Phoenix Ablaze (BBW / Phoenix Shifter Romance) (Alpha Phoenix Book 1)

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Phoenix Ablaze (BBW / Phoenix Shifter Romance) (Alpha Phoenix Book 1) Page 20

by Isadora Montrose


  She executed a fat, leisurely somersault to check on Gunnar’s progress and was surprised at how sluggishly he was moving. She saw him lose altitude and scramble to recover. For a moment she feared he would crash, but he again flapped those ridiculous, dumpy, adolescent wings of his and gamely tried to catch up with her. Christina slowed her mad rush. She was not going to outrun her demons, and trying to do so might cost her brother his life.

  She contented herself with another couple of barrel rolls which she was pleased to see Gunnar did not attempt to emulate. It was time for her brother to land. He was only half-grown and visibly tiring. He was probably still too clumsy for her to have led him so far out to sea. If he fell, he would have difficulty getting airborne again. Even a dragon could die in these freezing waters. She had been selfish to risk his life with hers.

  Christina wheeled in the air and headed back towards the shore, shrieking at Gunnar to follow. He whistled back gamely and lumbered in to make landfall on the ice covered rocks. His landing was a messy affair of flailing limbs and lashing tail, but he scrambled agilely enough up the slope.

  From the air, Christina watched as his uncoordinated waddle took him swiftly up the steep rock face and on into the cavern that led back to the house. He had botched his landing, but he would learn, and as he grew he would become more graceful. She loved all three of her brothers, but Gunnar held a special place in her affections.

  Perhaps because he was the youngest, and she had been as much mother to him as sister. She had been twelve when her mother had put baby Gunnar into her arms. His sweet scent had captivated her then and she had a soft spot for him still. Even though, at fourteen, he was growing up fast, he was still her baby brother.

  She herself, however, wasn’t done with flying yet tonight. In fact, she had barely begun to stretch her muscles. She needed to think. She circled until she had regained her lost altitude and was flying just under the heavy clouds. Severn Island was not really a single landmass, but rather a series of islands. Just one of the many archipelagos that dotted the Gulf of Bothnia. She would fly from end to end of Severn before returning home.

  Each separate strip of land had a narrow margin of bare and sandy soil around a forested interior. Only the hardiest of plants grew at the shoreline, where salt water and ice regularly battered at all living things. The exposed rocks were black with sea weed and clinging mussels and other mollusks. From the air the knife-sharp rocks looked like a frilly black lace decoration added to the spiky dark green forest. In reality, they were an effective and destructive deterrent to intruders.

  The central island where Mamma and Papa had built their home was always above water. And like the notched ridges of a dragon’s back, rocky strips of forested land extended away from that central island to the north and south. These high areas were broken up by the ocean whenever the seas were high enough. In the winter, between the patches of forested land, layers of ice often piled up into an uneven and unstable surface. Theoretically, this treacherous bridge could be traversed by a determined mortal, if he was willing to clamber over the ice pack and chance hypothermia if the ice split and dumped him in the freezing water.

  Anyone attempting to land on the shores of Severn Island risked having his craft run aground on the deadly rocks, or being sliced to shreds if he was thrown onto them. Only her family knew where the channels were safe from sandbars and rocks, and how to pilot a boat safely through the waterways to safe harbor. Lindorms had been sailing these waters since they had first dragged their longships onto the sandy beach at Lind Harbor.

  From long habit, Christina kept an eye out for intruders as she and her brothers had been taught to do. She had never had her vigilance rewarded by catching a trespasser. Nevertheless, she watched the choppy waves and the gleaming edges of her ice-wrapped island.

  From the north, flying directly at her, two dragons as long and large as she, appeared on silent wings. They called a bugling challenge to her. The wind suddenly increased in violence and volume. Sleet stung her body and slicked her wings with ice. The air resonated with louder groans as more ice was thrown onto the rocks by the freshly enraged ocean.

  Christina compensated for the blast of freezing rain, by fluttering her wings. The icy mantle enveloping them shattered and broke off. The approaching dragons did the same and in moments they were flying above her sheltering her body with theirs. Together they crowded her toward the closest landing point and forced her down.

