by Bec McMaster
"I should have said no," she whispered. "I was curious. You were kind. And handsome. Sometimes dreki take mortal lovers, and the way you looked at me—" Árdís sucked in a sharp breath. "It was the first time I've ever felt like that before. It seemed a simple proposition. I would come home with you, and we would tumble into bed, and then I would vanish on the wings of another storm."
She could feel his eyes resting upon her, his gaze a molten hand that slowly caressed her spine.
Árdís rested her fingertips on the glass, her head bowing. Breathe. Just breathe. "But of course, you had other ideas. And your mother was there, greeting me with a hot bowl of stew and a kiss on the cheek. A welcome. It was the strangest night. People. Home. A family. It baffled me. I tried to kiss you when you showed me to my room for the night, but you shied away, and turned your cheek and all I could feel was the rasp of stubble beneath my lips. You cannot imagine my confusion when I found myself in a bed in the attic, all alone. Dreki males battled for my attention. They clamored to be the first in my bed. And I'd chosen you, only to be rebuffed. I spent all night staring at the ceiling, thwarted by your honor and determined to claim you."
A rough grunt escaped from him, but when she stole a glance, he was glaring determinedly at the floor.
"Originally I'd intended to leave the next morning, but the very idea you could find me wanting made me stubbornly determined to have you. None of the following days made any sense to me. You would bring me flowers, but merely smile at me every night as you shut the door in my face. You dragged me through the mountains, trying to teach me how to hunt with a bow and arrow, while I tried to lure you into swimming naked in mountain streams. You would barely kiss me. It was so maddening."
"I was there. I remember it all," he snapped. "What the hell does this have to do with marrying me?"
"If you'd just listen." Her fingers curled into a fist. "Do you think I wish to rouse these memories either?"
"I think you want to torture me."
"As you tortured me then?" Árdís crossed her arms over her chest and turned to face him. "I married you because you asked me to. Weeks went by. Months. You would kiss me. You would touch me. But it never went any further. And then you said if I wanted to be in your bed, I had to marry you, for it wasn't the sort of thing one did outside of marriage. I didn't know what it all meant. Not truly. Marriage is a word the dreki do not use. We take lovers when we wish them, until the storm between us is burned out and we wish to move on. We mate for the sake of producing children. And sometimes we find the other half of our soul, and we promise them forever. I thought this marriage meant you wished to claim me as a lover. And by this stage, I was madly in lust with you, and frustrated, and here you were, saying I could have you if we stood in your church and said these words.... I didn't realize it meant forever to you, until it was too late."
He looked like she'd hit him. "You didn't think to ask?"
Unease rippled through her. She rubbed the back of her neck. "I wasn't thinking at that stage, no."
"And you didn't want forever."
Her head bowed, and she rested her hip against the table. It was never a matter of what I wanted. "No. I-I couldn't. It wasn't—"
His sword belt had been leaning against the table, and as she knocked it the sword began to slide toward the floor. Árdís snatched at the hilt, trying to capture it before it clattered to the floor, but it was too late.
The chain around her throat slithered between her breasts as she leaned forward, and the ring slipped free of her bodice.
It hit the end of its length and dangled between them. Árdís snatched at it, but she wasn't quick enough.
Haakon froze.
Slowly his eyes lifted to hers, and her breath caught at the look in them. A single look, but it held a wealth of meaning in it—a thousand questions she didn't know how to answer, much less decipher.
"What the hell is that?" he asked hoarsely.
"It's nothing."
She tried to shove the blasted ring back inside her gown, but Haakon moved abruptly, his hand snaking out toward hers and locking around her wrist. She closed her fingers around the ring, but he wasn't done yet.
"Show me."
"It's nothing." Panic flared within her breast, and Árdís tore her wrist free, and darted beneath his arm.
She made it two steps before he snatched her up around the waist, tossing her down on the bed.
His knee drove onto the mattress beside her hip. The heat of his body momentarily overwhelmed her and Árdís fell back on one hand, the other clenched tightly around the ring, as her heart started racing. If he saw it, she was lost. His face was shockingly close to hers, afternoon sunlight staining the tips of his lashes blond. The scent of leather and steel invaded her nose. He loomed over her, his broad shoulders almost blocking out the light, and his knuckles pressing into the bed beside her other hip. Árdís found herself trapped. Caged in. And a sudden panic roused within her.
He couldn't see the ring. He'd never let her go if he thought there was any hope.
"Show me," he demanded.
"It's mine!"
"I can make you, but I'd prefer not to."
"To make me, you'll have to hurt me," she declared.
"Maybe not." His hand curled around her palm, his breath rasping through his chest. "Show me what you're hiding."
She wriggled beneath him, trying to escape, but his weight simply pinned her down, and Árdís finally slumped onto the mattress as his palm pushed down on her shoulder.
"The one thing you didn't count on is the fact that holding you contained is not the only thing this manacle does. Haldorðr. Binda í ér."
The words purred over his tongue, locking down on something deep inside her.
Golden light lit up previously invisible runes on the manacle's surface. They were neither Elder Futhark, Younger Futhark, or the Anglo-Saxon bastardization they called Futhorc. Recognition lanced through her. She'd seen this once. "Are you insane?" she hissed. "You bargained with the svartálfar?"
