“So I get the whole ‘you steered everything along’ part,” Christina continued. “What I can’t help wonder about is why the warlocks didn’t figure out you were betraying them sooner. Especially when my abduction was so clearly a means to set history back on track.”
“Like I said, I was always manipulating them and coming up with one excuse or another,” she replied. “We’ve been together since their conception, so they assumed they knew me inside and out. If I kept secrets or my intentions worked against them, they would know it.” She shrugged. “Not only that, but I worked hard over the years to gain their trust. Enough so that they trusted me to always have a master plan.” A sour taste filled her mouth. “Though my grandfather was their creator I was something akin to a mother.”
At least to four out of six of them.
A shiver rippled through her at how she had to convince them several times that everything was happening for a reason. How their eyes seemed to narrow more and more as time went on. How their dark whispers filled her nights warning her against deceiving them while at the same time still loving her in their own twisted way. It had been pure hell. A long, dangerous game she was glad was behind her now.
Well, mostly.
Only one warlock left to go. Her eyes went to Bryce. One very familiar warlock.
Christina didn’t question her too much after that, but Jessie kept talking anyway, filling her in on as much as she could. Something she intended to do with Milly and Lindsay too when the time came.
Later, having found a rather pleasant mossy area sheltered by enough cave and thick trees to keep a warlock away, everyone sat around a fire and ate. At long last, the focus was off the warlocks and on something she was incredibly curious about.
What she was beyond an elemental witch and possible arch-wizard.
Namely, her dragon ancestry.
As it turned out, in Norse mythology, Níðhöggr—malice striker—was a dragon known for several ominous things. Some tales had it gnawing at the root of the world tree, Yggdrasill where others had it sucking the blood from the corpses of the dead on Náströnd in Hel.
“Those tales were but folklore carried down generation after generation,” Aðísla said, her voice soft, and curious. “In truth, as far as we knew, the Níðhöggr bloodline never left dragon kind’s home world of Múspellsheimr. They were a fierce and powerful lineage that had no use for Midgard’s—Earth’s—weak creatures.” Her eyes met Jessie’s. “Yet here you are. Proof that we were wrong.”
“That’s incredible,” she murmured, more overwhelmed than she would admit and thankful when Bryce’s hand slipped into hers to offer comfort.
“Do you have any siblings, Jessie?” Sven asked, still whittling away as his eyes lifted to hers. Somehow he had managed to keep the same little piece of wood with him from before.
As their gazes held, something flared in his eyes that made her vision go red for a moment.
He was connecting with her dragon. Or better yet her dragon magic. Because she wasn’t really a dragon but merely carried the bloodline. Right? It was so hard to know because at times it felt like more. Like what she had felt on the shore. But that had to be hereditary dragon magic. It was the only thing that made sense.
“No, I don’t have any siblings,” she started to say but snapped her mouth shut when images started flashing in her mind’s eye. Memories from what had to be her at a very young age. Or so it seemed. But why was her father there? That couldn’t be right. As far as she knew he died in a fishing accident shortly before she was born.
Yet it appeared that wasn’t the case.
Familiar with his image from a picture Mama kept tucked in a drawer, she recognized her father standing outside their house in Maine with her mother. By the looks of it, he carried an infant. A strange rush of familiarity blew through her as she tried to see the baby more clearly but it was impossible. The memory was too muted and the evident magic protecting and masking the three of them too strong.
Her parents talked in hushed tones, her mother sobbing before she nodded. Then she kissed him and the child before her father fled into the night. No sooner did he vanish then a burning dragon sizzled in the air then flickered away on the wind like a thousand fireflies.
It was the dragon on fire symbol.
What had she just witnessed? Who was that child?
“She was a little girl,” Aðísla whispered, staring into the fire as Sven returned to whittling with a truly troubled look on his face. His expression was so intent that she knew his aunt’s next words were going to be profound.
And they were.
“The burning dragon symbol was the result of you and that child being separated,” Aðísla continued. “A protective spell wrapped up in prophecy. One that seems to be affecting a great deal now.”
Baffled, amazed, Jessie frowned. “You mean the prophecy in your era affecting your people?”
“So it seems,” Aðísla murmured. “One set in motion the moment your grandfather’s curse first ignited.”
“That’s why it was so important to protect her,” Jessie whispered, talking about someone else entirely as she suddenly remembered what her mind had kept from her. “Because she’s going to help my sister when she comes. She’s going to guide her and help your people.”
Sven stopped whittling and narrowed his eyes as he sensed something. “Who?”
“I remember now,” she murmured as her eyes met his. “I stopped in Winter Harbor on the way to New Hampshire. I knew I needed to go there but wasn’t sure I ever did.”
She blinked several times as the memory came rushing back.
White-knuckling the steering wheel, she had stared at the sprawling chalet on Frenchman Bay and knew this was precisely where she needed to be.
“You can do this,” she whispered to herself. “You have to do this.”
Courage rallied, she wrapped her hair in a tidy bun, grabbed her bag of cleaning supplies and got out. Determined to see this through, she put one foot in front of the other and headed for the front door, praying her magic was strong enough. No sooner did she get there and raise her hand to knock, when the door swung open.
