Rake My Lust (Dragons of Blood and Bone #3)

9. Gift

9

GIFT

B jorn’s father, Jarl Oggi Magnussen, seethes as Bjorn turns his back on him. But there’s nothing he can do now that we’ve passed our Trial and proved our Truth to this assembly of witnesses from the Magnussen Clan, not to mention our last-minute Eriksson supporters. As Bjorn ignores his father now, we come into a huddle on the ice with Jarl Jorg. Still in their dragon forms, the rest of our Eriksson protectors keep Jarl Oggi and his guards out of our discussion.

As Bjorn takes point, ready for what comes next.

“We need to speak with Captain Olander to get back all the ceremonial items we found in the underground altar at Unhaemmerten .” Bjorn regards us. “We need to see if any of it might help us wherever we’re going next to find the Black Dragon.”

“I don’t know where you’re headed eventually, but where you’re going first is back to the Old Palace, with us.” Jarl Jorg Eriksson steps forward now as he claps Bjorn’s shoulder, then nods to Strom and me. Turning, he hails Captain Olander Mortensen as if the Magnussen’s border-captain is known to him. “Captain Mortensen! Please escort us to the place you’ve stored the items from that altar beneath Unhaemmerten . My Jarl-Heir and his mates need those items to investigate the Black Dragon for our King. Then we’ll head to the border and be out of your scales. Dining at the Old Palace by sundown tonight.”

I see Captain Olander Mortensen hesitate, however, as he glances at his Jarl. He knows there’s going to be hell to pay if he does as this rival Jarl has asked, against the wishes of his own.

But though Jarl Oggi snarls as his dragon at Captain Olander to stay put, I see the Captain’s gaze flick to the elder drakaina up on her boulder throne. As I look, I see her nod; whoever she is, she’s given him permission to overstep their Jarl in this matter.

Captain Olander Mortensen comes to us now—joining us in the line of lean, menacing Eriksson dragons.

“Come.” Captain Olander nods to us. “Shift up and we’ll fly to the storage cache where the items from the altar were secured. Then I’ll escort you to the Eriksson border.”

“ Do this, and be banished from our clan, Captain .” Jarl Oggi’s voice is clear as a bell in my mind as he snarls, furious now, raking a talon across the ice.

“Do this, and find support from your Knights for it.” The old drakaina rises from her boulder throne. As she stands tall, seven others in the circle of thrones stand with her. Formidable Magnussens all, their power thunders through the small glacial valley, sending boulders crashing down to the lake from the steep mountains all around.

“ Traitors! ” Jarl Oggi’s snarl is more vicious than just about anything I’ve ever heard, as he roars at them.

“True.” The old drakaina is firm as she stares him down. “Remember who the real power is amongst our people, Jarl. And that we have one mission, and one mission, only—to stop the Black Demon, wherever it arises. Or have you forgotten our most ancient ways, my Jarl? And why the Magnussen bloodline was so specifically honed to breed only the strongest dragons over the ages?”

As she speaks, I realize this old drakaina and the seven standing with her are part of the Black Dragon Knights.

And that they know a far deeper tale of the Knights than any I’ve heard before.

As she looks at me now, the look she gives me could core diamonds. “You, young Bloodwalker. Go, with the blessing of Aesa, gifted to you alone among countless others who have pursued it over the ages. For she understands you are the one who can bring down this terror of the ancients—something we have long feared rising again in the world. You and I will speak anon, if fate wills it. If not, know that my name is Svanhild Magnussen. I am the Mouth of Aesa—she who is the Mother of the True Black Dragon Knights. Go, you and your mates, with your protectors. Know that Aesa is with you, forever close to your breast. Call upon her when you have need of her vast inner knowing. And she will help you… I am certain of it.”

As the old drakaina Svanhild speaks, I know we’ve gained an ally of enormous magnitude, in addition to Aesa’s strange and formidable gift. But it’s time to go; I don’t know if we’ll ever see Svanhild again, though I have a feeling Oggi Magnussen won’t be able to bring her down, even though he’d like to, as he snarls at her now.

