As Rhennic’s gaze flicks to Bjorn over my shoulder, I don’t miss his insinuation. Rhennic knows that if whatever imbalance of power we have keeps up, it’s going to drain my First Bloodmate—to death.
A dark silence settles among us. Heaving a deep breath, sadness fills my cousin’s eyes, then. Squeezing my hands, he moves in, kissing both my cheeks. “Talk this over with your drakes—allof them. See where they’re at. Because they’re a part of this, whether or not you like it. Like with Layla, as the ultimate alpha in the relationship, you need to protect them, even as they protect you. I love you cousin, and I’ll see you later. But think about all I’ve said. Consider what you need to do next.”
Rhennic is sober as he leans in one last time, kissing my cheek. It’s a darkness I rarely see in my white knight of a cousin; I nod, inhaling deep as I feel his seriousness.
He clasps my hands and then he has to go. Nodding to Bjorn andStröm, but only flicking his gaze to Mikkel, Rhennic follows his escort out the door and is gone.
The room is deadly silent as the Storm King leaves. Though Mikkel’s dark gaze pins me again, I glance away from him, needing a respite as I cuddle back into Bjorn’s strong arms and think about everything my cousin’s said.
I know I need to find a fourth drake—that it’s my best course of action to counter this madness happening between us, if not halt it altogether. But finding that particular person, a Blood Magic drake so strong he can counter Mikkel’s overwhelming and impressive magic, is no small feat. I don’t have a single Blood Dragon in mind, as despair seizes me.
And I wonder if such a person even exists.
Something jolts through me, however, as I have that thought. Though most things about Sweden are still misty right now, this image is startlingly clear as it sweeps me.
It’s a memory of when I saw that strange Icelandic artist, Baldur Sigurðsson, at Mikkel and Lærke’s club in the lower city of the Old Palace. His blazing fire-opal gaze penetrates me now, shocking, like he’s right before me in the room, as his words from that night whisper through my mind.
Beautiful. So beautiful.
The experience rattles me to my core. It’s a good rattle, as I shake with amazement now, feeling better than I have since the Excommunication. I’m not sure if any of my drakes got my memory through our bond as I perk, but I know they felt my hope, as a sweet energy courses through me now like spring sunlight shining off glaciers.
And it’s not Ström’s energy, as he blinks and eyeballs me.
“Rikyava. What just happened?” Ström comes to me, taking my hands. He curls around me, Bjorn still at my back, though we’re separate from the twins.
“I’m not sure…” I say, as I remove one hand from Ström and rub my chest. Because Aesa’s Truthstone is humming like wildfire now as itshines with a radiant glow at the edge of my robe, coursing with gold and red runes.
As if my sudden memory of that Icelandic artist sparked it, I have a feeling of rightness from the song in Aesa’s stone, humming all through my blood and bones. Because something in her recognizes there was power in that artist, when our gazes connected across the vast underground vault that night. Power my group could use, as an instinct fills me.
That he might be what we seek.
Turning to Lærke, I’m about to ask if she has that artist’s phone number or whereabouts, so we could talk to him. But before I can say anything, Bjorn gives a massive yawn. He jolts, and even I know it’s a pre-sleep jolt as he struggles to stay on his feet in his current exhaustion.
I turn to him and lift up, kissing his lips. But his long golden eyelashes are already struggling to not flutter closed; taking his hand, I lead him over to the big bed.
“No. Rikyava. I need to stay awake,” Bjorn protests even as I take him back to bed.
“No. You need to sleep and recover as much of your strength as you can, for all of us,” I tell him as I gesture to the bed. He grumbles, but climbs on in. I tuck him in under the coverlet in his silk pajama pants.
And Bjorn is asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.
I stay with him a moment, caressing his short-bearded cheek with my hand. Then I bend over and kiss his full lips, though he doesn’t wake one bit.
“I will protect you,” I whisper, before kissing him one last time and straightening. I don’t even care I have an audience as I glance back to Ström, Mikkel, and Lærke.
Knowing I have to protect them, too.
Because my cousin is right; they’re all my responsibility now, bonded to me in ways I cannot even fathom, ever since all this got started. Even Lærke, though she’s only bonded to me because of her brother and the twin-bond they share.
Mikkel’s dark eyes glitter as he regards me, noting how tender I just was with Bjorn. I see him want it; I see him want real, good love like that, despite everything that lives inside him.
Or maybe because of it, as he simmers now with a jealous streak. Straightening, he claps his hands, putting on his brisk, do-it-all demeanor, but even I can see how much of a sham it is tonight as he turns to all of us.
Addressing our group like nothing has happened.
“Well! I suppose we should all get some rest. Lærke? Shall we retire?” Mikkel nods at his sister as he gestures towards the door to their adjacent suite.
“Rikyava?” But Lærke defers to me now, as her pale lavender eyes regard mine. “Do you need us for anything tonight? Will you be alright?”
