Storm of Fury: Dragon Shifter Romance (Legends of the Storm Book 4)

by Bec McMaster

  Draugar apparently did not taste very nice.

  “I think that’s possibly the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen.” Tormund shook his head. “And now I owe that bastard an ale.”

  “Behind you,” Haakon warned.

  They turned to find another of the massive creatures advancing upon them. This one wore a scraggly beard that fell to its knees and an old helmet.

  “Mine,” Haakon said grimly, holding his sword low. “Go see how our guide is faring. Bryn’s smaller than we are, and I don’t know how well she can wield that sword.”

  He turned just as Bryn darted toward him, with a bloodied knife in her hand.

  “Through the rune stones!” she yelled at him, snatching his arm as she sprinted past.

  Behind her lumbered a creature wielding a brass-bound club.

  “Use your sword!” he yelled at her as he ran after her. Was she mad? A knife against one of the undead?

  Bryn sprinted through the rune stones then whirled to face him. She glared at him, then set that glare upon the draugr. “I need some room to draw it.”

  It wasn’t that bloody big. Tormund shook his head. “Stay behind me,” he said, then turned to face the creature alone. “Come on, you big, ugly bastard.”

  He watched that club lift high, tensing his muscles.

  Diving beneath the swing of the club, he swung his axe at its foot, but the creature danced and avoided the blow. Tormund threw himself aside, trying not to be crushed.

  He hit a rock, his body wedged against it. The sole of an enormous boot blotted out the light, and he screamed as he threw his arms up and—

  Someone yanked aside the curtains of gloom, letting the sun’s burnished rays smash down upon them. Heat washed over his clammy skin.

  The draugr froze, its attention swinging toward the rune stones.

  Toward Bryn.

  And it was not the sun, but the sword in her hand.

  Light seemed to be coming from within the metal, as if the fucking thing had been forged from the heart of a dying star. Standing within a molten halo, her red braids gleaming like the wings of a phoenix, she screamed something incomprehensible at the draugr.

  Tormund sat up breathlessly as the draugr turned to face her.

  Instead of ducking the club, she swung her sword up to meet it.

  A cataclysmic shockwave of force and sound detonated out from the blow. The draugr was flung off its feet, landing several yards behind Tormund. But Bryn stood with her feet planted, every inch of her face carved with a motley of fierce shadows.

  “Holy. Shit.” He tried to wave the lights away from his vision. “Where the hell did you find that sword?”

  “Don’t look at it!” she screamed, her eyes settling on something directly behind him.

  The ground beneath his boot shivered.

  Tormund threw himself to the side, swinging under the blow of the club. The whistle of its passage whined past his ears, and then he was rolling to his feet, still blinking through his half-blindness. The stench of decay almost knocked him on his ass again.

  But he was under its guard for a crucial half-second.

  Lifting the axe high, he drove it into the draugr’s foot, cleaving it in half. “If we can’t kill them, then incapacitate them.”

  It wasn’t as though they could grow extra limbs.

  Could they?

  “Behind you!” Bryn screamed.

  He caught a glimpse of an enormous form blundering toward him.

  Bryn sprinted toward him, her gaze locked on the creature over his shoulder. Tormund recognized her intent, and dropped to one knee, cupping his hands for her.

  Her weight met his cupped palms, and then he was thrusting her high over his shoulder.

  Grabbing for his axe, he rolled to the side, coming up in a fighting stance—only to realize he wasn’t needed.

  The moment took his breath away.

  Bryn flew through the air, high over the sweep of the draugr’s club. For a second, it looked as though she had swan-like wings. She plunged her shining sword right into its eye, and a flare of light exploded from the weapon as the draugr screamed.

  The concussive force almost knocked him off his feet. He staggered back, his cloak whipping around him as the draugr’s body slammed into the ground. Bryn wrenched her sword from its eye and hopped off its chest, her face spattered with mottled clots of dark blood. In that moment, he could have sworn he saw his future laid out like an arrow forging toward its fate.

  This woman was the one.

  He’d jokingly said she would be his wife, but he hadn’t meant it until this moment.