"There's no such thing." He was far too close to her now. Far too menacing. "I bought it from a sorcerer in Hólmavík. He promised me it would keep you in human form, and it would force you to obey me and speak the truth. The second I have what I want, I'll release you."
"You fool!" Árdís pulled at the bracelet, pain searing through her wrist as it tightened. She cried out and jerked her hand away.
Haakon's face sharpened, and he took her wrist. "What's it doing?"
The urge to speak burned over her tongue.
She couldn't continue to fight it.
Her dreki lashed within her, the runes branding deep into her soul. Waves of pain prickled over her skin, and Árdís bit her lip.
"Show me what you're hiding," he demanded again. "You owe me that."
The urge to open her hand drove up through her body like a fist. Árdís fought against the demand, but it bled through her veins until she felt like she was on fire. One finger pried open. Then another. Until finally her palm lay splayed, her wedding ring revealed in all its glory.
The magic finally let go of her, and Árdís panted, her entire body trembling. She didn't dare look at him. Instead she closed her eyes, feeling the roughened exhale of his breath on her décolletage.
"Your wedding ring," he breathed.
For a second it was all she could do not to reach up and touch him. Seven years vanished in the blink of an eye as Haakon's breath washed over her sensitive throat. Árdís's breasts swelled against her bodice, and she turned her face away, breathing hard. All she'd ever wanted was to fall into his arms. Suddenly she was clinging to the ring, as if it could grant her some sense of sanity in this passion-fueled moment. Every inch of her weak body screamed at her to touch him. Just one more kiss. One more taste.
One last touch....
Remember why you left him.
Do you want his death upon your hands?
"Get off me," she managed to whisper, pushing at his chest.
"I said," she growled, looking up into his eyes, "get off me. I gave you what you wanted."
His large hand curved around hers and his eyes narrowed with tight focus, the hard line of his jaw firming. A thousand emotions danced through those icy gray eyes, and she felt them all, twisting her into knots inside. Please don't. She only had so much strength left within her.
Árdís didn't think he was going to obey, but then his expression settled into a hard mask, and he released her. "As you wish."
Haakon rose away from the bed as smoothly as a cat, turning toward the table in the corner. Árdís managed to take a quivering breath, but her dress still felt far too tight. What had almost happened? Cold fear made her lips tingle. She couldn't afford to give in to her lust and the temptation to touch him. There were dreki in this town, presumably hunting for her, and none of her reasons for leaving him had changed.
But it was too late.
He'd seen her greatest secret. He had to be wondering.
He poured himself a wine, his head bowed and his shoulders stiff. Árdís licked her lips, pushing herself to the edge of the bed. Haakon's temper had always matched hers, and they'd once had numerous shouting matches that ended exactly where she was sitting... but she was more wary of this cold quietness he now owned.
It felt like a leviathan swimming beneath the depths of a still sea.
A predator just waiting for her to relax before it swallowed her whole.
"Are you going to say something?" she whispered.
"Would you like to explain to me why you still have your wedding ring?" Still looking away from her, he lifted the goblet of wine to his lips.
"A keepsake," she admitted, for she couldn't entirely avoid the truth.
"A keepsake." His head bowed as he whispered the words, and his fingers trembled on the cup. "I want it back. That ring doesn't belong to you. It was my grandmother's."
The ring pressed into her flesh as she gripped it tightly. "And you gave it to me."
"I want it back," he snarled. "It was a gift, and you discarded it the second you threw me away."
I didn't— She bit down on the words and pushed to her feet. "No," she said, unable to conjure a single reason why she shouldn't give it back. Her dreki lashed within her.
"It belongs to me."
"Do you think I haven't tried to get rid of it?" she cried. "Do you think I haven't thrown it away a thousand times? I tried to give it up. But I couldn't. I couldn't. And I won't. It's mine."
"It has no worth to you," he said sharply, turning to look at her.
"That's got nothing to do with it!"
"Fine. What do you want for it?" He slammed the goblet down and snatched at his coin pouch, tearing at the strings. "I have gold. Killing dragons is rewarding work."
He didn't understand her.
"I don't want gold."
"Gemstones?" he snapped, throwing the purse aside. It clinked as it hit the floor, and gold coins rolled all over the floor. "Jewelry? A fucking crown?"
"I will not give it back! It's mine." Bought and paid for in blood and tears. She could see he still didn't understand. "I cannot," she pleaded, branding the metal into her flesh with the tightness of her grip. Her hand was no longer obeying her.
"It means nothing to you. Or you wouldn't have tried to throw it away."
He'd given it to her, along with his heart, and the dreki within her had claimed it. If she could no longer have his heart, then she would keep this. She needed to. The very idea of losing it scraped her soul raw, and made something violent shift within her.
"I cannot give it back. I swore an oath on this ring, and my dreki soul considers that binding."
"A shame you didn't consider our actual marriage binding."
She had nothing to say to that.
"If I could give it back," she whispered, "I would. I swear I would, Haakon. But my dreki demands it. And I will fight any man who tries to take it from me. Even you."
