alone, particularly at night, when her thoughts were unguarded.

He'd never smile at her like that again.

Árdís slid the ring inside her dress, and swiftly braided her hair. She'd made her choices long ago. She should never have married him. Never have given him her heart. She was a dreki princess and he a mortal man, and she'd known from the start it would only ever end in disaster.

But sometimes the head did not rule the heart.

Enough. Árdís turned toward the town, shedding her foolish regrets. It always hit her hard when she first shifted shape.

And she had emeralds to buy, and hopefully a certain dreki prince to thwart.

In the streets of Reykjavik, humans began to close the shutters on their windows, faces turned fearfully toward the storm that was rolling over the edges of town. With her no longer in the skies it would fade, but they didn't know that. Brightly colored roofs gleamed under the stormy skies, as Árdís made her way unerringly toward the small jewelers she frequented.

Bells tinkled over the door as she entered.

The jeweler looked up at the sound of the bells, his hands scattering the fine beads he'd been trying to separate as he saw her. Árdís breathed in the stuffy fumes of pipe smoke and oil, her gaze flickering over the dull gleam of brass and gold in the display cases, and the faint wink of rubies. Too small to capture her interest, of course, but Hjálmarsson always kept his finest wares behind the counter, or in his safe.

“Good day, Master Hjálmarsson,” she called. “I hear you have new emeralds?”

The jeweler set aside the small loupe he'd been peering through. His mustache quivered. “How do you always know? I've not breathed a word of it to anyone.”

Because I can hear them whispering through the earth's crust, practically calling my name.

            Every dreki was gifted with some natural affinity for one of the elements, and hers was Earth. Árdís smiled. “A lady cannot give up her sources, good sir. Please, may I see them?”

“Aye. I put them aside for you, as promised,” the jeweler stammered, as he unlocked his glass counter and lifted a tray from within. She'd offered to pay him good coin for the privilege of seeing his finest wares first.

He stank of nervousness, enough to make her glance up from beneath her lashes. If he tried to swindle her, then he would be in for a rude shock.

Árdís's eyes narrowed, but then she saw what rested upon the red velvet nap upon the tray. An exquisite necklace of gold, with over a half dozen teardrop shaped emeralds dripping from the collar. The smaller emeralds were the size of her thumbnail, but the one in the center… that one was almost a robin's egg, and surrounded by glittering diamond shards that winked in the light like the stars in the night sky.

It was beautiful.

Regal. Stunning.

A queen's necklace, the likes of which she'd never seen before.

This was the only thing that captured both her dreki and mortal heart. Árdís had always felt torn between both worlds, but precious gemstones and gold were a dangerous addiction of both her selves.

“Bring the light closer,” she whispered, her fingertips gliding over each polished stone in the set.

The jeweler obliged and the color of the gems warmed, as if there were a trapped spirit glowing within. Striations of green refracted off the counter as she turned the tray to and fro, painting her skin with faint oceanic ripples of color.

“Where did you get them?” They were nothing like his usual wares. Iceland was the last bastion of life in these arctic straits, and ships rarely carried fine goods north like these.

The jeweler hesitated, but the strange light within the emeralds, the one that called to her soul, captured Árdís.

“I was given them by a man several months ago. He told me….” The words continued, but Árdís had ceased to listen.

A faint imperfection in the main stone caught her eye, running through the emerald almost like a scar.

Or a streak of lightning.

Her breath caught. She had to have them. It had been made for her. “How much?”

A king's ransom to be expected, but if there was one thing dreki collected apart from fine gems, it was gold.

“I-It's a gift,” Hjálmarsson stammered. “I was told it was to be a gift. I've already been paid.”

Finally, his words caught her attention. “A gift?”

“For you.”

Nobody knew her in this town, and humans would not recognize what walked among them. Which meant something of a supernatural nature had noticed her presence.

A fellow dreki perhaps.

And all those within the court knew she was betrothed to Sirius Blackfrost.

A flare of warning skittered down her spine, but she wasn't afraid. She was a dreki princess of the Zini clan, and both immortal and mortal crossed her at their peril.

