Before she could think of anything else to say, he spun on his heel and stalked for the door, practically tearing it off its hinges before slamming it behind him. The sound cracked over her nerves and she winced. The adrenaline washing through her to clear the passion from her blood left her shaky, and she fell back against the headboard, her mind spinning.
The pirate was a passable actor, but in the short time she’d known him, Ingrid had found him to be above all things, unapologetic. If he’d crawled into her bed to seduce her, she had little doubt he would tell her exactly that. She let go of the sheet to press her hands to her cheeks. Had she started it?
As soon as she had the thought, her magic pulsed inside her, an echo of what she felt inside him when he was close. The lingering awareness of a virile male.
She pressed her hands harder against her cheeks, but it was no use. The blush only grew worse, humiliation washing over her as she realized it had likely been her who’d instigated the kiss—and everything that came with it. This was exactly why she used glamour to hide her true appearance. An unmated earth witch’s hormones were not to be trusted anymore than a man’s. Some sort of repellent was called for.
“The earth cannot be fertile if those who serve it remain as frigid as the northern ice.”
Baba Yaga’s words came back to her and she snarled and shoved them from her mind. Her skin felt too hot, and her nerves still tingled with the memory of the pirate’s touch. Remembered sensations taunted her with how good it had felt, how right…how much she’d wanted more. Baba Yaga was right, it was no use pretending anymore. It was time she sought out a mate.
“I value no one’s life more than my own.”
“But not him.” He would have killed her. Would have sent her to her death just to save face. How could she ever even think of inviting him into her bed, her body? Even half asleep she should have known better.
Her attention slid to the box of earth lying on the bed, miraculously undisturbed. Slowly, she lowered her hands as an idea formed in her mind. She dragged the box closer and opened it, staring down at the seedling that had been dead when Tyr put the chest in her hands.
What had been the corpse of a shoot the night before was now a bright green plant no bigger than a twig with a few leaves the size of clover petals. Her touch had awakened the plant, reminded it of what it had been like to reach for the sun, to feel the rain on its green limbs.
It had been dead for a long time. Tyr had loved this plant once, loved it enough to keep it even after all chance of a productive life had passed it.
“That’s one truth you’ve told me.” Ingrid stroked the tiny seedling. “You do dream of orchards, don’t you, Tyr? Life on the sea has lost its shine, and in your advanced years you seek the warm comforts of your youth. The feel of the land beneath your boots, the moist soil in your hands…the scent of apples all around you.”
“I value no one’s life more than my own.”
The more Ingrid thought about it, the more her plan crystallized. She didn’t have the power to kill him, not right now. And there was nothing she could take from him, nothing he valued enough to suffer its loss. But she could change that. All she had to do was give the pirate a taste of the life he seemed to dream of so vividly. Entwine herself with his vision until the life that was so important to him would seem like misery without her in it. And when it came time for him to return her home, as he’d promised, and he tried to step off his ship to follow her…then she would have her revenge.
Gathering the tattered remains of her dignity, Ingrid disentangled herself from the furs that taunted her with the lingering scent of Tyr, all saltwater and spice. She cleaned up as best she could and retrieved the dress she’d been wearing when Tyr had taken her, the dress that was truly her own. The other gown was more seductive in its cut and material, but she suspected that the true temptation for Tyr would be to remember her as he’d first seen her, when she’d been surrounded by earth and her apple trees.
She was still trying to tame the mass of writhing snakes she called hair when there was a knock at the door.
“Yes?” she called, trying to keep her voice light and sweet even as she pictured Tyr’s infuriatingly confident face on the other side of the door.
“It’s Smalls, missen. The captain wished for me to tell you that we’ve arrived at the shores of Dacia. Whenever you’re ready, you—”
Ingrid didn’t remember opening the door. One second she was standing in the room listening to Smalls, and the next she’d flown down the gangplank and sprinted off the makeshift dock. Shouts echoed behind her, and she was vaguely aware of Tyr’s voice rising over the chaos, ordering his men to let her be. Part of her brain registered that his men had likely thought she was escaping and she snorted in amusement, but couldn’t be bothered to slow down. Land.
