“Rikyava. Tell me where you were born. What dragon-clan do you belong to?” Bjorn rumbles, his golden eyes blazing with rage, though I don’t know about what.
“I was born in France,” I say with certainty, frowning at him. “Paris. I live there. I’m a Blood Dragon from an unlabeled clan—you know that. My cousin Rhennic is half Storm Dragon and also lives in France. He’s King of the Storm Dragons, thanks to his deceased Storm Dragon mother.”
“Rikyava, you know you have a cousin, but who is youruncle?” Ström takes both my hands. “C’mon…thinkabout it! If you have a cousin, he has to have a father… a Blood Dragon. Who is Rhennic’s father—your uncle, Rikyava?”
But even as Ström asks me, nothing about his words makes sense. I end up staring at him, scowling in frustration as I come up with only blanks for what should be a very reasonable request.
“I don’t know!” I growl now, as something shakes me to my very fundament. I know something is terribly wrong with me, but I don’t know what it is, as I gaze at Bjorn and Ström in frightened bewilderment. “What is wrong with me? Help me…”
“We will.” Bjorn surges in. Tucking me under his arm, he faces everyone. “I’m going to take Rikyava to the Storm King, Rhennic Erdhelm. If anyone can help her bring back her memories about our King, Sweden, and everything else we’re up against right now, it’s him.”
“I’m with you. All the way,” Ström says. He takes my hand—though for the life of me, I can’t seem to remember how he and I met, or even how I met Bjorn, for that matter. I only know that both are dear to me,life-mated to me in a way I cannot break and will never forget, as I feel their own memories strong and hale, surging in via our bond to bolster mine.
They try to touch me with their magics, sending me images of a homeland I don’t remember, and a people I now forget, and I know something truly is wrong with me. If it wasn’t for them, I would just fly home to the Red Letter Hotel Paris and forget the reason we’re standing on this beach.
Until Ström floods a particular memory into me—of the Black Dragon, sundering my mentor to pieces.
“Maryse,” Ström says, as his magic pummels that memory into me.
“Her name was Maryse Allbright. Never forget that. Nor how she died… and the demon that took her,” Bjorn snarls at me now, as he enhances Ström’s remembrance within me.
I remember it now, our near death before the Knight’s Council, and Maryse’s demise. I firm that remembrance inside me now, like a lance of the brightest, darkest steel inside my heart.
Bolstered by my twin powers roaring up and twisting into their Bloodwalker might within me, I feel that memory stay with me now as I fight to recall it. As Mikkel comes to me now, taking my other hand and gazing deep into my eyes, I feel his power thunder into the mix, as well.
It brightens my memory of Maryse, and that horrible time in the Council Hall of the Black Dragon Knights. Though Mikkel wasn’t there with us, his power is indomitable and makes clear every detail inside my mind.
As I snarl now, remembering who did this to me.
And why they did it.
“I’m going to kill them. I’m going to kill them all…” I whisper, as the blackest wrath I’ve ever known fills me. I can’t even see anymore as that vast darkness takes my vision.
Until Mikkel squeezes my hand—pushing some of that darkness back.
“You will kill them all. And it will be justified.” Mikkel speaksquietly as he stares deep into my eyes. Lost to his dragon, his black eyes have a searing ring of copper around them.
Retribution in their depths.
“We’re with you, Rikyava. Whatever you need to do.” Ström joins him now as he squeezes my hand as well.
“Whoever you need to kill,” Bjorn says by my ear as he wraps me in his arms, his tremendous bulk solid behind me. “We’re with you, drakaina. All the way to hell and back.”
I feel the support of my three drakes, as they stand like a solid wall around me. But it’s Lærke who surprises me as she moves in.
Seizing my hand and decimating me with her furious gaze.
“Who the fuck do they think they are,” she snarls, “ruining you like this? I’ll kill them all myself, and then some, for taking away your righteousness, your fight, and your power this way, like cowards in the wind. Who you are is your homeland, Hög Skjaldmær Rikyava Andersen, and the people you protect. Even though you do it now for the Red Letter Hotel Paris, you are who you were raised to be, by the people who love you. All that is up in Sweden. Like hell am I going to let you forget it, one of the ballsiest, most righteous drakainas I’ve ever known. We’re headed to France. Mikkel and I can manage our operations from afar—we do it when we visit our other clubs. Together, wewillhelp reclaim your lost memories… even if we have to fuck up the entire Black Dragon Knights to do it.”
“Thank you,” I murmur to Lærke as tears fill my eyes. “You have no obligation to me. I bound your brother in a moment of dire need. I can figure out a way to set him free, I swear it?—”
“No.” Lærke’s lavender eyes are firm as she stares me down, something sad and beautiful in them. “He needs a mate like you; indeed, he’s been searching for a mate like you all his life. If I’m not part of your bond, so be it. But like hell am I going to abandon my brother to whatever your quest has in store for him, or the Council’s diabolical ways. You’ve got one twin bound to you—but where one goes, so goes the other. You and I may notalways see eye-to-eye, Rikyava. But you’ve got me too, now, for what it’s worth. Don’t be a bitch about it.”
“Only as much a bitch as you are,” I say as a beaming smile takes me, suddenly so grateful for Lærke.
To my bones and back.
“True that.” She smiles at me, and it’s a beautiful smile, stunning. As Mikkel takes his sister’s hand, she smiles at him, too.