“A gift.” Hjálmarsson swallowed. “For a beautiful lady. He told me to say that.”

“And does this mysterious man have a name?”

“He said if you want his name, then you'll have to meet him. He's residing at the Viking.”

Curious. Árdís ran a fingernail along the gems, reaching for the light within. There was a strange echo upon the stones, a lingering presence, as if another dreki had touched them upon a time.

She wanted the necklace, and was almost curious enough to accept the invitation just to discover who thought to challenge her, but something stalled within her.

What was the point?

She'd given her heart once, and left it bleeding in Norway. And her mother, the queen, had recently decreed that her cousin, Sirius, would have her as a mate. No man had touched her since her husband, and she found she couldn't rouse the least bit of interest in the idea. It might be a way to insult Sirius, a challenge to his alleged authority over her, but something recoiled within her at the thought of a lover.

No.

Still… Who was it? She ought to warn him the Blackfrost was a dangerous enemy to have, and not likely to be impressed with another male seeking to steal his intended mate.

A male psychic scent infused the stones, one she almost thought she recognized. Pushing forward with her mind, she chased that presence and suddenly it fell into her mind. Hundreds of miles east of here a male dreki turned to look at her, catching the link on his end. Golden hair curled around his ears, and his eyes were the color of warm amber.

The same color as hers.

“Rurik?” she breathed, her heart expanding in her chest as the image of her brother's face obliterated the reality of the world around her. It was truly him. Her brother had been in exile for almost half a cycle, or thirty years as these humans translated time. She'd been but a kit when he vanished.

“Don't be too angry with me. It's time to pay your debt, Árdís.”

She jerked her finger back, and the link was lost, leaving her heart pounding.

Debt.

What by all the gods did Rurik mean?

It wasn't the first time he'd contacted her of late. There'd been that brief whisper she'd woken to one night several months ago, almost a fragment of a dream. “Árdís, what were you thinking?”

She'd lain awake for long moments after that, uncertain whether to reach back. The dreki court beneath Hekla was watched by too many dreki minds, and she didn't dare contact the brother the court called the Traitor Prince.

But now?

She had this horrible feeling inside, as if the walls were closing in upon her. Fate, something whispered.

And whoever had given this jeweler the necklace knew her.

“I don't want them,” she snapped, shoving the tray back across the counter, even as her lungs strained for air. “Good day, Master Hjálmarsson. I shall return when you have more goods.”

She barely heard his stammering apologies as she escaped the jewellers. The crisp air was a shock to her skin, but she needed it. Her brother was involved in this. She didn't know what to think. He was miles to the east; to enter Zini territory meant provoking a war with her mother, the ruling queen of Iceland's dreki clan.

But what if he'd sent an emissary?

Could this be the hope her people needed? Could their prince be returning? She wanted so very badly to believe it.

Árdís wrapped her cloak tightly around her shoulders as she turned toward the edge of the city, the heavy jangle of the coin purse at her side mocking her. Wind whipped the cloak out of her fingers, and she looked up.

The storm was worsening.

Black skies had curled over the town while she was within the jewelers, the rolling edge of dark clouds looming like an enormous wave about to come crashing down. Jagged flashes of lightning slashed the sky in the distance. Once, twice, thrice. Her fingers curled around her arms. Three dreki on her heels, if she wasn't mistaken. Clearly her presence had been missed.

But who had her mother sent to fetch her back to court?

One of them would be Sirius, of a certainty. The very rage within that storm spoke of the Blackfrost and his power.

Árdís draped the hood of her cloak over her head, and turned into the nearest alleyway. She wasn't of a mood to return. Not just yet. All she needed was five minutes to circle the Viking Inn. It wasn't as though she intended to enter, but… maybe she could watch from a distance, and see if this truly was an emissary from her brother.

Surely that wouldn't be tempting fate?

Footsteps whispered behind her as she wended her way through the narrow streets toward the inn. Shutters slapped against the nearby windows of a house, carelessly untended.