Tyr had maneuvered his ship up a river barely wide enough to allow his grand vessel passage. The gangplank had been lowered at a dangerous angle, allowing the ship’s occupants to tumble down straight onto an open field at the edge of a dark forest. There wasn’t a house in sight, just wilderness as far as the eye could see.
Ingrid laughed as energy poured through her bare feet and exploded through her body in a glorious rush of invigorating power. The weight that had nearly crushed her out at sea now fell from her shoulders, leaving her feeling so light she almost believed she could float away.
The lush kingdom of Dacia welcomed her like an honored guest, the pulse of the land rushing up to meet her, to offer its energy like a good host offering food and water. It wasn’t the same heartbeat as her own land back in Midgard, but it was land nonetheless and she was feeling all the more exuberant for finally getting off the cursed pirate ship. She stretched her arms higher into the air, imagining she was one of the trees with her roots plunging into the thick, cool soil, her branches stretching up into the azure sky toward the brilliance of the shining sun.
“Is the plan to wait for the firebird to perch on your arms?”
Tyr’s voice cracked like a bolt of lightning, splitting the trunk of the tree Ingrid had been imagining herself to be. She dropped her arms and scowled at him, the energy inside her rising with her temper. Power sizzled, an insidious temptation to finally let the pirate have what was coming to him. To forget her elaborate plan for the ultimate revenge in favor of a quick rebuke. Satisfaction.
The pirate regarded her with exaggerated calm, slowly crossing his arms as he faced her down. There was no hint of fear in his grey eyes, no tension in his broad shoulders. His men fanned out behind him, glancing nervously from their captain to the earth witch. Ingrid was startled to realize that she’d raised an arm, energy licking along her nerves as she prepared to unleash her power on her arrogant kidnapper.
“And now we will see what the word of a witch is worth,” Tyr said softly.
Fury tightened every muscle in her body and she had to fight to lower her arm. Oh, the damage she could do to him here, now. Surrounded by earth and trees again, she could make him wish he’d never been born. She could open the earth to bury him alive, call the rocks from their beds to crush him, urge the trees to lash out… Bloody, broken, and dead, that’s how she could leave him.
Remember your promise. Remember the plan.
The promise had been exacted under duress. Surely the gods would understand that? She couldn’t be held to such a promise, her honor couldn’t be tied to such a farce.
Ingrid took a deep breath. No. No, she would not kill him now. He didn’t deserve a quick death. Not for how he’d humiliated her, taunted her. Taken her out to sea, made a spectacle of her in front of his crew. No. For that he would pay.
Slowly, she put her arm down. She would see this out, use the time left on his ship to show him the life he could have with her, tempt him with his dream. And when he returned her to Midgard, when he tried to follow her off his ship into the reality of his fantasy, she would order him back onto his floating prison. She would turn her back on him, leave him standing on the deck
of his boat, watching paradise grow smaller and smaller.
By the time their bargain was complete, he would be desperate to stay with her. And when it was over, there would be no promise holding her back from using force to make him leave.
Chapter Five
She wanted him dead. He could see it in her eyes, in the hesitation that held the muscles of her arm stiff before she dismissed the energy crackling between them. The mouth he’d kissed not half an hour ago was stern and unforgiving, the eyes that had clouded with desire now crystal clear and full of sharp disdain. An ache crawled over the stump of his left arm, the same tingling sensation he got before a bad storm. If he hadn’t spoken, would she have remembered her promise in time?
“Fickle woman,” he murmured.