  Bryn shot him a savage smile, and wiped the black blood off her sword. “And that’s how you kill the undead, big man.”

  Four

  The völva had fled, leaving behind the remnants of her draugar.

  Bryn made short work of cleaning her sword before sheathing it—and its brightness.

  The second she put it away, the Blackfrost advanced upon her, radiating menace. “Where did you find that sword?”

  Dreki could smell lies. So Bryn tipped her chin up and looked him in the eye. She’d been prepared to face these questions. “It was gifted to me by the Valkyrie, Kára.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Do I look like I’m lying?” She laid a hand on the hilt of the sword. “No hand can steal a Valkyrie’s sword, milord dreki. The powers bound into the steel will refract back upon an unlawful hand and the consequences are dire.”

  The Blackfrost’s lip curled back from his teeth. “No Valkyrie gives away blessed steel.”

  True. Bryn’s smile slipped. “Sometimes the sword chooses a new mistress.”

  A part of her had expected the sword to cleave from her hand the second she was cast from Valhalla, but though it had warmed to the touch, it had stayed true. Both a cruel blow and a relief.

  She remained Valkyrie enough to wield it, though she would never be welcomed within the golden halls again.

  There’s still a chance. Bryn’s breath escaped her lungs. All you have to do is find this precious princeling and you can return home. You’ll finally be able to clear your name.

  Tormund stepped between them and rested a hand on the Blackfrost’s chest. “The lady said she’s not lying. How about you give her some room to breathe and uh, perhaps go take a bath in a fresh icy lake?”

  The Blackfrost turned that snarl upon him.

  “Don’t snap at me,” Tormund replied mildly. “It’s not my fault your lady wife is never going to want to kiss you again. I didn’t tell you to eat it.”

  “I didn’t eat it. I bit its fucking head off.”

  “Yes.” Tormund winced. “I think we all practically tasted that. And with you breathing down my neck, I can almost taste it now.” He tossed a flask toward the dreki. “Perhaps rinse your mouth out.” Backing away, he gave a winning smile, his hands held in the air. “And, uh, keep the flask.”

  Bryn let go of the sword hilt as the Blackfrost strode away, bristling in fury.

  For all his arrogance, Tormund had a way of defusing difficult situations. At first she’d mistaken him for merely being the foot soldier of the group, but over the past day she’d seen him placate the others with a laugh and a jest. Haakon seemed prone to staring broodingly across the mountains, but Tormund would tease him out of such bleak moods within five minutes. And the Blackfrost—despite threatening to eat him on a regular basis—seemed to find him amusing.

  It was a little baffling. She’d known many a mighty warrior—she’d often carried them to the golden halls of Odin herself—but she’d never seen one who used his wit and charm to defuse dangerous situations instead of drawing a sword.

  “You’re welcome,” Tormund said.

  “Pardon?” She tore her stare from the irritated dreki and met the mortal’s eyes.

  Brown and rich and so, so human….

  “I said, ‘you’re welcome.’”

  And she realized what he meant.

  Spi
ne stiffening, she turned back to the fallen corpses, ostensibly checking them to ensure they wouldn’t rise again. “Do you think I needed your help?” She kicked one of the draugar’s heads toward him pointedly.

  Tormund shook his head. “Prickly,” he muttered under his breath.

  “What was this song that the völva spoke of?” Haakon demanded, wiping black clotted blood from his blade.

  The Blackfrost paced the clearing, examining the corpses of each of the draugr. He poured a small pile of ash onto each of their bodies, and then with a snap of his fingers, ignited all three with a white-hot fire that burned blue. “Perhaps you should ask your mate. The old stories say that the Great Goddess, Tiamat, forged the world out of Chaos and Order.” He stomped a foot on the ground. “This is real. This is solid. This is order.” Bending low, he picked up a handful of dirt and let it trickle through his fingers. “You can see it. You can feel it.

  “But there is another piece of the tapestry of life, and that is Chaos. The beautiful weft that binds the reality of the world together. Silent. Invisible. A song of power and fury and disorder that very few creatures can ever see or hear. Árdís is one of the few who can channel such powers. Her mother was another. But Marduk never owned such a gift—it is usually only females who can sense the song of Chaos.”

