Storm of Fury
Page 1
Copyright © 2020 by Bec McMaster
All rights reserved.
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Cover design: © Damonza.com
Editing: Hot Tree Edits and Olivia Ventura
To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at www.becmcmaster.com
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“Oh my word! I felt like I was soaring on dragon wings in parts of this book. Fast paced, full of sexual tension of will she or won't she admit her lightning fierce love to herself. Battles between dragons, sorcery over the elements, and a love to fuel magic.” – reviewer, Heart of Fire
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“Amazing! This is by far the best dragon book I have read since Dragonbound by Thea Harrison. In fact, its one of the best fantasy romance books I have ever read.” —LAB, Heart of Fire
* * *
Kiss Of Steel—Georgia RWA Maggies Best Paranormal Romance 2013
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Heart Of Iron—One of Library Journal's Best Romances 2013 and nominated for RT Reviews Best Steampunk 2013
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Forged By Desire—RITA Finalist Paranormal Romance 2015
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Of Silk And Steam—RT Reviews Best Steampunk Romance 2016 and SFR Galaxy Award winner
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Mission: Improper—#1 Amazon Steampunk Bestseller
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To Catch A Rogue—RITA Finalist Paranormal Romance 2019
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Nobody’s Hero—Two-time SFR Galaxy Awards winner
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The Last True Hero—Dark Paranormal PRISM winner 2018
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Hexbound—Historical Fantasy PRISM winner 2017
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Soulbound—Historical Fantasy PRISM winner 2018 and overall PRISM Best of the Best
Storm of Fury
Bec McMaster
Contents
Storm of Fury
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Master of Storms
Promise of Darkness
Glossary for Legends of the Storm
Also by Bec McMaster
Acknowledgments
About the Author
The old eddas speak of dreki—fabled creatures who haunt the depths of Iceland's volcanoes and steal away fair maidens.
* * *
Bryn wants none of such myths. Accused of a crime she didn’t commit, the former Valkyrie was exiled to the mortal realm over a century ago. Now a battle-hardened mercenary, when she’s offered a glimpse of redemption—a written confession that will finally clear her name—nothing will stand in her way.
* * *
All she has to do is find Marduk, a missing dreki prince, and deliver him in chains to the dreki princess he once dishonoured.
* * *
And a trio of dragon-hunters is going to lead her right to him….
* * *
Find a missing dreki prince. It will be fun, they said. Fierce dragon-hunter Tormund Sigurdsson knows better. But the second he lays eyes on Bryn he thinks the gods have finally smiled upon him. After watching his cousin find love with his fated mate, all Tormund wants is an epic love story of his own. The gorgeous, curvaceous redhead is every single one of his dreams woven into flesh—even if she’s determined to keep him at arm’s length.
* * *
There’s just one little problem….
* * *
She’s working for the enemy.
One
“Find a missing dreki prince, they said,” Tormund grumbled, shielding his face against the swirl of snow seeking to drive him from this mortal world. “It will be fun, they said.”
“Come now,” his cousin Haakon bellowed behind him. “Don’t you want to be a legend?”
“I killed a wyrm,” he yelled back, though the true death of the creature was still hotly debated. “I am a legend!”
“And I killed three dragons. I’m two ahead of you,” Haakon said, cutting him a fierce grin as he appeared out of the snow. “But if you want to find a nice warm fire and sit out the rest of this journey, then I’m sure we can find you a blanket for your lap. Or a cup of tea. Perhaps a cat to stroke? When I return with Prince Marduk, I’ll tell the court tales of the brave warrior who doesn’t like a bit of snow—"
Tormund shoved him onto his backside, where the bastard merely threw his head back and laughed. Haakon was a different man to the one he’d known for the past seven years. “I liked you better when you were pining for your wife.”
Then he reached down a hand and hauled Haakon to his feet, because he wasn’t an utter wretch.
“We need to find you your own wife,” Haakon said, brushing snow off himself. “Then we might be able to tempt you out of this surly mood you’ve found yourself in of late.”
“Oh no.” No wives. No matchmaking. “That was my task. And I’ve reunited you with the lovely Árdís. My mission is complete.”
“Then why are you still here?” This time, there was actual curiosity in Haakon’s eyes.
Tormund scrubbed at the beginnings of a mighty beard.