A whisper of movement stirred behind her, and a large shadow drifted across hers. A big man following her none too stealthily—though he was clearly trying.

Árdís glanced sideways beneath her lashes, the weight of the gold burning a hole in her pocket. Someone thought to rob her? Well, they were in for the shock of their life. She bared her teeth, feeling her fingernails sharpen into claws. This was no helpless mark here.

“You might as well come out,” she called. “I could smell you from three streets over.”

Silence.

Árdís smiled as she turned toward the mouth of the alley behind her. “I should warn you—the cost of interfering with me might be your life. You'll find no easy prey here.”

An enormous young man stepped out of the alley, holding a sack of all things. His cheeks burned. “I thought dreki were bound by the old laws. You can't kill me.”

“Why, you're just a boy,” she said in some surprise.

And not alone.

Others melted out of the shadows. There was a net. A man crouched warily, as if prepared to pounce upon her. She laughed. Did they not realize what they dealt with?

“Begone, you fools. Whatever you're being paid, it isn't worth the cost of your lives. I cannot take a mortal life, not at a whim. But I can strike down any who dare assault me first.” The wind whipped her skirts around her calves, and she bared her teeth in what might have passed for a smile. “And then, of course, the treaty specifically states I may not take a life. It doesn't say I cannot make you wish I had.”

The three men glanced between each other warily.

“You do it,” the large boy muttered to the one with the net, gesturing toward her, as though he needed someone else to make the first move.

The net-caster's knuckles tightened, his muscles bunching. So be it. She'd given them enough warning. Árdís moved before he could. She turned and kicked the youngest one in the stomach, earning a loud whumph from his throat as he staggered back into the nearest wall. The net fanned into the air above her, but she was already the wind. Lightning flashed in the clouds above as she raked through the glistening ropes with her claws, parting the net like silk.

It fluttered to the ground on either side of her, little sparks of bright light rippling through the rope. That was interesting, and enough to distract her for a second.

Magic.

And not the elemental kind dreki used.

Someone grabbed her from behind, and the edge of a smelly hessian sack went over her head. Árdís drove her elbow back into the newcomer's sternum, and the harsh exhale of his breath sounded. Then she was whirling, spitting out the stink of the hessian sack as she ripped it free, and slamming her palm up into the boyish young man's jaw as he tried to grab her. Clearly he hadn't received her first warning with good grace.

She'd tried.

And then they had put a bag over her head.

Árdís puffed with indignation, shaking the hessian bag in her fist. “What were you thinking? You do realize I can transform into a creature that weighs seven tons?”

For a second she imagined the shock on their faces as one of them ended up sitting on her neck, with the hessian bag over her snout.

Groans littered the cobbled alley as two of the men curled into wretched shapes. Árdís looked into the eyes of the man who'd tried to throw a net over her.

“And you. I do not like nets,” she hissed, letting a hint of the dreki show in her eyes. Her hand fisted in the hessian sack. “And I do not care to be treated like this morning's catch. You have a debt to me now, and I am angry enough to take my payment in blood.”

His face paled, then he turned and fled, the soles of his boots slapping the cobbles in a satisfactory manner.

Árdís lowered the sack. That was better.

“Should have… gone with the flowers,” said the larger man at her feet, rolling slowly onto his hands and knees.

“Flowers?” she demanded, but he wasn't looking at her.

No, his gaze rested somewhere over her shoulder.

“Unfortunately, the net and the sack were just a distraction,” said a voice husky with anger.

A voice that shivered down her spine.

A voice she knew.

Fate laughed in her ear and sank its arrow directly into her chest, even as a hand locked around her wrist. Árdís spun, but the enormous man behind her blocked her blow. And then the second one. She caught a flash of icy eyes, and then her back slammed into the nearest wall, his hands pinning her wrists to the building as he crushed her there with his body.

Haakon.

For a second she couldn't breathe, but it wasn't from the impact. She'd thought she'd never see him again.

“Speaking of debts,” Haakon said, his handsome face no longer that of the young man she'd once known, but carved from granite and fury. “I believe you owe me quite a large one. And I'm here to call it in.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

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