Page 7 of Heart of Fire
Fierce.
His female. Appearing in the heart of the storm to challenge him in his own lair. Of course he could not resisther.
And then there was the mystery of her power. He could remember the taste of it in the air between them, crackling like lightning. It reminded him of something, though he could not bring the thought tomind.
What isshe?
For the first time in decades his interest, long dormant, stirred. The male in him had looked and seen a creature of flame and shadow, of mighty power, utterly bedazzling. A treasure beyond any he owned. He wanted her. Therefore he would have her, and together they would burn the world until he tired ofher.
Rurik dipped his wings, feeling the lash of the winds. It turned him into a free fall, wind whipping past him with dizzying intensity until he banked at the last moment, sweeping over the moors and alighting on a crag. A shudder swept through him, an electric tingle lighting across hisskin.
It had been a long time since he walked as a man. A long time since he had desired it, indeed desired anything. Lightning flickered in the distance and in front of him his shadow quivered, then shrunk, wings disappearing, and his serpentine neck folding in on itself. Rurik fell to his hands and knees, feeling the power of the land roil beneath his touch. Rain stung his skin, a whiplash of sensuous pleasure as he bowed his head and waited for the shock of his transition tofade.
Nude. Glorious. Full of immense power that boiled beneath the heavy muscle of his skin. Rurik lifted his head as water sluiced down over his naked skin and smiled fiercely, his teethbared.
Time to gohunting.
Three
THE PROBLEMWITH gold was that nobody in her village or the neighboring farms would be able to trade for it, nor was it wise to show too much of it, in case someone decided to see if she hadmore.
Freyja spent three days debating the problem, then finally harnessed their small Icelandic pony, Hanna, to the cart. Telling her father she intended to buy a new ram in Akureyri—without revealing the precise details of the demise of their previous one—she set out toward the trading town. The cart was stocked full of wool and eiderdown, for trips to the trading town were rare and she was practical enough to take this opportunity to sell what she hadstored.
One day to travel, one to trade, and one to get home. He’d be fine. He’d lived in their little house his entire life. He wouldn’t need his eyes to get around, and their distant neighbor had promised to keep an eye onhim.
Sunshine washed down over her as she guided Hanna along the marshy plain toward Akureyri. The thin track was barely marked by passing traffic, as the last thaw had obliterated it. Only severalkerlingar—small pyramids of stone shaped much like old women—marked theway.
“Easy now,” Freyja murmured, as Hanna crested the rise and Akureyri revealed itselfbelow.
The trading town was nestled in the heart of a fjord, with a natural harbor and warmer waters that kept the bay ice-free. Red houses lined the bay and several Danish merchant ships lingered in the harbor. Sometimes the English came to trade for fish, but it was done under a cover of secrecy, for the Danish held the trade monopoly. One could often see them swaggering about the town, turning their noses up at thenatives.
For a woman travelling alone, it wasn’t wise to venture too close to the docks, but Freyja had been born with one mostly green eye, and one brown. Witch-born or elf-cursed, depending on which religion or superstition you believed in. People still crossed themselves when they saw her, and few would dare accosther.
Shehoped.
Finding a room and board at a small inn, Freyja hastily brushed Hanna down, the gold in the pouch at her neck seeming to weigh her down. She felt as though eyes lingered on her as she left the stables, though that was ridiculous. Nobody knew what she had on herperson.
“Hey now! Be careful with that!” someone bellowed as she hurried to theinn.
A large merchant ship had docked close to shore, and men were hastily trying to rig up some sort of contraption to swing what looked like an enormous crossbow on wheels from the ship deck to thedock.
Freyja tucked her bright red shawl around her shoulders as she sidestepped through the growing crowd. “What is it?” she asked no one inparticular.
A young lad in a dark blue seafaring coat with brass buttons up the sides of it glanced at her, his hair covered in a knitted woolen cap. “It’s the dragon hunter, miss. FromNorway.”
All about her people were lured out of their homes. Freyja stood on her toes to see.Dragon hunter. Chills of premonition edged down her spine. “The onlydrekiin these parts is the one beneathKrafla.”
“Aye,” the lad replied. “Some of the local villages have put together a fund for the dragon hunter’s reward. They want no more of this tithe, or this wyrm’s demands. Iceland should have no masteranymore.”
It would take more than a group of villagers to pay for the dragon hunter. It had to be Benedikt. He and his father made their fortune mining sulfur, and then buying up as much land as they could. He’d long been vocal about his hatred for the tithe and the demand it placed on the villagers. Not that she thought his desire to rid himself of the wyrm was truly guided by his concern for others. Benedikt’s pride was enough to resent any overlord, no matter how little the wyrm stirred theiraffairs.
“Where is the dragon hunter?” she asked, stumbling over thewords.
The lad pointed. “There!”
Freyja’s breath caught as an enormous man strode into view, yelling harshly at the engineers as the ballista was levered off the ship. It dangled over the gulf between water and wharf, swingingprecariously.
He was a tall man, wearing archaic chain mail and a long fur cloak. His hair shone moonlight-silver in the dying light, and even from this distance she could see he was handsome. Around her, several whispered murmurs assured her she was not the only one to believeso.
