A dangerous hunger, marred as it was by their beliefs, for there were ways to force such a woman as she to heel, and such was anathema to his dreki nature. Women should never be coerced. But a whisper in the right ear and she could be accused of things she had no control over.... Thunder rumbled outside in the clear sky at the vile thought. He watched eyes glance toward windows and smiled, more a hint of his teeth than any sign of humor.
He would protect her. Whether she thought she needed it or not.
An odd tension filled him, and his gaze went to the entrance.
It opened, wind sending a man staggering through the light-filled doorway. The sharp scent of tar, fur, and the sea filled Rurik’s nostrils as the dragon hunter stepped through the door, tugging his wolf fur close around his shoulders as he surveyed the room. His tangled blond hair whipped into chilling blue-gray eyes, and their gazes locked.
Rurik inclined his head slightly. A dangerous man, and one he would not underestimate, for the man spoke the truth on the docks as he spoke of killing three dragons. His lesser cousins were no match for dreki, but still monstrous creatures. It was a remarkable feat for a single man to have engineered.
“Would you care for company?” Haakon asked, as Freyja returned with the wine.
Rurik lifted his foot and slid the other chair back with a beckoning gesture and a hint of a wolfish smile. “Please.” The last thing he would ever do was fear a puny human.
And perhaps it would be fun.
Dragging off his gloves, the heavily muscled man took the seat and offered thanks to Freyja as she returned to the counter to fetch another glass.
“How go your recovery efforts?” Rurik asked, faintly amused.
“Badly. The tide is coming in, and the dockhands seem to think it madness to attempt to retrieve my ballista now.”
“A pity.”
Haakon shrugged, icy blue eyes watchful. “A brief setback. I’m a patient man.”
So was he. “The mark of a true hunter.”
A dangerous smile curved the hunter’s lips as Freyja settled again at the table. “What would a scholar know of such things?”
“I know many things,” Rurik countered. “Wine?” At the other man’s nod, Rurik took the carafe and poured before Freyja could. He had no intention of seeing her serve another man. Not when she was his.
“Mistress Helgasdottir.” Haakon nodded politely.
“I see you’ve been enquiring about me,” she replied.
Enough to learn her name, and no doubt more. The amount of information the locals owned about the unusual young woman was immense, and offered generously. A growl curdled in Rurik’s throat. For what he could learn, so too could others.
“What man does not enquire about such a striking young woman?” Haakon asked.
This time the compliment brought no heat to her cheeks. She remained cool, and on her guard. “You are not the only one who can learn about another. You come to hunt the dreki,” she replied, sipping her wine. “To kill him.”
“I make no lie of my intentions,” Haakon replied. “Word reached my ears of this particular beast, and so I have come to try my hand at him.”
“Word of the beast? Or word of the reward?” she asked.
“A significant sum.” Haakon leaned back in his chair. “But no, it’s the beast I’m most interested in. I am told you come from the village at the base of its lair. That you know of the creature.”
Freyja's lips thinned. "I know the creature. It stole my ram, and so I was forced to enter its lair to try and save him."
Haakon's eyes sharpened.
"Without luck, I assure you," she replied primly.
“All here know of the mighty creature,” Rurik murmured. “You should be warned: this is no lesser dragon you hunt. This is one of the mighty dreki.”
“There is a difference between dragon and dreki?” Freyja interrupted. “I thought ‘dragon’ was simply another term used in different countries?”
“No. They are cousins, but far different creatures. Many, many years ago, the dreki were born to this land. Spirits of earth, air, and fire, created by a goddess into a single creature with the powers of all three of the elements.”
“Which goddess?” He’d captured her curiosity now.
“None of yours,” he murmured. “Only she that is sacred to the dreki, born many, many eons before your gods were but a thought. Some call her Creator, some Chaos, and her name was Tiamat, or Thalatte. This mighty spirit tamed the salt waters to her mastery, and of her children there were many, which some called gods. When these gods went to war with her husband, Apsu, and killed him, she created monsters with poison for blood, to fight them. The descendants of these creatures are what we refer to as dragons. The lesser of them bred serpents of the waters, vile beasts with limited thought we call leviathan and serpents.
