Storm of Fury

by Bec McMaster

  Sliding his hand down her shirt, he palmed her breast.

  “You want me.” His whisper was one of dawning realization. “You’ve always wanted me.”

  And she had hated him for it. Despised him for this little chink in her armor.

  All these years, and it finally made sense.

  Solveig nipped at his wrist. “You arrogant fool. You think your pretty face and charming words could ever—”

  “Ever, what?” One button surrendered beneath his deft fingers. Two. “Ever make you submit?”

  His lips chased his touch, finding the smooth curve of her breast. They were bound with a scrap of linen, but he tugged it lower and claimed the insistent thrust of her nipple with his mouth.

  “Fuck.” A reluctant moan was torn from her. “You son of a bitch.”

  But she didn’t stop him, and he could sense that her attention was no longer on the knife.

  “Put the blade down,” he told her, “and we’ll finish this.”

  “Never.”

  He bit her nipple and then suckled it into his mouth.

  Solveig moaned. "Oh, gods. Marduk!"

  One of her hands slid down his back, her nails raking into the skin beneath his shirt, and then her thighs locked around his hips.

  He fucked his hips against her slowly, feeling the heated core of her align perfectly with his throbbing cock. The dreki within him hissed, demanding more as she moaned his name and begged for more.

  “Let go of the knife, Solveig.”

  There was a heated never in her eyes. And then she used her hips to roll them, coming up panting atop him, the knife trailing down his throat. Every inch of her demanded his capitulation.

  But he’d been playing these games since he was a lad.

  And sometimes surrender was nothing more than a means to control the board. Only for her would he allow himself to be flat on his back, his throat splayed bare for her to take it, if she desired.

  “Go ahead,” he whispered. “You have me at your mercy.”

  She liked that. Biting her lip, she rode his cock, the knife trailing down his collarbone and slicing through the thin material of his shirt. The tip of it paused over his sternum.

  “My heart.” The muscles in his abdomen flexed, for he could see the indecision in her eyes. Digging his thumb into her thigh, he forced her to meet his gaze. “You’ll never have it.”

  Solveig leaned down. “What makes you think I want it? Except bloody and locked in a chest.”

  He laughed and drove his erection against her. Shoving his hand beneath her waistband, he found her wet and slick, and—

  Then hissing as she shoved at him.

  The sudden surge of fight in her startled him, until the door slammed open.

  Tormund, Bryn and Haakon burst inside.

  "What the hell?" Marduk demanded, heat blazing through his eyes as the dreki within him turned to face a threat against its female.

  He was crouched over her, snarling, almost like some newly-mated male.

  Haakon cleared his throat, averting his eyes. "We heard someone crying out."

  "Well, it wasn't me!" he growled, and had the ridiculous notion he'd like to throw them out of the room and continue what he'd been about.

  A palm slammed against his chest. "Get off me!" Solveig snarled, right in his head. She tried to sit up, dragging the remnants of her shirt closed. The knife was still in her hand.

  "Well," Tormund said, his eyebrows hitting the edge of his hairline. "'Tis a good thing we came to rescue you from this vicious, squalling hellcat." He cleared his throat. "It's time to go. Unless... you'd care for us to come back later?"

  An excellent idea.

  What?

  No!

  "Maybe an hour?" Haakon suggested, rubbing at his not-quite smothered smile.

  "Two minutes," Bryn coughed into her hand, "by the look of him."

  Marduk pushed to his feet as Solveig scrambled against the wall, her shirt gaping, and her mouth bruised from his kisses.

  "You're leaving?" she blurted. "Now?"

  Marduk shot her an amused smile and gave her a courtly bow of his head that made her lips press firmly together. "Maybe we can pursue this interesting development at a later stage?"

  "When Fenrir eats the sun," she spat psychically, which was much more like it.

  "Oh, Marduk, Marduk.... Please. Right... there...." He replayed her words for her.

  Solveig lashed out, capturing a lacquered box on her bedside table and throwing it toward him with a scream of rage.

