I know my cousin; he’s assessing the risk he’s taking right now, housing our seriously unstable group within his walls. But Rhennic is nothing if not a white knight; he won’t rescind his hospitality unless we do something truly heinous. I heave a deep breath and nod, my shit mostly back together, and see relief flood him that I won’t just shift up right now and rip his palace apart.
As a sudden fatigue fills me from our magical shenanigans, however, deeper than anything I’ve felt, I know it’s Bjorn. I glance back and see his wry, tough-guy smile. He nuzzles my cheek, unable to hold back anexhausted sigh as he holds me. I pull his hands around me, feeling frustrated and helpless.
And wish I was a Storm Dragon, so I wouldn’t have to concede to the Black Dragon Knights and what they’ve done to me.
“Thanks for not just tossing me in the cells after all the towering fuckups I’ve made today.” I glance at my cousin as I hold Bjorn close. “Are you sure you want to take our little shitshow on any longer, with everything we’re putting you through by staying here?”
“I’m sure,” Rhennic says as he stares me down, decided, though I tried to give him one last out. “You’re family, Rikyava, and I’m here for you. Whatever you need… the Storm Dragons of France will provide it. I swear.”
“Don’t let your mouth sign checks your butt can’t cash, cuz,” I say, warning him with wry humor as I crack a hard smile, though nothing inside me feels light.
“I’m Storm Dragon King. I can cash any checks I want,” Rhennic assures me.
And then he’s opening his hand, inviting me and my drakes to come sit by the fire and talk. We go, though I have no clue what we’re in for, as Mikkel’s dark eyes pin me.
Promising everything he and I could not finish today.
Blacker than black.
4
REMEMBER
As Rhennic invites us to the table near the fireplace to dine, he nods his Storm Guards out. They go, though not without wary glances at their King, for his madness in desiring to be alone with our group right now. The moment the doors are closed, Rhennic steps to me, clasping my hand. My cousin does not mince words as he solemnly stares me down, but it comes with compassion.
The deep kindness that’s always in him.
“Yava. We need to talk about what the Storm Healers have figured out about you and your drakes this past week,” Rhennic says at once. “They sent me an update today on this curse that was done to you by the Black Dragon Knights… It’s unlike anything my healers have ever seen, and they know their curses.”
“Yeah. No shit, Sherlock.” I’m glib as I respond, though I clasp his hand, grateful for my cousin’s support.
“Something is very wrong with your energy.” Rhennic’s uncanny lightning-blitz gaze flickers over our group, then penetrates me. “When you were Excommunicated from your clan by the Knights, it did something to your magic. It’s not like a regular memory-curse, which locks upmemories so they can’t be accessed consciously. It’s like… millions of holes have been punctured throughout your dragon-aura. Right to the quick.”
“That’s what it feels like.” I rub my chest, where Aesa’s Truthstone hums in agreement with Rhennic’s words. “Like someone reached right in and bit or clawed out all the most essential parts of me. Even though my drakes can help me by donating their power for a short while to refill my memories… I can’t seem to get any of it back.”
“She’s forgotten everything about Sweden, our clan, and the people in it. Including your family, thanks to the Knights.” Bjorn growls now, not using any code with Rhennic, because as Storm King and part of my family, he’s already aware of the Knights.
I’m challenged now, though, to even remember who the Knights are—my forgetting is worse, despite Bjorn’s constant touch. As we talk, Mikkel moves to my side again as if he wants to help. He doesn’t touch me, but his nearness makes my inner black dragon leap to him once more.
Bjorn denies Mikkel contact by wrapping himself around me, cocooning me in his enormous body. I feel his hot rage rush inside me, making my bright drakaina surge up through my veins, righteous.
Her power comes with a brimstone heat that bolsters me, but it can’t undo how hard Mikkel, and also Ström, push my black drake.
That bestial dragon stares at me now from deep inside, its glittering eyes endless as it asks me,why are you fighting this so hard?I can’t answer, as Bjorn’s power inside me suddenly fails.
His rush of gold and crimson Blood Magic snaps out without warning, and I feel the exhausted shudder that claims him. All this dark Bone Magic is beyond sapping him as he tries to counter it, over and over.
I turn in his arms now and reach up, touching his cheeks. Bjorn is pale, breathing hard again as he fights to wrangle my darkest power back, plus those of my Bone Magic drakes. He sets his jaw, fighting his fatigue with a basso dragon-growl of pure stubbornness, though I know even the mighty Bjorn Magnussen can’t hold out forever.
Especially when Mikkel loses his restraint now, his fingers stealing to my back.
Lærke jerks her twin away almost as soon as he makes contact with me, but the damage is done. As darkness floods my veins and the black dragon inside me rushes up once more, wrath claims me.
I turn lightning-quick and snarl at Mikkel, wanting to fight him again. But it’s wanting to fight-fuck him now, as my memories clear quite a bit. Ström, the exhausted Bjorn, and even my own cousin Rhennic haul me back to a respectable distance.
As Lærke keeps Mikkel well away.
“Well, that’s something you don’t see every day,” my cousin says as he watches what all our dragon-auras are doing with his lightning-blitz eyes. “You don’t truly get your memories back unless you touch your Third Drake; your aura doesn’t fill those holes much without his contact. When you touch him, though—your aura goes black. Blacker than anything I’ve ever seen.”