Haakon searched her eyes.
The sound of a sudden commotion caught her ear. Shouts downstairs, perhaps. And the crash of timber.
"I don't—"
She took two swift steps, and slammed her hand over his mouth, her head turning toward the door. "Be quiet."
Her heart slammed to a halt. Too late. She could sense the whisper of dreki magic calling to her. "They're here."
They'd found her.
"Go out the window," she said, turning toward the door. "I'll stall the dreki before they catch your scent."
A hand caught her wrist, and Árdís tumbled against his side. "Like hell," Haakon snapped, and then he reached for the hilt of the sword resting in its scabbard near the bed, and drew it with a steely rasp.
"They won't hurt me!" She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and shoved him against the wall. "But they'll kill you!"
He gaped at her, his arms splayed and the sword held loosely. Those eyes narrowed. "Didn't know you cared."
Careful now.... "Just because I consider our marriage to be over, doesn't mean I want to see you hurt. Or have your blood on my hands."
"You're choosing them?"
It had never been a choice. "Yes. I'm choosing them."
The tip of the sword lowered. Blue-gray eyes stared at her steadily, a question within them, one she didn't think she recognized. Árdís stepped back when she saw he wasn't going to fight.
"Those are my men down there," he said.
"And no dreki will break the treaty unless they're attacked first. If you go down there, your men will fight to the death to protect you. These are my people. My clan. They're only here for me. Once they have me, they'll leave peacefully."
"Taking you with them." His gaze searched hers again.
Árdís's breath caught
Another echoing crash drifted up the stairwell, one even Haakon heard.
"Go," she pleaded.
"What about the bracelet?"
She thrust her hand in front of him, and he took it in both of his. Then hesitated.
He didn't meet her eyes. No. His wretched gaze lifted to the ring still dangling between her breasts. Árdís shoved it down her bodice. "Haakon."
They didn't have time for this.
"So be it," he said softly.
He spoke the words of release, and Árdís waited for the runes on the manacle to turn golden.
Nothing happened.
"Haakon?"
A frown drew his brows together. "That's what the sorcerer told me to say."
He tried again.
Again nothing. Árdís tugged on the manacle. It only hurt her wrist. Her heart pounded as horror filled her. "I cannot change forms," she whispered, looking up.
"I'll—"
"Get it off me!"
"I'm trying," he snapped, examining the links of the bracelet with his large hands. "I don't know why it's not working."
A loud crash echoed beneath them, in the inn. She froze, torn between her desire to rid herself of the cursed manacle, and her fear for his safety.
"Where is she?" a hard voice demanded, the words just loud enough for her to hear. "Where is the princess?"
"Upstairs." A frightened bleat from the innkeeper. "He took her upstairs to his rooms."
Fear won. Árdís pressed a hand to Haakon's chest, pushing him toward the window. "Go."
"But what about—"
"I'll find a way to remove it," she promised.
"But you cannot shift. You cannot defend yourself—"
Árdís scowled. "If you think I cannot defend myself in this form, then you're very much mistaken."
She pushed him toward the window.
Haakon resisted. "I have one more question I need you to answer."
"Damn you! Anything." She glanced toward the door.
"Tell me there's nothing left between us."
Árdís's mouth opened.
The words locked in her throat.
"You can't say it," he whispered incredulou
sly. "You can't deny it, can you? You say you've tried to throw my ring away, but you can't and you don't even know why. You say you choose them, but there's a part of you that wants me."
"I...."
"Yes?" Softly.
"I...."
His arctic eyes held hers for long seconds, and even as she watched she saw heat flare in them. Determination. Her heart kicked into her throat as he reached for her, moving like a striking snake. She knew what he wanted. She knew what he intended. And damn her soul, but she couldn't deny him.
A hand slid into her hair, dragging her into his arms. Árdís slammed against his chest, her hands crushed up between them.
His mouth crashed down over hers, claiming the kiss she'd spent years dreaming of. The hot lash of his tongue stroked against hers, their teeth clashing in his fury. One hand palmed her side, and she felt his fingers splay over her ribs, his thumb rasping below the under curve of her breast.
She didn't own the strength to fight him off. Not when a part of her so desperately needed this. She might as well deny the moon in the sky, or the tide itself. Passion swept through her, igniting every nerve in her body. Need. Árdís's fingers tangled in his hair, and she kissed him back, biting his lower lip.
She had to stop.
She knew it.
But his tongue danced over hers, slow and steady, and his hand began to slide up her body, arching over her breast. Árdís's knuckles curled in his shirt, drawing him closer. Yes. She pushed into his touch, and he captured her soft moan in his mouth. Seven years without a single kiss. She felt starved for his touch, her sex clenching as if it knew where this would end—
There was no time.
Árdís broke free from his mouth, shoving at his shoulder. "Stop."
Haakon captured her face in his hands, his expression implacable as he swooped down to capture her mouth once more.
"Stop!" She set both hands to his chest and shoved him with all her might.
He staggered back a step. Maybe two. His shoulders heaved, as if he'd run up a flight of stairs, and the look in his eyes—