Our magics twine together in a furious wave of power now; a deep, decadent mate-taste. We’re both feeling better enough that our power can spark, and it’s an excellent sign, as I feel my eyes burn fiery crimson and gold, blazing white from my inner dragons briefly uniting into my Bloodwalker magic.
My First Drake’s eyes burn molten gold in response, flashing with bright white from my power now. I lift a hand, setting it to his cheek and running my thumb over his lips. Bjorn turns his head, kissing my palm.
Intense, rageful, and loving.
I revel in him as I stare up at my ridiculously handsome Norse god, feeling his body, like a hero of legend, pressed against mine. His strong face with his level golden brows, high cheekbones, and cut jaw holds an elegance and brutality that avenging Archangels would cry over.
But the best thing about Bjorn is that he understands me, deep inside. Staring up at him now, feeling this intense sensation tighten between us, I have to lift up. I have to kiss him, deep, as that urge of our dragons devours me.
The same urge devouring Bjorn—to the max.
I lift my lips as I close my eyes, feeling his descend. There’s nothing like the perfect kiss to take your mind off things; Bjorn and I kiss slowly but fiercely, now that we finally have a moment.
That moment is pure bliss as we lick and press, and bite each other’s lips, reaffirming our possession of each other. It’s far more than a life-mate’s possessiveness, however, as we pull in hard now, reveling in the ancient relief of living another day.
Because we still have each other, and everyone we love, and are still able to do this, despite all the shit we’ve been through and how it’s nearly destroyed all our lives. Bjorn and I immerse ourselves in it now, before we at last heave hard breaths and part.
My biggest, most badass First Drake tucks me into his brawny arms as he sets his lips to my forehead. Gratitude spills out of him in a loving wave as I cinch close to his rock-solid muscles. He heaves a short laugh, then.
Rare for Bjorn—and glorious.
“You look good in those fighting leathers, drakaina,” Bjorn growls appreciatively now, as he kisses the top of my head and pulls back. Because although he and I are hot for each other right now, we both know checking on our people comes first, before we can indulge.
We need to take stock of things here this morning, in this strange place we now call home. Because I’m still not entirely sure wherehereis, as we recover from our near-disastrous encounter in Copenhagen, not to mention the barrage of enemies at the Jarl’s palace that left my entire Bloodbond reeling.
Bjorn and I share a thought now as he glances at the bed. I understand, feeling the same; though he’s asleep, we need to give Baldur a more thorough check, now that we’re at least moderately recovered.
I offer Bjorn my bag of jerky and he wolfs it down as we return to the bed. I sit, placing a hand on Baldur’s chest as Bjorn checks his pulse again.
As I close my eyes, I feel my way into my Bloodbond with Baldur. I can feel him way out in the Void of Ancestors as he slowly gathers runnels of pure sunlight to him.
As if regenerating his power from the stars themselves, it’s a magnificent process, nothing I could even begin to understand, which he’s practiced his entire life. It’s stabilized him, for now. The question is, will it be able to heal him, as I glance now at his body.
Because Baldur’s curses from the Black Dragon still seethe all the way up his arms to his shoulders, and up both legs to his hips. It’s gruesome, as I peer beneath the tattered silk sheets, to see those seared, oilslick-black and vicious crimson curses, still simmering deep inside his veins and all over his beautiful white skin.
I know they hurt; I was cursed by the same thing during the attack that killed Maryse, months ago. Only continuous healing sessions by masterful Blood Dragon healers at the Old Palace saved me. Along with Bjorn and Ström giving me their fire and strength, even donating blood to sustain me, when it came right down to it.
We don’t have all that available, however, as I consider how we might donate blood into Baldur now, and if it would do any good.
Because unlike when I was cursed, Baldur got the full meal deal from the Black Dragon. Same as Maryse, he had the life-ending heart-curse cast inside him, when he rushed in front of me in his human form, to take the Black Dragon’s last roar, rather than let it take me.
And he’s paid for it. Even though I somehow pulled that heart-curse out of him with my Bloodwalker power, saving him from certain death, I know the rest of these curses still might kill him if they persist. They might kill all of us, as I feel their diseased taint pull hard at my own blood and bones, though our Bloodbond.
Me and the rest of my drakes.
“Well, the honeymoon was nice while it lasted,” I joke with a wrysmile now, about how little time Baldur and I were able to spend together, since our Bloodbond a few days ago.
As Bjorn and I slide off the bed, I cuddle into his arms once more, kissing his chest. Bear growling, Bjorn cinches me tighter in his solid embrace, holding me close rather than let me dive into desperation right now.
“At least we can keep Baldur safe. Until we find a better solution for his curses,” Bjorn says, matter-of-fact as he glances down at me, serious. “Although he’s taking his time out in the Void, the rest of us are feeling more hale. That’s good enough for now, even though I wish we were doing far better.”
“I don’t have enough energy to shift yet,” I know as I search my inner dragons, then look up at him. “Do you?”
“No.” Bjorn shakes his head with a slight growl. “We’ve had a rough go these past few days. This ancient underground city has been kind to us, however—far better than anything I’d ever hoped. We have ample fresh water from the fountains, not to mention food from the city’s magical climate-control areas. Shelter from these rooms and warmth from these fireplaces, plus torches we can take with us as we explore. It’s enough.”
“These barriers are something only Storm Dragons generally have, except at the Crystal Plateau where my friend Dusk Arlohaim is King,” I note now as I gesture at the shimmering barriers all around us. “Climate-barriers are a lost art among our people, who use Bloodshields now only to cover windows, like up in your Magnussen lands, or create barriers to protect artifacts, like in Ström’s apartments at the Old Palace. When you and Lærke looked around, was there anything like these barriers acting as fortifications down here at all? Anything to protect us… if our enemies come calling while we recuperate?”
“They’re notmyMagnussen lands. Not anymore,” Bjorn says automatically, as I mention his homeland. A frown pinches his level golden brows as he evaluates our situation with me, like a good military commander. “But you’re right, Rikyava. Though we have our basic needs met here,this place is significantly lacking in military fortification or defenses. Other than the sigil-locked door we came in by, Lærke and I found nothing as we looked for shelter. No defense magic of any kind, and no caches of weapons, other than the battle-leathers stored in these vaults.” He nods at the shimmering barriers, and thesilberskraechests within.