Clearly not expecting to find her there, a beautiful woman around her age with a wild mass of curly jet-black hair and bright blue eyes stopped short. “Oh.” Her eyes widened a little before she gathered herself. “I’m sorry, I was just heading out. Can I help you?”
Remain calm, she preached to herself, hoping the magic she had used ahead of time helped this go smoothly. Because the woman in front of her was very powerful.
“Yes.” Jessie smiled warmly and embraced a false persona. “I’m with the cleaning service you hired. My name’s Jessie.” She cocked her head, sure to appear curious and light-hearted. “Are you Emily?”
“I am,” Emily responded, a smile blossoming on her face. “But call me Em, everyone else does.” She opened the door wider. “Come in, Jessie.”
“Are you sure?” she said. “I can come back later if it’s more convenient.”
“Don’t be silly.” Emily ushered her down the hallway. “I just forgot you were coming. My fault, not yours.”
That couldn’t be further from the truth considering everything about this meeting was pre-planned by Jessie.
She eyed the sprawling chalet, trying harder by the moment to remain calm. This place was at the heart of so much. In control of so much. Her eyes went from wall to wall, imagining the pictures that once hung there. Ones she had dreamt of. Dragons.
And Emily? Jessie looked at her out of the corner of her eye. She was at the root of far too much. More than that, she was in terrible danger. Or at least she would be if Jessie didn’t help.
That meant casting a spell to keep her off the warlocks’ radar.
To keep her free from this God-forsaken curse.
Dangerous, not without risk, she knew she had to be quick about it. That Emily would catch on in no time if she hadn’t already. So she whispered a chant within her mind then d
iscreetly dropped a slip of paper from her grandfather’s notebook as she set her bag of cleaning supplies down.
“Looks like you dropped something,” Emily said as she scooped up the paper then slowed as she looked at it.
“What is this?” she whispered, shaking her head as she sank onto the stool at the kitchen island.
“Safety,” Jessie whispered as she picked up her cleaning supplies, took the slip of paper out of Emily’s hand and left.
As expected, Emily didn’t follow. In fact, by the time Jessie shut the door behind her, Emily would have forgotten she was ever there.
Jessie’s eyes fell to her drawing. A dragon on fire followed by a picture of Emily sitting on the couch, watching television in ignorant bliss.
“What did you do to her, woman?” Sven said through clenched teeth, ripping her from the memory. Based on his tight, borderline furious expression, he had followed her every thought. At least those that had anything to do with deceiving or controlling Emily. His eyes were fierce and fiery enough that Bryce had his hand on the hilt of his dagger.
“What did you do to her?” Sven ground out again, the distress in his deepening voice palpable.
“She kept her safe...is keeping her safe.” Aðísla rested her hand on his arm and shook her head. “You should be thanking Jessie, not questioning or threatening her.”
Jessie kept her gaze steady with his out of respect. It was clear he cared for Emily a great deal, and she should proceed very carefully. “She’s all right, Sven,” Jessie said softly. “Like your aunt said she’s safe. I wouldn’t let anything happen to her.”
For a flicker of a moment, she allowed her eyes to drop to his carving. But of course, it was turning into a likeness of Emily.
“How did you keep her safe?” Sven persisted, still clearly distraught. “Safe from what?”
“The symbol is keeping Emily safe from the warlocks,” Aðísla intercepted. “Just like it kept the warlocks from knowing Jessie had gone there, to begin with.” His aunt’s eyes stayed steady on him. “And it’s doing that so she can face what’s coming. What your father and King Heidrek are preparing for.” Her eyes returned to Jessie’s. “Prophecy first ignited by a curse.” Her eyes returned to Sven. “Once this curse lifts and Scotland is saved, we will see the prophecy through with our own people.”
A heavy silence fell as Sven’s eyes, at last, turned to Aðísla’s and held. It was hard to know if they were speaking telepathically or if he was simply weighing out his options. Because if nothing else held true about Sven, it was that he was a man of not only silent reflection but action. Based on the concern and determination in his eyes, the latter might take precedence right now.
He might very well abandon them and head for Winter Harbor this moment.
Would he truly? Better yet, would she blame him if he did? Had her and Bryce been in a similar position there stood a very good chance she might already be gone.
Yet as Sven’s eyes slowly returned to hers, and their dragon magic reconnected, she realized she would not have done that. She would not have left despite how strongly she felt for Bryce. Any more than Sven would leave right now despite how much he cared about Emily. Like Jessie, he would put Scotland and her people above his own concerns and desires. Not only that but she sensed he had decided to trust her. And the faith he put in her was monumental because it concerned someone he cared about above all others.
Humbled by his trust, Jessie nodded that she understood without them ever exchanging a word.
“Thank you for protecting her,” he said softly before he headed into the woods, off to deal with his turbulent emotions on his own it seemed.
She stared after him for several moments before Aðísla finally broke the heavy silence.
“Sven has loved Emily since she was a child,” she murmured. “I’m sure it’s clear to all that love has transformed into something far stronger with age.”
Jessie nodded that she understood. Yet she sensed Sven and Emily weren’t together and found that curious. Not curious enough, however, to question it. That was between him and Emily. Nobody else.