  Christina didn’t want to land, but she was no match for Theo and Victor. Clearly, her older brothers had decided that flying had become too dangerous — for her. It was infuriating, but there wasn’t much she could do about it without actually fighting them. She aimed for the tunnel of Loge and set her huge rear feet on the single flat-topped rock outside the entrance. She braked and folded her wings against her body in one tidy move. Above her, Victor whistled cheerfully, circled, dipped his wings in farewell, and flew off to continue his patrol. Theo landed heavily beside her and herded her into the mouth of the tunnel ahead of him.

  Christina crawled into Loge and made her way to where they could find clothes and privacy. She returned to human quickly and neatly. She was proud of the rapidity of her change. She wrung the wet out of her long hair and tied it into a rough knot on top of her head, before scrambling into the men’s jeans and sweater she found in an alcove. Although she was a full six-foot-tall, with well-muscled arms and legs, the clothes didn’t fit her. She thrust her feet into boots, they fit even worse, being sized for male Lindorms clodhoppers, but they would get her home. She grabbed a flashlight, and emerged to find a thunderous Theo waiting for her.

  Theo was the eldest of them and the bossiest. He was taller and broader even than Papa and spent as much time or more than her father drilling his siblings. He had pulled on a heavy, dark fisherman’s sweater and black pants. The tunnel was only dimly lit, but Christina could tell by the jut of his curling beard and the set of his shoulders, that he was furious.

  “Let’s go,” he said between his teeth.

  Christina braced herself for the coming lecture. Theo did not disappoint, but the reason for his displeasure put her on the defensive.

  “What the fuck were you doing taking Gunnar out into a storm?” he demanded setting one large hand in the small of her back to chivvy her through the tunnel faster. In the dark, she stumbled on the uneven rock floor and staggered. Theo caught her arm and held her upright but he didn’t slack his pace.

  “Hey,” she objected trying to twist out of her brother’s grasp. “Gunner wanted to fly. He enjoyed himself. He needs the practice. We all learned to fly in storms.”

  Theo swore long and eloquently. He had been an officer in the Swedish Royal Navy for over fifteen years, so he used some words that were new to her. Christina filed them away for later. “Gunnar is only fourteen,” he said furiously. “What the fuck did you plan to do if he went ass over teakettle and landed in the sea in a Category Three hurricane?”

  “I’d have pulled him out and carried him to shore,” she said hotly. “I’m not a fool — or a weakling.”

  “I beg to differ.” Theo’s deep voice battered her ears. “Have you ever tried to lift a dragon before? No. Have you ever tried to lift a drowning, ice covered dragon in a choppy sea? No, and no, and no! When are you going to grow up, Chrissy? Your irresponsibility nearly got Gunnar killed tonight. What in the name of the stars and sun got into you?”

  “It wasn’t that bad out!” she defended herself. “And Gunnar got safely back to shore.”

  “No thanks to you. You have always been spoiled, Chrissy, but since you graduated last year you’ve been worse than ever. Mamma and Papa may be prepared to give you your head, but I’m not about to see you endanger Gunnar. Do I make myself clear? Whether I am home or not, you don’t take him flying without my or Papa’s permission. Understood?”

  Chrissy stopped dead and turned to look at Theo. His broad, handsome face was wrathful and his long, damp, blond hair curled around his
head like so many snakes. His big hands were fisted, but she was not afraid he would strike her. Theo would never hit his sister. She put her hands on her hips and glared back at him.

  “Who died and made you the Boss?” she demanded. Even to her own ears, her protest sounded more childish than not. She winced.

  “I am Papa’s lieutenant,” Örlogskapten Lindorm reminded her as curtly as if she were one of his insubordinate sailors. “And that is a direct order, Christina Lindorm. One more word out of you and you will be grounded.”

  Christina shut up. If Theo asked Papa to forbid her to fly, it would make it impossible for her to do so. She had never ever, disobeyed Papa, and she didn’t want to discover if it was even possible to defy him.