But I understand that she’s somehow part of the original Black Dragon Knights, formed ages ago to defeat and kill the Black Dragon, rather than whatever else they became later. Placing a hand over my heart, I bow deeply to her, and feel the silver gem in my chest thrum.

She sets her hand on her chest also, giving me a deep nod back.

And then it’s time to shift as we launch up, flying away from the basin, our Trial of Truth finished. It feels incredible to take to the skies as my dragon with my drakes beside me now, free at last from all the trials and tribulations we’ve faced in these Magnussen lands over the past few days.

I don’t have any magic-restraining manacles on now, and Captain Olander has all our things in a fly-bag, so my talons are unhindered as I fly. I roar in triumph as I surge up into the clear mid-afternoon skies, and Bjorn and Strom echo me; all the Erikssons do, Jarl Jorg the loudest of all, despite his small frame.

As we wing high over the mountains and out of the Trial’s valley, I can’t help but glance back, however, seeing the swath of white ice and the blue hole of the lake below.

Something inside me hums now, as if some part of me is mournful to be leaving this place; with a snort, I touch a talon to my chest, feeling the silver stone embedded there whirl with power. Though that stone singes me like a burn, it also feels warm in the frigid high north day. I somehow know the ancient drakaina Aesa is with me now, alive inside that gem.

Mourning leaving her bones.

My dragon feels it, too, with our deepest instinctual knowing, though we try to puzzle out how Aesa’s essence is instilled in that stone and fail. The feeling of sadness vanishes now, though, as we pass the rim of the mountains and the lake-valley disappears from view. We’re flying onward, my drakes and I, supported by a powerful host as we get a royal escort back to the Magnussen border.

No thanks to Jarl Oggi—and all the ways he tried to kill us.

It leaves my mind now, however, as we fly over mountain range after mountain range. I’d had trouble breathing when we first flew up to these austere heights; now, I just feel invigorated, as I roar to the skies, feeling the glory of the high north day all around me.

Sunlight sparkles off the glaciers; the wind is fresh and cold, and something inside me has been renewed by whatever healing took place with Bjorn, Strom, and me after we passed Aesa’s Trial. I feel brand-new, ready to take on anything as I barrel roll and dive now, playing on the wind as we fly.

Bjorn and Strom join me, the three of us braiding into celebratory knot-work as we cavort and glorify in being together.

All of us, alive to enjoy our love another day.

I don’t know how long we’ve flown, but as snowy fields thawing to spring appear below, plus tenacious, wind-stunted evergreen forests, I know we’re nearly back. Close to Eriksson lands now, we wing down hard, towards a stalwart watchtower upon the last range of mountains that mark the border between Magnussen and Eriksson territory.

As we land with our retinue upon the topmost landing plaza of that watchtower, Magnussen guards in dragon form seethe up all around to waylay us. But they see their Border Captain, and at his roar, they stand down.

Merely settling to the plaza at attention, as everyone shifts down.

We all take a moment to dress now, as Captain Olander moves forward, giving us the fly-bag with all our things. Our gear from the Old Palace has been saved from when we were captured by the Jarl; it feels good to be dressed in comfortable black tactical wear again, rather than the battle-leathers I needed to show myself in when we were in the Magnussen court.

As I haul on a modern black sweater and thick leggings, buckling up badass black boots and zipping up a black down hoodie, I feel like myself again. I make certain King Huttr’s Blood Seal is in the zipper pocket of my hoodie; then I give Captain Olander a nod of thanks for protecting it.

He gives me a sober nod back, aware of the vast service he did for me.

“This way. I had my men store all your things from the altar down in our safe-vaults.” Captain Olander gestures for us to follow him, though the Eriksson retinue remains on the landing platform.