“But the dreki... they were different. They say when the great goddess used her powers to turn herself into an enormous serpent in the sea to fight her husband’s killers, she was slain by the storm-god Marduk. He scattered her body across the world, but her soul remained, formless yet still powerful. The sea and her waters had failed her, and when the north wind blew her soul around the globe, her soul sought solace in the warm, dark earth, where fire brewed.”
Both of them were focused intently upon him. Rurik continued, “Long did her soul brew in the heart of the volcano, Hekla, and her spirit strengthened with the force of the element of fire. She sought life again, but to form a fleshly body was beyond her. Her only hope lay in creating more children, ones that spun to life from the earth, were gilded with the power of fire, and ruled the air. Using her waning powers in one last act of Creation, the volcano exploded and with each gout of fire, the goddess created her new children. The goddess tore her soul apart, pieces of her power imbuing each spirit with strength. These were the dreki, and they carry a part of the goddess within them. Powerful spirits who ruled the elements and could tame the sky itself; those with the goddess’s own ability to shapeshift.
“The wyrms, leviathan, and serpents were slowly hunted by men, the last of them dying out centuries ago in the Persian Gulf. But dragons remain, and some say they haunt volcanoes, seeking to steal the gift of fire that eludes them.” He tilted his head toward Haakon, “These are the creatures you have faced. Fierce beasts with poisonous blood, but no breath of fire, nor mastery of the elements. Jealous creatures who yearn for more.”
“And dreki breathe fire?” Haakon asked.
“Some do,” he replied. “You have to understand there have been many generations of dreki born. They are not immortal, though they have long lives. Now, only the purest of bloodlines have the gift of fire.”
“Hekla,” Freyja murmured, “the gateway to hell.”
“So say many who believe in such a place,” Rurik agreed. Now it was the home of the dreki court, though he would not breathe word of it here.
“I have never heard such a story told,” Haakon said. “Where did you come by such information?”
Rurik shrugged and drained his wine. “Years of listening, perhaps. There are many who will exchange an old tale by a hearth on a cold night. And perhaps you were not asking the right questions?” Setting the empty cup on the table, he leaned forward, “Such as why a man sets himself on such a dangerous pursuit as hunting dragons or even dreki? Especially when he does not know the difference between them?”
Haakon’s expression tightened. “One of them stole my wife six years ago.”
“Stole?” he asked thoughtfully. “You come from Norway, yes?”
“Yes.”
“There are no dreki on the mainland in Norway,” Rurik mused. “Which means one travelled far to take her, and I assure you dreki do not take that which is not given freely.”
“Are you calling me a liar?” Haakon’s face darkened.
“I am wondering how you were so certain your wife was taken by such?”
Haakon pushed his chair aside with a scrape, leaning his knuckles on
the table as he growled, “Because I saw her enter the grove, and I saw the beast launch itself into the air directly after she screamed. By the time I got there, all that was left was her basket, and scattered bread loaves she’d been taking to my sister. I have not seen her since and I have spent many a long night searching." Haakon closed his eyes briefly, his voice becoming raw. "The last thing I remember is the sight of her face as she glanced one last time at me, and the look in her amber eyes....”
"Amber eyes?" A curious tale. Rurik frowned. “Describe the dreki, please.”
“What?”
“Describe him,” Rurik repeated. “What size? What shape? What color—”
“Gold,” Haakon spat. “The beast shone like newly minted coins, which is why I’m here. I’ve heard Krafla’s beast is the same color.”
Gold. Rurik sat back in surprise. Dragons could not change shape into mortal form. But dreki could. And there was only one golden dreki he knew of, beside himself.
Oh, Hel.
“Árdís, what were you thinking?” He threw the thought out into the world, and felt someone far away turn toward him as she heard it.
