Storm Lord’s Bride

by Alana Serra

  A cruel, cold grin spread across the Svag’s features and he disappeared into the winds again, his voice carrying all around them. “You work well together. But I’m not some powerless wretch you can get the best of with a few weapon strikes.”

  The earth rumbled around them and Imara looked at her feet, expecting ice to erupt from the ground like a glacier, just as she’d commanded earlier. She leapt away from that point, as did Rheor, but they both were confronted with a solid wall of ice as a ring of it formed around them, reaching into the heavens. It was practically a cage already, keeping them pressed close together, and Imara kicked against it uselessly, feeling no give in the wall whatsoever. Even Rheor’s spear blows were glancing. He tossed the weapon aside and it dissolved into crystalline shards, a hammer appearing in his hands.

  But as he struck, the walls moved inward, pushing them closer and closer together, giving him little room for his swings. He was making some progress, cracks forming in the ice wall, but it wasn’t enough. Especially when that disembodied voice continued to laugh, the sound bouncing throughout the enclosure.

  “I didn’t think you’d be felled by such a simple spell, Drotun. Has it really been so long since you met your match?”

  Rheor let out a savage growl, striking the hammer against the wall with all his might. It splintered, ice shards going everywhere. She saw at least one slice across Rheor’s body as he moved to shield her. Yet even that wasn’t enough to make a proper opening. Moving beside him, Imara thought as quickly as she could. There was no room for her to swing a hammer, and she didn’t have the same strength as Rheor. What did animals do when they needed to get out of a tight space? She thought of badgers and their long, tool-like claws shoveling dirt and clay to create their dens. Closing her eyes, Imara imagined herself having those same claws. She felt ice form around her forearms, her wrists, her hands. When she opened her eyes again, large claws of ice encased her hands, and she started to “dig” at the wall, shaving off chunks of it even as it continued to close in.

  Between her clawing and Rheor’s hammering, they managed to knock out a large enough section of the wall. Just in time, too. The ice constricted, and Imara had to wrench her body out through the hole they’d created, tumbling to the ground afterward. The wall shattered in a spray of ice shards, and the laughter continued.

  Arrogant son of a bitch.

  “I see I’ll have to do this myself,” he said, giving them only a fraction of a second’s warning before he lunged from the storm.

  This time, his whole body was covered in thick, seemingly impenetrable ice. Only the upper half of his face was visible, and on the end of each arm he’d created long, curved blades that reminded Imara of scythes. They’d always unsettled her as a child. Watching farmers cut through entire rows of crops, the blade slicing cleanly. It unsettled her more to see that same design glistening in deadly ice, and coming right for her like an executioner’s axe.

  She ducked just in time, and Rheor was there behind her, holding up his hammer to deflect the blow. But the other scythe blade struck from behind, curving around to scrape off of the armor at Rheor’s back. He sprang away so quickly, before the Drotun could even think of retaliating, and Imara realized just how vulnerable she was.

  She concentrated, able to form the same kind of chest armor Rheor wore, but nothing more. It seemed he couldn’t form anything beyond it, either. All he had was that breastplate, while the Svag had created a full suit of it. How was he more powerful after siphoning from her? It didn’t make any sense, but she also didn’t really have time to wonder.

  The Svag stomped into the ground, sending a fissure cracking through it that split, jagged shards of ice shooting up from the center. She and Rheor were forced to separate, and like a wolf prowling around, trying to identify the weakest of the herd, the Svag focused on her. His fingers extended in an unnatural way beneath the scythe arms, glowing white pulsing at the center of his palm. A ball of frost was shot toward her, then another from his left hand, and Imara was forced to the ground to be able to dodge them both.

  She rolled, righted herself, and took a cue from the Svag, forming not just one ball of ice energy in each hand, but one tiny missile for each finger. She flung them at the attacker, each one homing in, shattering on impact. Most barely nicked his armor, but she watched with satisfaction as one burst close enough to his face to make tiny cuts by his eye.