Now was the time to deal with her own heartbreaking revelations.
“Do you have any idea where my sister is?” Jessie asked Aðísla, unable to stop the moisture in her eyes as emotions welled up once more. Though the fiery dragon symbol was apparently part of a protective spell, what if it hadn’t withstood the test of time. “How do you even know she’s still alive?”
“Because the dragon symbol would not have appeared otherwise,” Aðísla said. “You are one side of it with your curse, and she is the other side with her prophecy. Once you end your journey, she will begin hers.”
“Will I meet her before then?” Jessie asked, ignoring the tear that slid down her cheek.
“I don’t think so,” Aðísla murmured. “Both the curse and prophecy will likely have to be fulfilled before you do.” Her eyes were kind yet strong as they stayed with Jessie’s. “Without either of you realizing it, she has helped you along your journey as you will help her.” A soft, whimsical smile curved her lips. “While you are very strong, Jessie, even you were not strong enough to pull off the feat you did controlling the warlocks and manipulating so much all this time. She was there too, offering you insight and wisdom.”
Silence again settled before Bryce whispered, “They’re twins, aren’t they?”
“Yes, very much so.” Aðísla nodded. “That’s the only way this would have been able to happen.”
She had a twin? Truly?
Speechless, Jessie did her best to keep her emotions under wrap as Bryce stood and pulled her up after him. It was clear he realized she needed time alone to process everything. For that, she couldn’t be more grateful. She felt like she was starting to lose her grip. That any control she might have reclaimed was slipping away under an onslaught of heart-wrenching information.
Yet it wasn’t the massive weight it could have been, she reflected as she eyed Bryce. She wouldn’t be alone as she came to terms with everything. Those days were over. Now she had someone to lean on. Help her. Offer strength as he did now bidding everyone a good night for them both, because she just couldn’t seem to pull herself together. But she didn’t need to as he grabbed a satchel and led her deeper into the forest.
“Not too far,” she whispered, still a protector despite what she was going through. “Or I might not be able to keep them safe.”
The truth was she knew the other warlock was nowhere near here but off licking his wounds. Where she had felt lighter after destroying the strongest of them, he would be devastated...and preparing.
“’Tis not all that far,” Bryce assured, and he was right. They only walked for another minute or so before they ducked into a cave with a rather tight entrance even for her. When he murmured a chant, a fire flared to life, and she stopped short in awe.
The space wasn’t overly large, but the soaring ceiling gave it a majestic feel with its thousands of sparkling bits of mica. They looked like twinkling stars as the firelight danced off of them.
Somewhere in the cave other than the entrance there had to be a small opening close to the ocean because the soothing sound of waves echoed off the stone. Her eyes went to the elevated shelf of rock on one side. Part of it included a small pool of water with steam rising off it. No bigger than a large bathtub, it was surrounded by soft, verdant moss.
Her eyes went to his, and she whispered, “You did this for me, didn’t you?”
“Some of it, aye.” He took her hand. “We can find another spot if the sound of the ocean is too much.”
“Why would it be too much? I think it’s wonderful.”
He frowned. “’Tis just my concern over it nearly taking your life so recently.”
She shook her head, touched that he obviously thought of everything when it came to this place. “No, I’m fine. It sounds soothing, and I could use that right now.” Her eyes met his. “And if you don’t mind, I’d rather talk and sift thro
ugh my emotions later. Just being alone with you is enough for the moment.”
“Aye then, lass.” Knowing full well what she meant, he proceeded to take off his boots, spread a blanket on a grassy spot that shouldn’t exist in here then set aside some skins of whisky. While he did, she pulled off her boots as well then wandered to the pool, watching him out of the corner of her eye.
Though most virgins would be getting pretty nervous right now, she wasn’t. Instead, she was excited. She felt as if she was getting ready to jump off a ledge and spread her wings for the first time. That she was getting ready to soar.
“I thought you might like to bathe and get the salt off of you,” he said as he joined her.
“Actually, I would,” she began but trailed off as he reeled her closer and tilted her chin until her eyes stayed with his. She noticed he had a particular way of standing as though braced on a rolling ship, to better compensate for their height differences.
“I’d like to bathe as well,” he whispered. “With you.”
Then he kissed her.
Like before it was soft at first then more persistent. She loved how lost she became in a simple kiss. Well, simple was probably the furthest thing from it. More like masterful and sweeping. It almost took her outside of her body though she could still feel all the various ways her flesh responded. Eventually, those responses narrowed down to one very persistent need between her thighs.
Eager, wanting more, she wrapped her hands in his tunic and tugged a little.
Lust saturated his gaze as he slowly broke the kiss and whispered, “Not yet, lass. Not nearly yet.”
When she frowned in what she knew was likely sexual frustration, a small, knowing smile curled his lips, and he began undressing her. Not quickly by any means but slow and tortuous, removing her clothing inch by agonizing inch. To elongate her pleasurable suffering, he gave his undivided attention to each bit of flesh he unveiled. Sometimes he kissed or even licked or nibbled while his fingers dusted here and there, intensifying the sensations.
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