  “You have to start thinking before you act,” Theo continued in a softer voice. “You’re twenty-six, not sixteen. You can’t just think of yourself, you have to start thinking of the family!”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Lord Ivan Sarkany sat cross legged beside his friend Roland, Lord Voros in the house of the Maori dragon lord Watatoni Te Kanewa. Judging by the ferocious carvings of his ancestors that decorated every beam and post of Te Kanewa’s house, Watatoni was just as warlike as his ancestors. He had received them in his house, bare chested and wearing only the traditional flax kilt of a Maori warrior. Ivan had begun to suspect they had been treated not to a traditional Maori welcome but a declaration of hostilities.

  He should have known that flying out to New Zealand to ask this fierce old dragon for a bride was a futile endeavor. But ever since his brother Hugo had nearly died, Ivan had known he must marry and have little Sarkanys. If Hugo had died after he was stung by that traitor, Maximilian of Landor, Ivan would have been the last of their thousand-year dynasty.

  Fortunately, Hugo had recovered from the injuries he had received while defending his mate. He was now safely married. And Leah was expecting. But that was still too few Sarkanys. For nearly a year, Ivan had justified his bachelorhood with the pretense that, since he had not actually promised his great-grandfather to seek a bride, he was not bound to start his search for his destined mate.

  But the truth was, that if Ivan had not slipped out of the Old One’s bedroom, he would have been present when Stephan Sarkany had made Hugo promise to marry. Ivan would have been included in that deathbed demand. But like a child covering its eyes in a game of make-believe, he had deceived himself. Pretending that he was not equally bound to wed, even though the House of Sarkany had dwindled to two.

  When Ivan had made his decision to begin his Mate Hunt, Roland Voros had told him of the House of Voros’s longstanding relationship with the New Zealand dragons. It had struck Ivan that obtaining a Maori maiden might solve the problem of locating a suitable virgin. But he had not expected to be greeted by a wrathful host. Nor for the tirade which had followed their reception.

  Lord Te Kanewa was affronted and not afraid to show his anger. For hours, Ivan and Roland had been sitting before Watatoni’s stool like two whipped puppies, while he chewed them out as if they were striplings. “You dare,” Watatoni thundered. “You dare demand brides of me?”

  “We demand nothing of you, Grandfather,” Roland hastened to assure the bristling chieftain. “We only plead with you for a maiden of your House. Not as a right, but as the hope of friendship.”

  Te Kanewa was not in the least placated by Ro’s soft words. His bare chest visibly heaved. His incised blue tattoos bulged and twisted like living beings as he continued his rant. “For over a hundred years the Guild of Dragons has tried to draw our Maori dragons into its fold. For a hundred and sixty years we have kept ourselves apart. And why? Because we could see with our own eyes the decadence of European dragons.”

  Roland had told him that the Maori dragons were straitlaced and puritanical, but Ivan had not really understood. But something about that fierce warrior’s open contempt shamed him to his soul. Ivan had known that asking Lord Te Kanewa for a bride had been a long shot. Roland had suggested it when Ivan had told him he had decided it was time for him to find a mate. He can only say, ‘No,’ Roland had said. Ha.

  Te Kanewa had not only said a resounding ‘No’, he had made it plain he considered Ivan a weak fool unworthy to marry any of his precious granddaughters. He had added a blistering indictment of European dragons in general, and of Roland and Ivan in particular. Despite not having left his village in many years, Watatoni possessed an uncanny knowledge of Ivan’s love life. This lecture was proving more mortifying even than any of Ivan’s late great-grandfather’s had been.

  “If we needed proof that our ways are not yours,” Te Kanewa’s boomed on, “The decline in your numbers would be sufficient. You come to me, Roland, as your great-grandfather did, and I say to you what I said to him: Our maidens are the promised brides of men of valor and self-control.

  “When our young men are given their mates, they have to earn them with many proofs of self-denial and many deeds of courage. They are tested until their sinews strain and the burden lashes their souls. Not till they are joined in marriage do they dare so much as touch a fingertip to their women. Our reward for keeping ourselves pure has been to see our race increase.