  Rheor, meanwhile, had brought his spear out again, hurling it at the Svag. He was still reeling from the ice in his eye and stood there to take the blow full-on, only managing to move just enough to protect the thinner armor at his neck. The spear struck his chest with such a power that it shattered on impact, splitting a massive crater that revealed the Svag’s bare chest.

  He let out a growl, the first sound she’d heard from him that sounded like something akin to desperation. He disappeared into the storm again, but Imara was ready. Thrusting her hand outward, she drew the wind and the sleet into her own body. It was cold at first. Too cold, and too powerful. But she gritted her teeth and endured it. Then she felt that tug of something at her consciousness, and she glanced to the side to see Rheor standing beside her, doing the same thing. Together, they pulled the storm in, giving a clear view of the open field of warriors and Machai fighting against countless enemies that just kept rising from the snow like golems.

  It also gave a clear view of the Svag who controlled them, his eyes wide. It wasn’t quite fear she saw there, though it was something very close. Animal instinct, perhaps. It drove him to flee, bolting away from them with a trail of ice left in his wake. Rheor put two fingers between his lips and gave a sharp whistle. Varuk abandoned his own fight against the lesser Svag and came running, his massive paws bounding across the earth. In a stunning display of athleticism, Rheor mounted the beast before he’d even come to a full stop, then offered his hand to Imara. She took it, finding herself hauled up before him, the muscular cat moving beneath her.

  They gained on the Svag, Varuk pounding across the open plain. There was nowhere for him to go, and Imara knew he would throw obstacles in their way to stop them. Ice slicked the ground, making it hard for the Machai to find his footing. Fissures cracked open, pillars of ice jutted up from the ground. Imara leaned up in the saddle, the claws falling away as she summoned the bow again, one massive arrow nocked against the strong, taut string.

  She drew back, aimed for the Svag’s leg, and fired a pinning shot. It erupted from the bow with such force, the string slicing against the inside of her arm. She hissed in a breath but forced her eyes to stay open, forced herself to see if she’d found her mark. The Svag howled with pain, the arrow embedding into the back of his calf, so deep that even part of the shaft wasn’t visible. He staggered, stumbled, and gave them enough time to close the distance.

  Rheor was quick to act, leaping from Varuk’s back to tackle the Svag to the ground. Imara grabbed the reins of the big cat and maneuvered him around so that he was standing over the Svag, hot saliva dripping from his open mouth. She drew back her bowstring again, aiming an arrow right between his eyes.

  “Who are you?” Rheor growled.

  The Svag just laughed. “No one of consequence, as far as your people are concerned. I’m nothing to you, or to your precious goddess.”

  “What do you want? You have power now. Why keep attacking?”

  He was silent for the first time since his appearance. Imara’s bow creaked as she drew the string back even further. “Answer him.”

  Varuk let out a low, guttural growl to add to the warning. Neither seemed to faze the Svag. A smirk slid across his lips.

  “I want what you stole from me,” he grated out, suddenly looking up at Rheor with such hatred and fury that it shocked Imara.

  Then his arm drew back, his palm glowing. Imara adjusted her aim quickly, shooting an arrow straight into his wrist. She could practically feel the bone shattering, the sound so visceral. He cried out in pain again, and Rheor grabbed him by the shoulders, slammin
g him to the ground.

  “Are there others?”

  When the Svag didn’t answer, he repeated the question, again and again. Imara could practically feel his rage, his desperation, and she moved to his side, lowering her bow for a moment to place a hand on his shoulder. She went to speak to him, but out of her peripheral, she caught the hint of movement. The Svag was lifting his hand again, just out of Rheor’s range. His gaze was fixed on her, an evil smile curling his lips. She could see what he intended, as clear as day.

  Why did I ever take my bow off of him?

  Before she could move to do anything about it, to make up for her own stupidity, Rheor was in motion. With a feral roar that came from someplace deep inside of him, he slammed both of his hands onto the Svag’s chest, the man’s body impacting the ground and bouncing back up briefly before Rheor held him down. The Drotun’s hands glowed a bright blue, frost swirling around him as he channeled everything he had into the Svag beneath him. Unlike what happened with Tiva, this was concentrated. Nothing froze internally, but she could see the Svag’s mouth open, heard the choking noises he made.