He didn’t know how to answer that. He’d spent seven years trailing his cousin in his search for his missing wife. He’d kept Haakon’s head on his shoulders—and out of a vat of ale—and he’d managed to help him kill three dragons.
He’d always said he’d return home the day Haakon found his wife, the dreki princess, Árdís, but… that had been two months ago.
And here he was now, still following his reckless cousin, this time in search of a missing dreki prince who hadn’t been seen in almost a decade.
“Árdís will kill me if I don’t bring you back alive,” he muttered. “Someone has to watch your back.”
“Someone is watching my back.” Haakon pointed up.
Tormund snorted as they staggered through the thick snow. He swore his pack was growing heavier. “You trust that vicious overgrown lizard? He did try to steal your princess.”
“If Sirius returns without me, his wee pretty wife will make a throw rug with his hide. I trust his fear of Malin’s wrath more than I trust the bastard himself.”
“Are you two quite finished?”
A massive black shape reared out of the blizzard, spreading its wings. Tormund missed a step, and clapped a hand to his chest. Until that moment, he’d merely thought the shadow a part of the cliff face.
D
reki were creatures of myth, and though he’d once made the mistake of calling one of them a dragon—a mistake he’d barely survived with his life—he knew the difference between them now.
Dragons were larger, lumbering beasts that couldn’t breathe fire nor shift shapes. They flew poorly and were widely reputed among the dreki world to be their hideous, inbred cousins. Dreki were far more elegant creatures with long sinuous necks and wider wings. Of all the goddess Tiamat’s children, they alone shared her gift for magic.
And they owned a god’s share of arrogance.
“Odin’s balls,” Haakon cursed. “I thought you were supposed to be scouting ahead. What the hell are you doing down here?”
“Sunning myself.” The dreki prince’s words imprinted themselves directly in Tormund’s mind. The enormous creature had draped himself over a rocky outcropping, looking for all the world like an overbred cat. “This is the best the Zini court had to offer me as escort?”
Tormund drew himself up. “You’re the best the Zini court could send us as transportation?”
“Transportation?”
“We hunt dragons,” Tormund replied.
“And kill wyrms,” Haakon added.
“And you might be a vicious warlord with a reputation that could send other dreki quivering, but you’ve no skill in tracking down lost myths.”
Sirius examined his claws. “Prince Marduk is hardly a myth. He’s a sniveling little coward who tucked tail and ran from the court.”
“I’ve met his mother,” Haakon muttered. “I would have run from that evil bitch too.”
“The queen has been dead for over two months,” Sirius replied. “The four winds have spread word of it all over the globe. So where is the prince? What has he been up to? And why hasn’t he returned? Marduk knows how dangerous it is for a fractured court to recover after a coup. He knows every dreki clan in the northern hemisphere will be eyeing our territories with a gleaming eye—and our inexperienced king with barely disguised temptation.”
Haakon resettled his pack. “That is the question. Árdís assures me that Marduk will know of Queen Amadea’s death and the threats against King Rurik’s claim.”
“There has to be a reason he didn’t return,” Tormund pointed out, trudging toward the edge of the cliff—and the meandering trail that worked its way down it. “And so, to find our missing prince, we have to find the reason he didn’t return.”
The summons came late one stormy night.
Making her way to the address listed on the note she’d received, Bryn Brightfeather found herself staring into the face of a scowling innkeeper.
“Upstairs,” he said before she’d even gotten a word out, which meant she was expected.
A swift scan of the common room showed the usual crowd of patrons one would expect to find, yet there was an enormous, cowled figure in the corner, puffing on a pipe deep within his hood. And another giant leaned against the back door, a nonchalant hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he gave the room a glance she knew took in everything.
Two guards.
And not the mortal kind, judging by the tingle along her skin.
“Fourth door along,” added the innkeeper as Bryn turned for the stairs.
Bryn made her way up them, considering her options. A mercenary like herself couldn’t afford to pick and choose her jobs, especially when dreki were involved, but she had a bad feeling about this job and she hadn’t even heard what it involved.
She paused before the fourth door.
The dreki downstairs wouldn’t stop her from leaving. They were paid to protect the warlord within, not to keep guests from escaping.
But if she walked out that door then she’d no longer be considered Friend of the Sadu clan. And while that friendship came with a price, she couldn’t deny they’d been the ones who had welcomed her into their mountain halls when she’d fallen.