  Standing up, the Blackfrost let his handful of dirt fall and brushed his palms against his leather-clad thigh. “Long ago, some of the more superstitious dreki used to sacrifice Chaos-wielders to the gods. It’s a dangerous magic and many argued that to allow one who could wield it to walk free was to invite ruin and destruction.”

  “If anyone even thinks they’re going to lay hands on my wife, then they will have to go through me.” Haakon bristled.

  “Easy,” Tormund muttered, squeezing his cousin’s shoulder. “Nobody is going to hurt Árdís. Besides, she’s mean enough to eat them herself.”

  “And the Zini clan allows Chaos practitioners,” the Blackfrost replied. “It is only some of the older clans who are still steeped in tradition that follow the old ways and kill their Chaos-wielders.”

  And then he frowned.

  Bryn barely knew him, but she could read the unease in his posture. “What’s wrong?”

  “There was something the völva said before she unleashed her draugr about a Monster With No Name. There is a dreki prophecy that claims a Chaos-weaver will spawn the destruction of the world. A very famous poem was written about it, and one of the lines says ‘Destruction has no name….’”

  “Could be coincidence,” Tormund said.

  The Blackfrost’s brows drew together. “I don’t believe in coincidence. There’s a cult of dreki who believe in the prophecy. They call themselves the Keepers of Order, and they believe the Destroyer will come from Chaos. Some of them are natural Voids, which makes them immune to Chaos magic. Their followers circumnavigate the world, seeking to hunt the few Chaos-wielders that remain.”

  Haakon stilled. “Why am I only now discovering this?”

  Tormund settled a hand on his shoulder. “She’s safe, cousin. Rurik will sacrifice his entire court full of dreki to protect his sister. Nobody is going to hurt Árdís.”

  “The Keepers are easy enough to avoid as they wear marks tattooed on their faces,” the Blackfrost said. “And for all Queen Amadea’s faults, she banned the Keepers from Iceland upon pain of death. They may not have realized the queen is gone. Árdís will be safe.”

  Dreki and their plots. Bryn crossed to the burial mound, kicking at a scattering of kroner. But she kept an ear open. Chaos magic was something even the gods avoided—except for Loki—and this job seemed to be getting more complicated by the minute.

  Ragnarök, the völva had said.

  That word was enough to send a chill down her spine, for most of her life’s purpose had been spent preparing for the end of the world.

  And a Monster With No Name.

  What did that mean?

  She was no longer Valkyrie—not in the true sense of the word—but she had been raised to protect the world, and that calling hadn’t completely faded. She needed to know more.

  Tormund looked toward the east. “How would Marduk hear the song if he cannot wield Chaos?”

  The Blackfrost hauled his pack over his shoulder. “He shouldn’t be able to.”

  “Perhaps someone else is using such magics, and he is searching for them?” Bryn called, lifting her arm as Sýr came soaring in. The merlin landed on her glove and Bryn rubbed her under the beak. “You dreki believe in true mates, yes?”

  The three men exchanged glances.

  “Would Marduk have felt the mating bond?” Haakon asked.

  “Possibly.” The Blackfrost shook his head. “If he has found his mate, then it will be next to impossible to part them. If she can weave Chaos, then…” He cursed under his breath. “This is not ideal.”

  “Chaos magic and charming, reckless princes.” Tormund sighed as he shot Haakon an exasperated look. “Why couldn’t you marry some plump, pretty blonde with a dozen goats? Why did you have to fall in love with a dreki princess?”

  Haakon flashed him a smile. “Because life is meant to be an adventure. Why settle for hearth and pasture when you can ride the storm?”

  “Because you live longer.”

  Bryn lifted Sýr into the air as the pair of them bickered. “Hunt,” she told the merlin, and let her fly. The bird soared into the sky with her wing feathers spread. She’d scour the forest for food before returning.

  Today had been difficult—Haakon watched Bryn with calculating eyes, and the Blackfrost was clearly suspicious about the sword—but she was one step closer to finding Marduk.