  Then she heard something shatter, bursting inside of him, and he fell limp. The threat gone, but their one source of information destroyed, as well.

  Chapter 24

  All around them, Rheor could hear snow as it collapsed into large heaps. The army the Svag commanded was no longer being powered by him, and it returned to whence it had come, leaving the hunting party and the Machai who accompanied them to catch their breath.

  He observed that it was happening, but still his gaze was fixed on the lifeless figure at his feet, his hands still on the Svag’s chest. He pulled them away, anger still surging through him. He’d known what the man was going to do. He could see it in his eyes. Rheor hadn’t wanted to kill him—he would’ve been a valuable hostage—but he needed to protect his Korun. They could always find another source. He could not find another Imara.

  The aftershock of the battle still pulsed through him, and when he looked at her, heat suffused his entire being, icy flames driving deep into his soul. She met his eyes, saw what was in them, and that same heat reflected in her. It was inconvenient, but he’d heard tell of Raknari taking their Koruns on the battlefield, amid the corpses and debris just because they couldn’t wait any longer. Because their blood pumped hot with battle lust, and they needed some way to feed that fire.

  For Rheor, it went deeper than that. He’d very nearly lost her, but here she was. Alive. Whole. Warm. Wanting. And he intended to take advantage of that. Stepping over the fallen Svag, he reached for Imara, pulling her hard against him. He nearly crushed her in a fierce embrace, his mouth crashing to hers, hot and needy. The whimper she gave in response, the way she squirmed against him, the hum of energy rippling through her told him everything he needed to know.

  He ravaged her mouth, his tongue plunging past her lips, seeking the heat of her. She answered with her own tongue stroking against his, curling playfully, possessively, as if she intended to keep him there. His hands began to move down her backside, to lift her up against him. But he was stopped by a familiar voice.

  “Drotun, Korun, are you hurt?”

  He tore away from her, a growl ripping through his throat. Loken held his ground, the slightest smirk twitching at his lips. He didn’t apologize for interrupting, nor should he. Rheor knew he was being unreasonable, but he couldn’t help it. Everything in him said he needed to be inside his Korun as quickly as possible.

  “We are well enough,” he said, his voice strained. Even he recognized there were small cuts and bruises about his person. “Gather the hunting party and return to the Peak. Tell the other warriors what has happened here, and let the guards know to keep close watch. We will bring the body… soon.”

  “But not too soon, I suspect,” Loken said, his eyes glinting with amusement.

  Imara gave a breathy laugh, and it was the only thing that kept Rheor from growling at the man again. He was too tightly wound, and she knew it. She stroked his chest, massaging circles that followed the runes. It did little to calm him, but at least it gave him something else to focus on.

  “No. Not too soon,” he said, not looking away from Imara.

  There was hunger in her eyes that echoed his own, and it was a struggle for him to wait until the hunters were gone. So much of a struggle that he couldn’t manage it. As Loken began to gather the rest of the hunting party, Rheor pulled Imara to him again, his mouth meeting hers with a surge of ferocity he felt answered by her. His hands slid down to her rump, covering the firm cheeks as he lifted her easily against him. His cock strained against his leathers, throbbing as her body slid over his, and he held her up until some part of his conscious mind realized that what he wanted—a tree, a wall, some other surface to lean her against—was not available in this open field.

  His mouth tore away from hers and moved to her neck, sucking at the junction between it and her shoulder as he spared some of his thought to his gift. She moaned, almost concealing the sound of ice shearing up from the ground behind her. Almost, but not quite. She tensed in his arms, pulled away from his lips to look over her shoulder, then let out another breathy chuckle at what she saw.

  A thick wall of ice stood in the center of the field, serving exactly the purpose Rheor needed it to and having the added benefit of obscuring them from view of some of his men. Not that he cared. They would have done the same in his position.