“We’ll be here, waiting for you.” Jarl Jorg Eriksson gives his great-grandson an eyebrow lift. “Just in case Oggi tries any additional shenanigans.”

We nod, Strom moving in to give his great-grandfather a solemn kiss on the hand, and then we’re following Captain Olander as he trots down a corkscrewing stairwell, blocked by a solid door of iron pine at the bottom.

We enter the watchtower fortress, and I find it’s even more bleak than the Magnussen Jarl’s palace was. Though everything is made of that same white granite, the stone luminous beneath the torches that burn in black iron brackets all around, the watchtower has no comfort to it.

Even more barren than the palace was, there’s no ornamentation of any kind, save for the wrought-iron sconces on the walls that hold the torches. Lookout slits slash the fortress at intervals, not made of glass but covered by magical barriers that keep the cold out, to some extent.

Still, the place is chill and drafty, forbidding in its austerity. I know now that Magnussens are not frivolous creatures, as we take a long hallway, then another, burrowing deep into the side of the mountain.

At last, we come to a massive iron pine door that has the most ornate ironwork I’ve seen yet. It’s an enormous lock, complicated in the extreme, as Captain Olander waves a hand over it now, giving it a series of expert touches with his magic. As a number of complex sigil-wards flare blood-red then white, the entire grid unlocks, seven massive locks chunking back inside the door. And then the door’s swinging open.

As Captain Mortensen hauls it wide, ushering us all in.

The space beyond is a small, circular cell. Buried deep in the mountains, I have a feeling this is one of the most well-protected spaces the captain could access, this near to Seerselen.

All the items from the altar are here, piled on a low wooden table in the center of the space. My mind is a steel trap; I peruse them, noting none of them have been harmed or tampered with in any way.

As Captain Mortensen hands us a silver silk fly-bag, nodding to the table.

“Load it up. None of it had any magical signature as I got it out of Unhaemmerten , so I imagine you’ll be safe flying with it,” he says as he glances at Bjorn. “You need to be fast, though. The Jarl knows I brought these items here. I expect him to send a retinue of guards to waylay us just as soon as he can get free of your witnesses at the Trial’s basin.”

“Even with the Eriksson Jarl protecting us, my father can’t just let me fly away unharmed.” Bjorn snorts now, as he, Strom, and I load things into the bag.

“You know your father.” Captain Olander gives Bjorn a wry smile. “He can’t stand that you showed him up—twice now. He always needs to be the alpha, even if he doesn’t provide for his people like one. It makes me miss the days your mother was still here, to smooth out his temper and quietly rule the clan beneath him. She is sorely missed.”

“By all of us,” Bjorn says shortly, though his quick smile is grateful to his friend. As everything from Unhaemmerten makes it into the bag, Bjorn cinching it up with a quick jerk, we’re ready. Turning to his friend, Bjorn claps Captain Olander Mortensen on the shoulder.

And the captain clasps his shoulder back.

“Get out of clan lands, Olle,” Bjorn says with gravitas now, as he stares his friend down. “My father’s going to come after you. I don’t care what Svanhild says. She can protect you from him, but not in Magnussen territory. Get out of here… just as soon as we do.”

“I will.” Captain Olander is stalwart as he smiles sadly at Bjorn. “My family is all dead; I’m not life-mated. I will go where the winds blow me and live to fight another day.”

“You could come to the Old Palace. We’d have a place for a good fighter like you there,” Strom says at once, as he nods at Captain Olander. “You did us an immense solid, disobeying your Jarl for us. My great-grandfather knows it.”

“I don’t want to bring more trouble to you and your Jarl.” Captain Olander smiles with sadness now as he shakes his head.

“Go to Stockholm,” I say, then. “As soon as we get to the Old Palace, I’ll borrow a phone and call my uncle, the King, and tell him a Captain of the highest caliber is coming to join the Kingsguard. One who saved my ass, Strom’s, and Bjorn’s. Personally.”