  And now she had to ensure she didn’t get left behind.

  “Thank you for your help today,” Haakon told her, as if he was thinking of the same thing. “We’ll see you safely back to town and then be on our—”

  “I want to come.” Bryn tugged her leather gauntlet off and tucked it behind her belt.

  “We will travel far before we find Marduk,” the Blackfrost told her.

  Haakon stiffened. “And this is not the type of journey for a—”

  “Woman?” She arched a brow. “I can hold my own, Dragonsbane. And there is clearly money to be earned in this venture.”

  “I wasn’t referring to your gender,” Haakon replied. “You’ve said yourself: You’re a mercenary. And we haven’t offered you more coin.”

  Damn it. She’d been too eager. “I think I’ve proven I’m worth the gold. And you might need another sword.”

  Tormund shot her a slow, steady look. “She might be useful.”

  The cousins exchanged glances.

  “We don’t travel by foot,” Haakon replied. “And this is a personal mission.”

  “Why are you so interested in finding the prince?” the Blackfrost asked.

  Bryn pressed her lips together. If they left her behind, she’d never have a chance to earn Solveig’s reward. “You want the truth? Marduk owes me good coin, and I want it.”

  “You’ve met the prince?” Tormund’s eyes narrowed suspiciously upon her, and she knew he was thinking of her earlier comments about the handsome blond prince seducing half the women in town.

  “Not face-to-face. I did a job for him up north,” she lied, “and he vanished before he could pay my employer. It was a lot of coin.”

  “How much does he owe you?” Haakon asked her, reaching for the purse at his side.

  “More than mere gold,” she told him, staring at him flatly as her heart kicked along. She was so close she could taste it. “And I will take the payment from him, and not an emissary.” She tipped her chin up. “You could say mine is a personal mission too.”

  Tormund’s mouth pressed thinly together as if he’d tasted something sour.

  It was probably a good thing. She’d seen him looking at her with the kind of interest she often saw in males. And though he had pretty brown eyes, a generous mouth, and a set of arms that made her look twic
e, she couldn’t help thinking it wouldn’t be a good idea to fall into bed with him.

  This was a job.

  And she was going to betray them.

  The stakes were so high she couldn’t risk allowing physical—or emotional—entanglements. Sorry, big man. It will be better this way….

  “I won’t interfere in your mission,” she promised, then looked the Blackfrost in the eye. “But Marduk gave my employer his word. And dreki must always keep their word, is that not true? As his cousin, you owe me the chance to recoup my earnings from him.”

  “I say nay,” Haakon said abruptly.

  Sirius opened his mouth—

  “How about I sweeten the deal?” Bryn tugged a magical compass from one of the travel pouches that hung at her belt. Crafted by one of the svartálfar, one of its needles pointed north and the other spun in slow, lazy circles as if searching for something. “You have a set of random directions that mean nothing. So unless one of you knows where this ‘above the fire and below the stars’ is, you’re still no closer to Marduk.”

  The Blackfrost’s eyes narrowed upon her compass. “Is that—?”

  “Dwarven forged,” she told him with a dangerous smile. “All I need is the blood of one of Marduk’s family and a chant that only I know of, and I can lead you directly toward him.”

  The Blackfrost paced a small circle around her. “A Valkyrie’s sword, and a dwarven compass. You’re starting to intrigue me, woman.”

  “I like to be useful,” she told him.

  His gaze shuttered. “Hmmm.”

  Haakon grabbed his forearm. “We’re not seriously considering this, are we? We know nothing about her.”

  The Blackfrost looked down at Haakon’s hand, then up with an arch of his brow.

  Haakon let him go but the pair of them stared at each other for a long, bristling moment.

  “I have heard of a compass crafted by the Sons of Ivaldi,” the Blackfrost said slowly, “that can lead you to anything your heart desires. It could be useful.”

  Haakon swore under his breath, giving Tormund a helpless look.

  “I’m with him,” Tormund said, holding his hands over one of the burning corpses as if to warm them. “She’s useful.”