After a rather tense supper, Freyja escaped to check on Hanna before she returned to the inn. The wine had gone to her head, and though dinner was delicious, it left her feeling a little unsettled.
Haakon had stormed out in a huff after the confrontation over his wife, and even Rurik gave up any pretense at trying to charm her, dwelling on his wine with a frown. The story of Haakon’s missing wife bothered him more than he’d like to admit.
A storm rumbled overhead as she found herself in the courtyard behind the inn. Freyja looked up with a harsh intake of breath. Lightning lashed the mountains that surrounded the town. The houses were spread far enough apart that there was little protection from the wind.
“What is going on?” she whispered. This mood; this itch. It didn’t feel entirely natural. Reaching out, she felt the rage of the storm slip through her fingers as though it were a herd of savage horses, whipped to fury by masters she couldn’t see.
“Come.” A warm hand slid into hers, and Freyja looked down in shock as Rurik took her hand. She hadn’t realized he’d followed her out of the inn. His gloves were warm and he was the kind of hot-blooded man a woman would want in her bed on a cold night.
He wasn’t looking at her. Instead he stared toward the west, toward the origin of the storm, and that intense expression on his face deepened. His fingers slid between hers, locking their palms together.
“They say dreki ride the wings of such storms,” he finally murmured. “It would not do for either of us to be caught out this night.”
“I have to check on Hanna.”
Rurik stared at her for a long moment. “Follow me.”
Then he hurried her into the shadows of the stables. And madness of madness, she let him.
Chapter 5
The horses were restless. Freyja moved among them with a quiet murmur, soothing where she could and darting glances over her shoulder at the man by the doors.
Rurik peered through the slightly ajar door, lightning flickering over his masculine features and carving shadows across his stark cheekbones. He didn’t move, but his eyes darted, searching the skies above as if he truly expected to see something there.
“This is ridiculous,” Freyja murmured. “The wyrm will not be out this night. He will be sleeping in his lair, purring like a kitten.”
“Dreki. Not wyrm.” A flash of irritation crossed his face, then his eyes turned cunning. “You have seen him, you claimed.”
Her hand slid to a halt against Hanna’s neck.
“For few would describe it quite like that,” he continued, lightning turning his face stark for a moment, his eyes as intense as the storm as they locked on her. “You have seen the dreki.”
Freyja turned her face away, stroking Hanna’s velvety muzzle. “I just wanted my ram back. I paid little attention to the dreki."
“Liar.”
Freyja’s head jerked up. Rurik eased the door shut and turned to her with a smile in the near-darkness.
Moving toward her on graceful feet, he reached out and held his fingers for Hanna to sniff. The mare snorted and backed away, but Rurik never took his gaze off Freyja.
“Where did you see him, Freyja?” Soft words, barely a whisper, but oh, it set her body on fire.
And that was foolish, for she had never felt this way for a man.
She moved to step around him, but he reached out and shoved a palm flat against the partition between each stall. Freyja’s breath caught as Rurik pressed close, heat swimming in the air between them. She couldn’t stop a gasp from escaping; her hands came up between them as if to shove him away. Or perhaps not. She wasn’t certain. What did she know of him truly? Dark stables, no one else in the vicinity. Freyja’s eyes narrowed. If his intentions were less than noble, then he was about to get the shock of his life.
Reaching out, she tasted the storm, feeling the coiling power within it. Come then, she dared him as she stared into those gleaming eyes.
“I would not hurt you,” he replied slowly. “You have nothing to fear, not that way. I told you this would be your choice.”
That voice. She shivered, her clenched knuckles brushing against the edges of his coat. Soft wool. So warm from the heat of his body. The desire to reach out and touch him was staggering.
I have everything to fear.
Rurik’s face darkened as he watched her. “You are so wary. Has a man ever tried to… to hurt you?”