  “Twelve sons have I. And ten daughters. And ten times that many grandchildren. Where are your brothers, Voros of Tarakona and Dreki? Where are your sons, Ivan Sarkany? You lack discipline,” Te Kanewa continued contemptuously. “You, Sarkany, have lain with maidens so numerous they cannot be counted. You have wasted your seed on women who could never bear you firelings.”

  Like a fool, Ivan attempted to interject some polite words. “I would esteem the courtesy of being joined to a woman of your family.”

  The old dragon lord impatiently raised his large and imperious hand for silence. “It is out of the question. Our maidens are promised to their mates. They are bonded before they are women made. You will have to seek a wife elsewhere, son of the House of Sarkany.”

  There was more in this vein. Watatoni, for all that he had adopted Roland into his house, was sorely displeased with the Lord Voros. To Ivan’s astonishment he claimed Roland had found his mate and abandoned her and their fireling, which had scarcely seemed credible to Ivan.

  But the old chieftain wasn’t done. “Ivan Sarkany, your bride is to be found within the Severn Isles.”

  Which was all very well and good. But Ivan had never heard of the Severn Isles. And it was very clear that Lord Te Kanewa had no intention of elaborating on his prophecy. Ivan and Roland were forced to take their dismissal like chastened schoolboys.

  Roland had to go to France to stand for election as High Marshal of the Grand Council, and Ivan had business in Germany. When that was concluded, he would go home to the Schloss Sarkany and try to figure out where in the wide world the Severn Isles and his bride were located.

  * * *

  “As if I ever have a chance to do otherwise than put the family first, Theo Lindorm,” Christina snapped. “Ever since I was born I have been expected to do just that.” She stumbled a little and Theo put out a hand and steadied her feet on the uneven floor of the tunnel. “Thanks. These must be Papa’s boots I borrowed. They’re so big.”

  Her brother ignored her thanks. “Putting the family first is what we do. That is what makes the House of Lindorm the most resilient as well as the richest in the Guild. We all do what is best for our House.”

  Christina rolled her eyes. “Which is why you and Victor joined the Navy as soon as you were old enough?”

  Theo shrugged. “It’s traditional for Lindorms to join the services. The Eldest would have been surprised if I had not. I have merely stayed a little longer than most. It would be different if I had a mate.” The Eldest of their House was their uncle Thorvald, the twentieth Thane of Lindorm, that ancient title which preceded that of Earl by centuries.

  “Have you even looked?” she asked angrily.

  “Yes, Chrissy,” he said very softly. “Yes, I have looked.”

  She put a hand on his arm and squeezed gently.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “I lost my temper.” Despite his bossiness, she loved Theo. She felt ashamed to have thrown his matelessness in his face, even in the heat of argument. Ten years ago, Theo had declared his Mate Hunt and, as far as she knew, had never even come close to meeting his destined bride.

  He shrugged off her words and his heavy, ribbed sweater rippled across his muscular back. “I will find her one day,” he said with grim finality. “The issue today is your behavior, Chris. You have good brains, you just have to start using them. Taking Gunnar out in a Category Three storm is just the latest example of your heedlessness.”

  “What else is there for me to do besides flying — while I hang around waiting to start my life?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked surprised.

  Christina stared in disbelief at her older brother. “When you were twenty-six, Theo, you were already a highly decorated Captain in the Royal Navy, with a vessel under your command. And if I am not mistaken, that was the year when the king gave you a gold medal normally reserved for members of the Swedish royal family and promoted you.”

  Her big tough brother turned scarlet before her eyes. “We only did our duty, Chrissy. My whole team should have been honored with me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Your whole team! That’s just my point. While you were leading a team to rescue the crew of an oil rig in high seas, in a Category Five storm I might add, I’m expected to get my jollies from making a few buys and sells for the Lindorm portfolio. I get to stay here on Severn Island with occasional excursions under armed guard. You and Victor come and go as you please, but I’m pretty much on lockdown.”

 

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