Page 8 of Heart of Fire
Freyja couldn’t tear her gaze away as the ballista swung toward the wharf. Unease twisted in her gut as she tucked her hands into the narrow crevices of her elbows. The gold seemed to burn in the pouch around herneck.
“Has he hunted manydreki?” she asked. “I did not believe them so easy tofell.”
“He has ways,” the lad assured her. “They say he’s hunted three of them inNorway.”
Three. A man who knew how to kill them then. Freyja shivered. In hindsight, the wyrm seemed curious more than anything else. With time to think over the incident in the cave, she was swiftly realizing he never meant to killher.
If he’d wished such a thing, he could have done soimmediately.
An odd knot of guilt warmed in her chest. She shouldn’t get involved. After all, what could she do? Warn thebeast?
The dragon hunter stepped to the edge of the wharf, lifting his hands for silence. “My name,” he called in a strong accent, “is Haakon Haraldsson. I am here to rid you of the foul beast that lurks beneathKrafla.”
Clapping sprang up, women cheering for him and waving handkerchiefs. One would think him a feudal king for the way he carriedhimself.
A slight smile curled over Haakon’s mouth, though his eyes remained as cold as the glaciers further south. The precise same color too, she noted, as his gaze locked on her. “My team have destroyed three of the foul beasts, and sent them back to the hell they came from.” At this he crossed himself, and half the crowd echoed him. “They tell me Iceland is burdened by such creatures. And I say, no more!” He roared the lastwords.
Excitement ran through the crowd, trailing over her skin. Freyja was the only one not clapping, and he saw it, his eyes meeting hers with achallenge.
“I hear many words,” another voice called out in a low baritone. “But I do not hear how you will perform this”—the voice dropped to a mocking drawl—“miraculousfeat.”
All eyes swung toward the back of the crowd. Gasps rang out as people stepped aside to reveal another man, sunlight gleaming off the golden thread of his embroideredwaistcoat.
He did not move, gaze locked on the dragon slayers, and his arms crossed over his firm chest. Both men were of a height, though the newcomer’s shoulders were broader, and he held himself as though he were the tallest man in thecrowd.
He was the sun to Haakon’s moonlit coloring. Silky golden hair raked back from his brow, his watchful eyes the color of amber. Someone long ago had broken his nose, and the imperfection only heightened the severely handsome cut of his features. He was breathtaking. The kind of man she’d pictured as the prince of all the stories her mother told her, though the predatory nature of his gaze told her he might not be quite as noble as sheanticipated.
Definitely a stranger. Powerful and at ease with himself, as though he knew his worth. Freyja couldn’t stop her gaze from dropping to those muscular thighs, encased in superfine buff breeches. His coat was dark bronze wool, and a spill of snowy white lace at his throat highlighted the golden hue of his skin. She’d never seen the like in herlife.
“And who are you?” Haakoncalled.
“You may refer to me as Rurik,” the stranger replied, with a slight accent. His voice was smooth, yet everybody strained to hear it. “And I study myths. Including thisdrekiyou speak ofkilling.”
“A scholar.” The way Haakon pronounced the word spoke volumes. He smiled. “Perhaps you should leave the talk of killing dragons to those better suited forit.”
Laughter spilled aroundthem.
“Knowledge is its own weapon,” Rurik countered, an amused gleam warming his eyes. There was a challengethere.
Haakon turned and gestured toward the ballista. “This shoots solid steel bolts at a hundred yards a second. It’s strong enough to pierce even a dragon’shide.”
“He must stay very still for youthen.”
Haakon tilted his head slightly to the side. “There are ways,” he said, with a chilling littlesmile.
"And the chainmail? Do you think yourself a knight ofold?"
Haakon trailed his knuckles over the smooth rings. "This saved my life three months ago. A dragon has sharp teeth. This stopsthem."
A whip crack of sound drew everyone’s attention, including Haakon’s. Freyja’s gaze jerked to the far rope holding the heavy machine in place. As she watched, one strand of the hemp unraveled with devastating swiftness. The other held for a second before the pressure snapped it in halftoo.
“Secure that bloody thing!” Haakon roared as the ballista tumbled onto its side, dangling by two precariousropes.
Another broke, and the ballista jerked closer to the water below before the final rope lost its fight, and snapped with a mightycrack.
“No!” Haakon raced forward as the ballista tumbled into the water below with a chilly splash. It sank without further aplomb and he cursed at the engineers who had rigged the harness, barking orders in a brutally authoritativetone.
“A pity,” a voice, darkly amused, murmured by her ear. “Now he shall find it most difficult to huntdreki.”
