Page 19 of Storm of Fury
Marduk hauled his mortal body up a rocky cliff face, gritting his teeth as the strain of gravity dragged at him. He didn’t dare fly in hisdrekiform, not here, in territories belonging to anotherdrekiclan.
Nor did he dare answer the summons his elder brother and sister sent to him, for fear another would sense his psychic thoughts.
He was so close to finding the source of the song.
The others would have to wait.
Five
Bryn pacedin front of thebadstubehind the tavern, her breath fogging the crisp night air. Every inch of her ached from a hard day’s journey and fight, and she itched to remove the day’s grime from her skin.
Giving way to impatience, she hammered her fist on the bathhouse door. “Are you finished yet?”
“I’m a big man,” Tormund bellowed back. “I take a bit of scrubbing.”
He’d been in there for a good half hour.
“I swear, if you don’t get out of the bath within the minute, I will kick this door down.”
“Then kick it down,” he said with a laugh. “Or you could simply use the handle. I didn’t lock it.”
She paced. “You have ten seconds.”
“But I’m all soapy.”
It was becoming easier to understand why the Blackfrost wanted to push him off a tall cliff. “You… are the most frustrating man! I want to wash. I am filthy, and sore and—”
“Then join me,” he called. “The tub’s big enough for two.”
Bryn stared at the door.
I will murder him.
Slowly.
“If you think I won’t call your bluff,” she growled, shoving the door open, “then you don’t know me very well.”
Heat and steam enveloped her the second she entered the room. The steam room was to the right and she could scent the smell of birch.
“If you think I’m bluffing, then you don’t know me at all.” The words came from the corner of the bathing room where a large shadow lingered in the enormous wooden tub. Water churned as Tormund sat back against the side of the tub, splaying both arms along its rim.
The only light came from a small brazier of glowing coals.
But it was enough to trace every inch of muscle on him with her eyes.
She’d long thought herself immune to the lures of men. She’d carried great warriors from the battlefield to Valhalla’s golden halls. She’d enjoyed her fill of those who’d sought to seduce her, and she’d even dreamed of love, once or twice, before she’d consigned such foolish thoughts to the depths of her consciousness.
Love was a fool’s pledge and a ploy for liars to take advantage of. She’d seen it too many times.
That didn’t mean that Tormund didn’t get under her skin like a splinter.
It was the twinkle, she told herself. The twinkle of humor in Tormund’s eyes, and the sudden white flash of his smile.
It stirred her as nothing else would.
And she realized she was staring.
“Want to wash my back?” He lazed back against the tub.
