Page 39 of Heart of Fire
This man had hurt Freyja. Not physically, for she had her own defenses, but he’d struck at her where she was most vulnerable. Little whispers in the right ear, setting superstition against her, and threats to those villagers who might have helped her and bought her produce. Oh, yes. Rurik had offered good coin for that information, as he waited for Freyja to make her way home fromAkureyri.
Benedikt wanted her weak, alienated and powerless. His intentions had never been about seduction, but ownership. He’d wanted her begging and on her knees, rather than meeting her on equalfooting.
No man of honor would ever pursue such a course ofaction.
Crossing to the bed, Rurik looked down on his prey. Every inch of him wanted to spill blood, but that went against the code he lived by. No truedrekicould ever commit murder, no matter the offence. You did not take human lives, unless they attacked you first. It was a treaty that went back hundreds of years to when the human Althing met with thedrekicourt and demanded a cease to hostilities between human anddreki.
He had never before felt the need to break one thedreki’sgreatest laws, but he came closenow.
Killing this coward, however, would be tooeasy.
Rurik reached out with his spirit hand and clasped Benedikt’s shoulder, plunging them both straight into the dreamworld.
Rurik manipulated the dream, twisting it to his liking. Taking his immortal form, he flapped high above the moors, where he set Benedikt to running. The man staggered and babbled with fright, finding himself in unfamiliar terrain. When Rurik’s shadow rippled over him, Benedikt looked up, his face whitening withfear.
“Run,”Rurikwhispered.
Mist surrounded them, hot fumes bubbling from small crevices in the ground. Enjoying the mortal’s staggering plight, Rurik flapped lazily above him, then suddenly cut his wings flat against his sides and plunged into adive.
Benedikt bleated in fear, and splashed through a hot spring, his voice turning to a scream as the acid water burnedhim.
Swooping just short of him, Rurik climbed again as the man scrambled across moss-slickrocks.
“It is not fun to be prey, is it?”he taunted, divingagain.
A wave of incoherent fear swept from the man. He pissed himself, and Rurik chose that moment to lash out with his claws, catching the man by the shirt. He hauled him into the air, wings beating as he climbed. The shirt ripped, jerking Benedikt in his grasp, and Rurik shook him a little, just to frightenhim.
“Please!” Benedikt screamed, as the tear in his shirt began to jerk wider. “Please! I havegold—”
The shirt finally gave and Benedikt tumbled end over end with a high-pitched squeal as he plummeted through the air. Rurik waited until the last moment before he caught his blubbering prey. His claw locked around the man’sankle.
Now he had the peasant’sattention.
“I don’t want your gold. Nothing you say can or will sway me. This is awarning.”
Turning toward his dream-rendition of Krafla, he flapped lazily as Benedikt cried in hisgrasp.
“You have turned your village against Freyja Helgasdottir. You have threatened her, and threatened others so they may not provide her aide or trade coin with her. You’re not a man. You’re a sniveling coward, and you know not who youprovoke.”
Circling the tip of the volcano, he pictured lava bubbling within the hollow of the caldera, flames licking up the sides as if they wanted to eat Benediktalive.
“That bitch is lying! I never touched her. I never threatenedher—”
“If you die here, then you’ll never wake.”Rurik bared his teeth as he circled above the volcano.“If you so much as look in her direction ever again, I shall roast you alive,”he snapped, and then finally let go.“I know who the liaris.”
* * *
Benedikt slammedhis hands out in front of him as the lava rushed up to meet him, only to realize there was something wrong, something.... He jerked awake from the dream and plunged upright in his bed, his skin clammy with sweat as his familiar room formed around him. The fire in the grate had died down, but lit enough of the furniture for him to grasp hold of his sheets inrelief.
Not real.Just a nightmare. His lungs sucked in air and his heart raced as he groaned and sank his head into his hands. His nightshirt was wet with piss. The image of the caldera rushing up to meet him sprang sharply to mind, then he was crying and snot was bubbling out of his nose, and damn him, he was a man, not a child. Benedikt wiped the tears from his eyes furiously, sucking in enough oxygen to stem the flow oftears.
“Just a dream,” he told himself hoarsely, even though it feltreal.
Pain speared through his ankle as he twisted to right his sheets, and he dragged them up to see what the problemwas—
There, against his skin, were the reddened claw marks of thedragon.
“Not a dream,”something whispered in hishead.