  He smashed it aside, and a half dozen necklaces spilled from the broken box as it hit the floor.

  "Maybe not," he said, laughing as he headed for the doors. "Farewell, fair mate. Dream of me."

  "Rot in Helheim,” she yelled, as he shot her one last look. “This isn’t over.”

  He held the doors open, letting his gaze trail over her. None of this had been expected. And a part of him still insisted it stay. The dreki practically lashed its tail. “No,” he told her. “This isn’t over. One day the pair of us will have a reckoning, my word upon it. But I need to find my sister.” He gave her a roguish wink, feeling utterly exhilarated by the turn of events. “And once I do, I will come for you and we will finish this.”

  “I will finish this,” she promised.

  But Marduk made his escape.

  "Gone?" the king raged.

  Solveig stood with her head bowed, feeling the weight of everyone's gaze upon her.

  Of course he's gone. After all, what dreki would stick his cock in such a bear trap?

  She buried the small blistering coal of hurt in her heart. He’d wanted her. He’d touched her. Surely he couldn’t have feigned that. But here she stood, and in the eyes of the court, Marduk had fled the mating bed.

  You son of a wyrm.

  But the second she thought it, she couldn't help remembering the press of Marduk's body over hers, and the taste of his mouth, and—

  Ah! Stop it.

  Her fingers curled into tight little fists. "He fled."

  "On your mating night?" Her father seemed perplexed, and Solveig cursed him for saying out loud what the entire court must be thinking.

  She couldn't bear to look at her father's warriors and see their smirks. The entire court shifted, and she swore she could hear a snigger.

  "If he thinks he can make a fool of me," her father snarled, "then he can think again."

  But it wasn't the king he'd made a fool of.

  Dream of me.

  Her blood boiled. I shall dream of your head on a spike.

  "We are bound by our word," the king snapped. "Our alliance with King Rurik stands. I shall not stoop to this honorless cur's level. But he shall be made to regret this decision. I shall—"

  "No," Solveig said coldly, finally lifting her head. "Vengeance belongs to me."

  The hall fell quiet.

  Even her father turned in surprise.

  Solveig's hand dropped to the hilt of her sword. "I invoke the Rite of Erra."

  Aslaug and Siv gasped. To pledge her entire life to vengeance was no small decision, but she was so furious, she could barely maintain her composure.

  Toy with me? Ruin my cursed life? Then bolt back home with your tail tucked between your legs?

  No.

  Yet it was the memory of Marduk's taunting farewell that scored the deepest. He laughed at me. At my desire.

  Unacceptable.

  She was Solveig the Fierce, and this blow to her reputation would not be withstood.

  "The prince has played recklessly with my fate," she continued. "It shall not be allowed to stand. I shall return with Marduk's heart—or not at all."

  Done. Thunder cracked above them, echoing through the hall as the Great Goddess accepted her pledge.

  When the sound finally died down, she found the entire hall of dreki staring at her in shock. Including her father.

  "Solveig," the king breathed, "What have you done?"

  She smiled. "My mate w
ill regret ever crossing my path, I swear it. Send your emissaries to Rurik, but be warned... I travel with them, and my intentions are not as pure."

  Twenty

  Marduk paced the grove of birch trees after they’d finally fled the court. “What do you mean, we can’t go after Ishtar?”

  “We need to return home,” Haakon argued. “Árdís was nearly kidnapped yesterday, and there was an attempted coup within the court. Your brother wants you home.”

  “My sister is out there alone—”

  “You said yourself that you can’t currently sense her,” Haakon told him. “Are we supposed to sit here and twiddle our thumbs while we wait to see if she’s going to return to the mortal plane?”

  Tormund watched the back and forth with interest, stretching his legs out before him. Haakon was rarely outmaneuvered, but he was dealing with dreki now, and it was clear Marduk shared Árdís’s stubborn streak.