Dreki did not give their friendship lightly, and in this mortal world she had few enough friends as it was.
So she knocked.
“Come in,” came a sharp command.
The door opened to reveal a room lit by a single lantern. A figure sat at a scarred table, scratching out a missive in swift cursive.
Bryn took a knee before the bed. Dreki were always prickly, and it never hurt to assuage their arrogant selves. “You sent for me, Your Highness?”
Princess Solveig put the quill down and pushed away from the desk. “I did.”
Nobody would ever have called Solveig a beauty, and yet there was an arresting look to her hawkish features. Intense was the word for it. Here stood a woman of power, who was both comfortable in her own skin and inclined to wield that strength.
And though Bryn stood two inches taller than the other woman, she didn’t feel like it when Solveig was in the room.
The princess wasted no words. “I have a task for you.”
Bryn caught the pouch of coin the princess tossed in her direction, slowly rising to her feet. Heavy. And if her guess was correct, heavy with gold kroner, not mere brass pieces. “A dangerous bounty by the feel of it.”
“Correct,” the princess replied, her dark eyes flashing with heat. “I want you to bring me someone. Preferably in chains.”
That was interesting. In her experience, Solveig was cool, calculating and ruthless. Yet the brief storm that crossed her face hinted at some deeper emotion.
Whoever it was, Bryn spared him a moment of pity.
She tossed the pouch up and down. “Not human.”
“Not human.” The princess’s eyes darkened. “He’s a dreki prince named Marduk, born into the Zini clan, though he’s been in exile for years. He hasn’t been seen for nearly a decade, but several members of his court came through this region two days ago. They’re looking for him and they think he’s gone east. I want you to track them and use them to find him.”
She’d been right. This was a kettle full of trouble. “You want me to capture a dreki prince from a foreign court and bring him to you in chains?”
“Yes.”
“I wouldn’t just earn the enmity of a single dreki—and a prince at that—I’d be facing the wrath of his entire court.” Bryn shook her head. “I may as well slit my throat now. It would be a kinder fate.”
“You will be protected.”
“By whom?” she demanded. “Does this order come from your father?”
Solveig paced to the table. “No. It comes from me.”
Bryn’s eyebrows arched. “King Harald considers peace to be his most notable achievement. This sounds like you intend to start a war.”
“That miserable son of a dragon humiliated me and he will feel my wrath,” Solveig snarled, snatching her knife from the table. Her black braid whipped over her shoulders as she turned. “My father will not seek to intervene, nor will the Zini clan risk retaliation. This is personal and dreki do not step between those that bear a legitimate vendetta.”
“And what if one is not a dreki? Some may dare not cross you, but they’ll not hesitate to bring ruin down upon me.”
Solveig drew her knife and sliced a cut across her palm. “I vow by the Goddess that I will protect you from the consequences of this quest. I alone will earn Marduk’s enmity, and I will contain his rage. Blessed Tiamat, hear me.”
In the distance, thunder rumbled.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
Bryn trembled at the evidence the dreki’s goddess had heard Solveig’s oath. But she held out her hand and slowly curled it around the knife. A dreki’s word was a powerful oath, and if Solveig swore she’d bear the brunt of these consequences, then she would.
“To capturing wretched princes,” she said.
Solveig withdrew the blade so swiftly that Bryn barely felt the sting, but her smile sent a shiver down the spine. “To seeing them on their knees before us.”
When their clasped hands met, Bryn could feel that power—the heaviness of a storm brewing on the horizon—settle over her shoulders.
This was not her goddess, but she could respect the deity.
By the time she wiped her bloodied palm on her trousers, the cut was sealed.
“Find him for me and I will handle the rest,” Solveig replied, cleaning and then sheathing the knife. “Consider the coin advance payment. If you bring him to me, then I will double it. And I will give you something worth far more to you than mere gold.”
“I doubt it. I happen to quite like gold.”
It bought her enough tankards of ale to drown a fish.
Solveig reached within her cloak and produced a scroll. “Absolution. I have here the written confession of Róta, proclaiming you innocent of the charges that saw you cast from Valhalla, with your brands burned from your skin in dishonor.”
Bryn sucked in a sharp breath. Absolution. She’d spent so many centuries walking this cursed realm, certain she would never see the fair halls and her sisters again.