Benedikt. She shoved the thought away. It didn’t matter, and she’d proven she was hardly defenseless. Benedikt had stopped trying to force kisses on her years ago, and had begun to threaten instead. “You should be kind to me, Freyja. Your father is frail—who shall you turn to when he is gone?” Leaning close, hissing in her ear, “Perhaps I should tell him what his daughter has been up to? What man would want to defend her if I name her witch?”
Rurik saw the truth in her face. His eyelashes fluttered down, obscuring those magnificent eyes, but for a second she thought she saw rage there.
Outside, the storm suddenly broke over the town, wind screaming through the streets and tearing the shutters from their moorings. The horses spooked, even as a lash of sudden power swept through the air. A fierceness. A fury. For a second, she could almost believe his talk of dreki that rode the storm with their anger, whipping it along.
His face lowered, cheek pressed almost to hers, his lips not quite brushing her ear. “Tell me his name.”
“He is nothing,” she replied, feeling strangely protected. The cage of Rurik’s arms, his body, sheltered her from the chill, and some part of her felt safe for the first time in years. It was insane. She barely knew this man.
Hot breath against her skin made her shiver. “Tell. Me. His. Name.”
“He is a local landowner near my village,” she blurted. “What does it matter? You will never know him. You are a traveler and shall move on soon, and I—”
“Freyja.”
“His name is Benedikt!” she snapped, her chest heaving. “For all the good it shall do you. You’ll be gone in days, collecting your stories, your eddas. Seeking your dragons!”
“Dreki,” he corrected again, thumb stroking her trembling lower lip. “They are dreki. Ancient spirits. Ancient power. And what makes you think I am going anywhere?”
She could barely see, but knew he turned to look at her, for she felt the stir of his breath move across her heated skin. Her heart hammered in her chest. “Don’t pretend elsewise. I know men like you.”
“Oh, Freyja... you know no one like me. That I promise you.” Fingertips brushed against her other cheek. “Why do you always defy me?”
“You have not seen defiance yet. I barely know you.”
“You know me,” he replied. Fingertips brushed over her dress, between her breasts, the backs of his knuckles pressing against the racing thud of her heartbeat. “You know me here.”
She had set him a challenge in the inn, to prove his empty compliments were not the only arsenal he had. And he had accepted it, for the words, his touch, burned through her until she could scarcely breathe.
“I wish I’d never dared you,” Freyja whispered. A single beam of light from a hole in the roof cut across his face as it lowered to hers. Her heart erupted in a flight of dragon wings. She could have said no. She knew his intentions.
But though the words hovered behind her lips, they didn’t cross them.
What would it feel like, just once, to let a man kiss her?
For a second that lonely urge pushed aside the ruthlessly practical voice in her head that told her she was being a fool.
“Curious female.” His soft laughter caressed her lips. “Did you think I only decided you were mine when you dared me? You were mine the moment I laid eyes on you.”
The brush of his mouth against hers tore her apart. Somehow her hands caught his upper arms. To push him away or to draw him closer? She didn’t know.
A hail of rain drummed on the roof above her as Rurik tasted her breath. The brush of his mouth whispered against hers, back and forth. Drawing her in. Luring her. Tongue darting out to wet her lips. His assault was so tender Freyja’s shoulders relaxed, her fingers no longer digging into his arms. She couldn’t fight this slow seduction.
She didn’t want to.
Heat speared lower, in her abdomen. Freyja moaned as Rurik stepped closer, his hard body pressing hers against the stable door and trapping her there. “Kiss me, Freyja. Kiss me, sarratum zamani.”
She didn’t understand the words, the way he rolled over them with his tongue, but she felt it shiver through her. His mouth opened over hers.
Rurik had power of his own. Power to shatter her defenses and leave her gasping. Freyja kissed him eagerly, hands sliding up his chest where she could feel the steady thud of his heart beneath her palms. Her first kiss, and it was divine. He tasted divine, the scorching heat of his skin warming her all the way through. Suddenly she couldn’t get enough.
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