  “Then we follow her tracks,” Marduk said coldly, pointing to the ground. “Your man here can track her. I’ve watched him do it.”

  “Aye. I can find her,” Tormund said, “if her pattern continues as it has done.” He glanced at the shallow prints in the snow, and the heavier tread that echoed her path. “We’re about two days behind her, by the look of it. And the Keepers seem to be half a day behind her.”

  So far, Ishtar seemed to making small leaps in the landscape ahead. Though Marduk could sense her trail—and sometimes the princess herself—he wasn’t much use in predicting where she was going. Tormund hadn’t mentioned it yet, but he couldn’t help thinking that Ishtar had a destination in mind. Though she shifted across the landscape in various directions, she always seemed to end up heading north.

  And she was moving in a straight direction, as the crow flew.

  “I don’t think Ishtar is the one in danger,” Haakon replied. “She can clearly remove herself from… the world, if need be. But we don’t know what is going on at the court. And my wife is there.” His voice grew rough with his unspoken fear. “She needs me. Fly me home, and then you can return.”

  “She is my sister!”

  “And so is Árdís,” Haakon replied grimly. “My wife can sense Chaos magic, but she can’t figure out where it’s coming from. You can. You can hear its call. You said yourself that you can differentiate between your sisters’ magic and your mother’s. If Amadea’s spirit lingers, then you might be the only one who can find the source.”

  Marduk stared at him. “What if I can’t find Ishtar again?” he asked in a broken voice. “What if it’s too late?”

  Tormund sighed. Damn it. He raised a hand. “I’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll keep tracking your sister. If those Keepers get near her, I’ll stop them.”

  Both men looked sharply at him.

  “What?” Haakon demanded.

  Marduk raked his hands through his hair. “She’s alone out there. She doesn’t understand the world and how it works. She can’t shift and she can’t fly. And although she’s worked out how to create a portal, I don’t think she truly knows how to wield one, just yet, or she’d have made one big jump. I can’t just fly home and leave her. Anything could happen to her.”

  True. Or…. “We’ve been hunting her for over a week. So have both Keepers. Despite our combined experience, she’s managed to avoid all of us, and even gained ground on us by the look of it.”

  “She’s creating portals to skip ahead,” Marduk protested. “How are you even going to find her? You have no magic.”

  “I’m not going to track her,” he explained patiently. “I’m going to hunt the Keepers.” It was easier to track them rather than Ishtar, but while Marduk owned a dreki’s senses, he couldn’t read a trail once the scent had faded.

  Dreki hunted the skies, but when your prey kept disappearing, there was nothing to search for. It was clear the Keepers had decided to continue on foot and follow her trail of broken branches and bare footprints.

  Marduk shook his head. “They’re not the type of dreki you’re used to, friend Tormund. They are fanatics, obsessed with protecting the world from the dangers of Chaos magic. They will kill any who stand in their way.”

  “And you’re no match for two dreki cultists by yourself,” Haakon barked.

  “Do I look like an idiot?” His voice roughened. “I don’t intend to confront them unless necessary. Marduk can fly you home and then come find me if need be. And I won’t be alone.”

  They all looked at him.

  He turned his head toward Bryn, who’d been leaning against a tree and watching proceedings with a guarded expression.

  “Oh, no,” she said, stepping back and shaking her hands. “My part in this is done. I helped you rescue your prince. I owe you no further debt. This is where we part.”

  “You want your honor back?” he told her. “Then it starts here. A letter of confession isn’t going to make up for the last hundred years.”

  “I never said I wanted my honor back,” she said coldly.

  “No? And yet, you came back,” he pointed out. “You didn’t have to do that. And I’ve heard you call yourself many things before, Bryn. Cold. Honorless. A mercenary. You call yourself those names enough times to make me wonder who you’re trying to convince.”

  “I came back because….”

  “Because?”

  Her lips thinned. “Because you were going to get yourself killed.”

  “And what about the princess? When they speak of the Brightfeather, they say she never left a woman unguarded.”

