As we push inside the heavy wooden door of the pub now, covered in blue and white sigils gleaming in the oncoming night, I realize I have no clue what Baldur Sigurðsson’s temperament might be. In fact, I know nothing about him, as I find myself fretting if I look alright, and that my hair’s not in complete disarray from the wind.
As we move past the rough-hewn bar, carved in intricate whorls and knot-work despite looking like it was hacked out of an entire tree by dragon-talons, I feel my heartbeat rise and tension flush through me. Bjorn glances over and takes note; he takes my hand now, as we both search the dim candle- and lamp-lit bar for the man I saw before at The Vault.
In a moment, I can see he’s not here inside this tiny, rough, yet somehow cozy little space. A bar mistress with ruddy cheeks and stunning silver-white hair trips up to us, handing us handwritten menus. Bjorn tries to reject it before I take them and nod our thanks, heading us over to a cozy booth padded with reed-woven seats.
“Bjorn—we need food,” I say before he can open his mouth to argue. “That was a long flight, and if we’re going to be searching for Baldur, we need sustenance.”
“You’re right.” I would have thought he’d argue, but Bjorn’s strangely practical tonight as he sort of slide-thumps into the bench opposite me. With a deep sigh and a growl, he peruses the menu. “I feel like I could eat a whole cow right now with all that flying. Plus Mikkel. He’s drained the shit out of me, even though we’re not even close to the same magical energy, with all his antics today.” Bjorn’s gold eyes flash with the power of his drake in the gloom, and not in a nice way.
“I feel it, too,” I say as I swipe off my hat and gloves and check out my menu. “Our power is shared multi-ways now through our bond, andMikkel’s been draining me as much as you and Ström in his wrath right now. I’m trying to not freak out about what Lærke and Ström are up against with him, and whether they can get his shit calm, so we have some time to find Baldur. Much less give me time to life-mate with someone I’ve really not even met yet. If he wants to life-mate with me at all.”
“He’ll want to. I’m certain of it.” Reaching across the table, Bjorn takes my hand. His sudden gesture of love and support is so kind, as is the look in his deep gold eyes, that it constricts my chest.
“How do you know?” I hate to ask it, but I need to. I need the unwavering support of my First Drake right now to get me through this, and all the shit that’s happened recently.
As he stares into my eyes, not verbally answering my question, but flooding into me all his knowledge of my goodness, fierceness, and total babelicious hotness, I feel Bjorn bolster my resolve to do this. Because I don’t take total strangers into this bond lightly, and I know Bjorn understands that.
Though he’d rather I take no one into this bond except him, we’re far past that point now, and Bjorn understands the necessity. We need a Fourth Drake to balance my magic, snarling with Mikkel’s at all hours.
We also need that person to be a Blood Sage and resonate with Bjorn’s magic, to amplify what he’s got so he can balance the true terror of Mikkel in our group.
Bonding Bjorn was a no-brainer, despite his temper; bonding Ström was the same, thanks to our long association and hidden love.
Bonding Mikkel was more of an accident, though. One I don’t care to repeat—and Bjorn knows that, as we watch each other, silent at the table. Still, it’s my Bloodwalker magic that chooses my mates for me, as I feel it whirl now, deep inside my chest.
I smell a strange scent, like sunlight and paint, on a brisk wind that steals over our table then. That scent makes me look around, but no one is there. As the bar mistress whisks over, we give her our order of Icelandic lamb, plokkfiskur, skyr, and flatbread. We add a pitcher of beer. As thebar mistress scuttles away, I know both Bjorn and I need it to calm our shit and get us centered for our task.
It’s hard to ignore Mikkel’s signature inside us snarling and roaring, however, flooding us with waves of dark energy one moment, then pulling on our own power like a riptide as he fights what Ström and Lærke are doing to get him back. It’s exhausting. Beer, plus the food, will help us numb out from all these magical shenanigans for a bit as we recuperate and focus on what we have to do next.
“So is that scale giving you anything?” Bjorn asks now as the bar mistress returns with our food and beer, thumping everything down on the table. The heavy ceramic plates are handmade; so are the slightly jilted beer glasses, as Bjorn pours for us both.
As I sip down the hoppy ale with its thick foam and dive into our food, starting with the lamb, I feel grateful to be doing this trip with just Bjorn. I touch the blue scale now where it rests upon the table; nothing comes from it, so I scootch it aside.
Then I reach out and grip Bjorn’s hand while we eat.
Bjorn grunts, but I see the tiniest smile curl his full lips as he takes up his beer and sips. A hot twinkle is in his eyes now, despite everything; as he lifts one golden eyebrow, true heat floods me, loving that look.
Bjorn isn’t just my biggest, buffest badass drake, he’s also my hottest. Ström has a roguish handsomeness, Mikkel is darkly alluring, but Bjorn is just a god among lesser men, hands-down.
He knows it as he sits there, smirking at me. He launches up then, leaning far over the table to claim me with a scorching kiss, his free hand possessively behind my neck.
Before settling back down to his seat—smiling subtly.
“You just love that, don’t you?” I sass him now as we resume eating, though I’m smiling, too.
“Love that I can still twist your panties up into a hard, wet bunch despite all your other drakes in the mix? Yes.” Bjorn hot-growls at me as he continues to smirk, but then he sobers as he grips my hand harder. “Whatare you going to do if you don’t like him, Rikyava?” Bjorn asks, and I know he’s got my number. We share a lot in our bond now, and he can basically read my mind if he concentrates on it, and certainly my energy, as I stew about meeting Baldur.
“I don’t know.” I’m honest as I think about it. I chew my lip, then dive into the plokkfiskur to give my mouth something to do. “I want Baldur to be somebody who I can just dive right into his arms, making all this right between our group—magically speaking. But what if he isn’t? What if there’s some massive dealbreaker he’s hiding? And my magic compels me to bond with him anyway?”
“I think it may be a risk we have to take.” Bjorn glowers, though his dark, scalding look isn’t for me. I feel his drake gnash its teeth as he takes up some flatbread and rips into it. “If Baldur isn’t suitable to be your Fourth Bloodmate, then we’ll have to find someone else, fast. We both know Aesa’s soul-gift to you will not last long with Mikkel hauling at it in his utter wrath day and night. Not to mention if he hauls ass and escapes Ström and Lærke… heading off to fight the Jarl of Copenhagen all by his little lonesome.”
I know Bjorn’s right, as I sit across the table from him and give a hard sigh. Because already I can feel it; Aesa’s help inside me seems to siphon away with every surge and wrathful snarl we get from Mikkel.
He’s not just draining our bond, he’s draining the protection she placed inside me when we met in the Void. If this keeps up, I won’t have any of Aesa’s protection left, as I’m thrust right back where we started, with me losing my memories at all hours and Bjorn unable to sustain them.
Except worse now, with Mikkel unhinged and Wraithing all the way.
Glancing down, I see Bjorn and I have cleaned our plates. Our ale is likewise dry, though I don’t remember finishing it. We ate ravenously just now to replace the energy Mikkel is draining from us. Soon, food won’t be able to sustain it, as we both shove up from the table, knowing we need to be on our way.