Her eyes flashed, fury and magic turning them into mirrors of the northern lights. “Not fickle. My mind remains as it has been since I woke up your prisoner.” She straightened her spine and she seemed taller somehow, larger for being on land, connected again to the source of her strength. “But I will keep my word. Send your men back to the ship and follow me. I will take you to your bird.”
“My men remain with me.” He said the words a little louder than he might have if his men weren’t already shifting, all too eager to go back to the ship and away from the woman who looked significantly less harmless now. “They have an interest in the success of this venture.”
“You know nothing of the firebird, or its legend.” Ingrid lifted one shoulder in a semi-shrug. “If you insist on the accompaniment of your crew, far be it for me to argue with you. But know this. When you fail, the fault will be yours, not mine.”
Tyr frowned. “What is that supposed to mean? What information do I lack in regards to the firebird?”
“We do not have time for the history lesson educating you would take. Suffice it to say, that the firebird is not a creature with no purpose. It exists as a test, and is only the beginning of the journey. Whether or not you survive is up to you.” She shrugged with exaggerated casualness. “At the risk of having undue influence, I would caution you against the company and advice of a group of pirates.”
Unease settled at the base of Tyr’s spine. “You have the sound of a seer about you all of a sudden. If you’ll forgive the observation, you have become cryptic with your feet on land.”
Ingrid smiled, but it wasn’t a pleasant expression. “I can understand your ignorance of the firebird’s true purpose. The legends don’t often include a proper warning. The same cannot be said of the witch. Did you really think Baba Yaga would tell you everything you need to know? Do the stories told of her ‘help’ provide so little warning?”
There was a dull murmur behind him, a ripple of dissension amongst his crew. Tyr gritted his teeth, but pulled his mouth into a smile. “Aye, the old crone is a crafty one. I’m not so ignorant as to think she gave me her help for nothing. But don’t be so certain I won’t enjoy the payment she demands. She did seem rather put off at the notion of an earth witch with no respect for the fertility…of the land.”
The murmur behind him erupted into masculine chuckles and the knot in Tyr’s stomach eased. He glanced over his shoulder. “Go ahead back to the ship then, lads. I don’t think I’ll be needing your help for what comes next.”
He winked at them for good measure and the chuckles grew deeper. More than one of the men returned his wink as they ambled back to the ship, a shared swagger in their steps. When they were out of earshot, Tyr turned back to Ingrid, fully prepared for the fury he knew would be lighting her eyes.
Only, she didn’t look mad.
In point of fact, she was still smiling.
She was also quite a bit closer than she’d been a moment ago.
Tyr barely fought the urge to fall back a step, surprised as he was to find Ingrid standing so close her breasts nearly brushed his chest. She was wearing the dress he’d found her in, complete with patches of dried mud. He wasn’t sure if it was the dress or being on land, but the scent of apples that he associated so strongly with her was thicker now, more potent. Intoxicating to his senses. In some distant part of his memory, Tyr recalled a carnivorous flower that lured animals in with its perfume then consumed its victims whole.
“So Baba Yaga told you she wants me to take a mate.”
Her tone was positively sinful, the heat in her eyes too good to be true. Tyr leaned back, trying to get the space he needed to clear his mind, but she followed him, pressed closer.
“Are you offering to be my mate, Tyr Singlehand?” she whispered. “Or were you merely playing the rogue for your crew?”
A surge of pride demanded he fight back for the ground he’d somehow lost. He threw an arm around Ingrid’s waist, pulled her close so he could dip his head and speak directly into her ear.
“My dear lady,” he said softly, letting his breath coast over her neck. “Help me get the firebird, and I will be only too happy to discuss your…needs.”
Gooseflesh flowed over her skin and he grinned his satisfaction. Satisfaction that was only slightly dimmed when he found that once again, she was not angry.
“I will hold you to that,” she purred.
Purred. He opened his mouth, but she pivoted before he could speak, setting off toward the forest with a brisk pace. He tilted his head, watching her for a moment without following. A change in personality that abrupt did not happen without a reason. Either she was acting—and he didn’t think that was one of her talents—or she was up to something. But what?