  With a possessive growl, he slammed her back against the ice wall, his body pressing close to hers. She gasped, her nails digging into the nape of his neck, her fingers curling around his hair and tugging firmly. She kissed him with an undisguised passion, all lips and tongue and teeth, and he kissed back, his hips grinding against her as she arched into him. Now that she was braced against the wall, he reached down to tug at the leather ties of his breeches, undoing just enough that he could tug the opening apart and pull his cock free.

  He was hard and ready, his shaft sliding over the smooth leather that covered her crotch. She moaned into his mouth, bucking against him, sensitive enough that even that seemed to please her. Rheor maintained the friction, rutting against her like some wild animal. Eager to do away with her clothing entirely and bury himself inside of her, but also eager to feel her shatter in his arms just from this.

  Reaching a hand up, he covered her breast, finding the leather was frustratingly thick enough to completely obscure her nipples from him. Moving to the ties, he tore at them, ripping them free of the material so that it sagged open. His hand moved inside, between the leather and the soft undershirt below that kept it from chafing. She was not wearing any bindings, so her hardened nipple was easy enough to feel beneath the cloth. He pinched and rolled more roughly than he might otherwise have done, and she responded with lustful moans and wanton actions, grinding her sex against him.

  Her moans became breathier, increasing in pitch and far more needy as she grew closer and closer to climax. Rheor thrust against her as if he was driving himself deep inside of her, his cock sliding over her leathers, rubbing just enough to send her over that edge. She drew back from his mouth, her keening moan music to his ears, and Rheor slowly, carefully began to lower her.

  “But you haven’t—” her voice was shaky, her eyes half-lidded as she looked up at him.

  She stopped when he reached for the ties of her pants, a throaty chuckle sending a shot of lust through Rheor’s body. “I’ll do it. You’ve already ruined the chestpiece.”

  There was no bite to her scolding, and the fire that remained in her eyes told him she’d not minded in the least. He kept his eyes locked on hers as she worked at the ties, then raked his gaze down her body. She tugged down the tight-fitting pants, past creamy hips and thick thighs he couldn’t wait to have wrapped around him again.

  Her smallclothes remained, thin cloth that could easily be pulled down or pushed aside. But Rheor had other ideas. Something primal inside of him wanted a say, and apparently that meant destroying t
hings that kept him from his Korun.

  “Since I didn’t rip the pants,” he murmured against her lips, before taking the band of her smalls in hand and pulling the material apart. It gave with a satisfying rip, and Imara gasped, then crashed her mouth to his again.

  Rheor groaned into the kiss, letting the last shred of material fall away. His hand moved down between them, twisting so he could slide a finger through her slick folds. She was more than ready for him. Gripping her rump, he lifted her again and pressed her back against the wall. Another gasp, and this time she arched closer to him to get her bare flesh away from the ice wall.

  “That’s cold,” she laughed against his mouth. “Why can’t you have earth powers? Then you could summon a tree or something.”

  She was teasing, but he let out a possessive growl just the same, angling his hips in such a way that his cock rubbed over her clit. She gasped, her head falling back, and Rheor raked his teeth over the hollow of her throat. Another shift of his hips and the head of his cock breached her folds, sliding to her core as if her body was made to receive him alone.

  Some part of him wanted to be patient; to savor every moment of every time with his Korun. But the rest of him needed her. Now. And with one strong thrust, he took her, a loud moan falling from her lips as he sheathed himself inside of her with ease. Already she clenched around him, her cunt still reacting to her previous orgasm. It was all Rheor could do to keep from spilling like some untested youth. His head dropped to her shoulder and he gritted his teeth, letting out a grunt of effort as he pulled his hips back, then drove into her again.

  “Yes,” she breathed, her head falling back, her mouth open in ecstasy. “Please.”

  Not one to deny her, Rheor repeated the action. Drawing back and thrusting into her tight, wet cunt. Her body welcomed him, and so too did the sounds of pleasure she made and the way her nails dug deeper and deeper into his shoulders. Rheor found a rhythm, his strokes long and quick, but his Korun wanted more.