  Bryn glared at him. “That woman is dead.”

  “Then why do you want to return to her life?”

  The question seemed to stun her.

  Bryn’s eyes flared wide, her beautiful lips parting.

  “Help me,” he begged in a soft tone. “Help me find Ishtar. Not for coin. Not out of a sense of guilt. Just help me because I asked it of you.”

  She backed away. “No. No. A thousand times no. You’re out of your depths this time. Even I know better than to face the Keepers.”

  “For once I agree with her,” Haakon snapped. “You’re only human, Tor.”

  And one who doesn’t need his fucking hand held. “I won’t get too close to them then. I’ll merely track them and keep my distance—”

  “Keep your distance?” Bryn burst in. “They will smell you coming for miles. And while they might consider you an insignificant gnat, they won’t take any chances when it comes to Ishtar’s freedom.”

  “That’s not your concern,” he told her bluntly. “There’s a princess out there in the snow, lost, bewildered, and probably frightened. I’m not going to leave her to the mercy of the elements or the so-called mercy of a pair of fanatics. And she trusts me. Me.”

  “I swear, you are the stupidest man I’ve ever met! They will flay you alive!”

  “They may. Or I may save her.”

  “Damn it.” She captured the hilt of her sword and strode three paces. “I will help you. Not for coin. Not for any debt. I will help you because otherwise you’re going to get yourself killed, and I don’t want that on my conscience.”

  Thank God. “I thought you were pretending you didn’t have a conscience?”

  She balled her fist, but he dodged the blow.

  Trouble turned her eyes stormy. “I sometimes think you will be the end of me.”

  “Or perhaps I will be the one who can help you remake yourself. You’re still the same person you always were, Bryn. And they say that once upon a time you were the bravest of the Valkyrie. Your sisters didn’t steal that away from you—it was you who turned your back on yourself.”

  She didn’t like that, he saw.

  But his words were the truth, and not even she could deny it. Bryn gave a short nod. “I will come then. And I will help you find Ishtar, if for no other reason than the fact that without me, you’re going to end up in an unmarked grave.”

  Marduk’s lips thinned. “I’ll return to court in order to hear my brother out. But if this madness wi
thin the court doesn’t need my presence, then I will return as soon as I am able.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Bryn muttered behind him as they strode through the darkening afternoon. “I had to fall in with a madman who hunts dreki. I had to find someone who thinks every princess needs to be rescued. Why can’t this princess rescue herself? I swear, if we finally catch her, I’m going to teach her to use a bloody sword.”

  “Had to find someone?” he teased. “Or ‘had to fall in love with someone’?”

  “This is not love, Tormund. This is… lust. And friendship. And maybe pity, because you’re going to get your head bitten off.”

  “I don’t think you know what love is,” he corrected mildly. “You can admit that you care about me. The stars won’t fall from the skies. I care about you, Bryn. I like you. A lot.”

  There was a long, drawn-out silence.

  “I think you are delusional,” she finally said, which made him smile a bit.

  Oh, Bryn. Your weaknesses are showing. Your shield is lowering…. You hesitated.

  Lowering, but not yet lowered.

  “Just so you know, you complain a lot,” he called over his shoulder.

  “Me? I complain a lot? All you have done this entire quest is complain. Your feet are cold. You hate the undead. You hate heights. You hate stairs. Your dinner is cold. Your cousin tricked you into coming with him, even though you just volunteered for this mission!”

  He turned around. “I’m sensing a little bit of resentment. And I only complain because Haakon is a stoic brooder, and I’ve grown used to talking to myself.”

  Bryn dumped her bags from her shoulder, raking a hand through the strands of hair that tumbled from her messy braid. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t know why I can’t seem to walk away from you, no matter how hard I try.”

  Tormund took two steps toward her. “I do. It’s—”

  “If you say ‘love,’ I will kick your feet out from under you and bury you in the snow,” she growled ferociously. “Nobody will find your body. Not even Haakon.”