There’s no revenge in luring me to her bed. I’ve made it clear I’ve no objections to that, haven’t I? He took a few slow steps in her direction, still studying her. Perhaps it’s just the land. Drunk with power, so to speak. Can’t say a tankard or two of rum has never changed me for a time.
Ingrid’s voice trailed back to him. “If you wish to call it all off now, by all means just say the word. It won’t get easier from here, so if you wish to concede defeat, now would be the opportune moment.”
She was having a go at his pride, but that was all right. His men weren’t here and if she were so inclined to joke with him, then he would accept it for the blessing it was.
“Forgive me, just a bit distracted by your stunning beauty.”
Ingrid arched an eyebrow at him as he caught up to her, falling into an amicable pace beside her.
“My beauty has grown that much since our arrival?”
Tyr grinned. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I’m just more appreciative now that you’ve made overtones that I may soon be in a position to even better enjoy it.”
A small laugh rose in her throat, spilled in a sweet sound from her lips. “Oh, my dear pirate. Be very careful what you wish for.”
There was a playful promise there, a teasing he wouldn’t have expected from her. “Oh?”
“I’m an earth witch. What Baba Yaga…suggested, to you is correct. If the earth is to remain fertile, then I can do no less. Eventually, I must take a mate.” Her voice took on a considering tone. “To be honest, I’m a little surprised Baba Yaga would put you forward as a candidate. A man of your years, I wonder if you have the stamina it would take to be the mate to an earth witch.”
Tyr almost lost his footing, nearly crashed to the forest floor. Laughter burst from his mouth, a sound from the depths of his chest. “I know you meant that as an insult, but all I can say is that I would dearly love to try.” He chuckled, rubbing a hand over his jaw as he looked her up and down. “Oh, I would try.”
The last sentence came out huskier than he’d intended, his imagination a little too willing to provide images of what such trying might look like. Ingrid’s cheeks took on a hint of color, but rather than get angry over her own reaction, she returned his grin with her own.
It was a nice moment, and Tyr had the sudden fervent wish that it wouldn’t end. A wish that they could continue like this, laughing and teasing. Like friends. Or lovers.
“The firebird is a type of questing beast. Do you know what that means?”
The change in conversation was abrupt, but he managed to follow with only a slight hesitation. “I do not.”
“A questing beast is a fantastic creature, known for being beautiful, or powerful, or hideous, or for some other awe-inspiring quality. It is often one of a kind, having come into creation through magic. At its heart, a questing beast is a catalyst. In the case of the firebird, the person who finds its feather inevitably discovers that it brings more trouble than it may have been worth. However, if the individual survives the trials that follow, they often experience success beyond their wildest dreams.”
Tyr mulled that over for a moment. “Does the firebird choose its…” He paused. “What would you call those chosen by the questing beasts?”
“Victims?”
He gripped the hilt of his sword, reassuring himself with the weapon’s familiarity. “Do the quests so often end in tragedy?”
Ingrid opened her mouth, then closed it. “They don’t have to,” she said finally, almost gently. She met his eyes then, and there was no humor in her gaze. “I will help you get the firebird, as I promised. But know this. The extent to which I can affect your quest—and make no mistake, Tyr Singlehand, you are on a quest—is limited. The outcome will depend on you and what kind of man you truly are at your core.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her what sort of man she thought he was, but he bit it back. It didn’t matter. He knew what sort of man he was. That was all that mattered. At least, that was all that should matter.
“The dark forest is hardly a peaceful spot for an afternoon stroll,” he said instead. “I hope I won’t have to drag you far?”
This time her smile was peaceful, no threatening undertone to suggest it was spawned by thoughts of his horrible demise. “No forest bothers me, nor threatens me. The land here is really quite welcoming.”
The Pirate's Witch (Blood Prince) Page 5