“Thank you, Hog Skjaldm?r.” Captain Olander puts his fist to his heart, as his hazel eyes shine.

But then it’s time to get going, as the captain hustles us out of the vault and up the way we came. We’re soon through the fortress, out the door and back up top at the flying plaza.

Even as we get there, however, a sharp whistle from one of Jarl Jorg’s lookouts means we’ve got company. Trouble, as I shade my eyes and see a cadre of over a hundred Magnussen dragons on our tail.

“Time to fly.” I give Captain Olander one last nod of thanks before I’m shifting up, stuffing my clothing with my Blood Seal into the fly-bag. Bjorn and Strom do the same, as the Erikssons and Jarl Jorg all shift up too, ready to fight. I have the silver silk fly-bag with the altar’s items and my Blood Seal gripped in my talons; Bjorn, Strom, and I fly hard now towards the cleft between the two towering peaks nearby.

Flying like banshees to get into Eriksson lands before the Magnussens can reach us.

The Erikssons and Jarl Jorg defend us as we fly hard into those peaks. The Magnussens are fast; they’re only half a league behind us as we crest over the lip of the pass and begin streaking down the other side.

But we’ve made it into Eriksson lands; with a trumpeting roar, Strom signals our victory as his Jarl and our defense cordon surge down into the valley with us. Nothing but shimmering green lays before us; the snow here on the coastal side of the mountains melted. It’s glorious, as Strom, Bjorn, and I all whirl, looking back with the Eriksson retinue.

The massive force of Magnussen dragons whirl on the winds, pacing that high ridgeline—unable to touch us.

I can only hope that Captain Olander got out of the fortress in time to save his ass and fly elsewhere. I have no doubt Bjorn’s father would be just as vicious to Bjorn’s friend as he was to his own son; as we turn now, heading down into green Eriksson lands, I catch a feeling of deep sadness from Bjorn.

Because yet again, he’s being chased out of his home, unwelcome to return. I make a promise to myself then; to help Bjorn return to his own lands someday.

A hero, rather than a criminal.

But we’re free, alive, and we’ve made it with everything from the altar secured in my taloned fist; the deepest feeling of ease passes between our trio now as we leave Bjorn’s home behind, racing down into the beautiful coastal Eriksson country.

Everything below us gets greener and greener as we fly. I had no idea spring had advanced so much here, in such a short time. It feels like ages since we left the Old Palace, as we wing down over the sprawling city on the cliffs, bordered by the ocean crashing far below.

We’ve flown the day away, and it’s evening now, the sun sinking low over the western horizon as we wing down in tight circles to the topmost landing plaza at the palace. I hear Strom’s deep snort of relief as we all touch down.

And then everyone is shifting, returning to human as grateful laughs consume us.

“Well, younglings! Such excitement as I have not had in a dozen years! I suppose I must thank you for that.” Jarl Jorg Eriksson laughs now as he comes to us, flanked by two of his strongest warriors, as his green eyes twinkle in the setting sunlight.

“Grandfather. I am so sorry—” Strom moves to his Jarl, but the old man only laughs.

“Save it, Strom.” Jarl Jorg chuckles as he lifts a hand, stopping his great-grandson. “You did what you needed to, to follow the trail of this hunt you are on. A most dire thing… but we shall speak of that soon. Come! You three shall dine with me tonight, and the family. Go get dressed, have a quick rest, and clean up. Stash your arcane items in Strom’s rooms; they’re some of the most magically protected in the entire palace, and will do until we can find a better, safer home for them. You three need rest after all the excitement you’ve been through. And before you ask, Strom, yes, I sent a sizable relief crew to Jurggadden to help the emergency there. Maryse was a good friend; what happened to her, her drakes, and their home is despicable. But we shall speak of all that soon, as well. Go get cleaned up. We shall dine family-style tonight! With all the main Eriksson family in attendance, I think.”

As Jarl Jorg claps his great-grandson on the shoulder, he barks a jubilant laugh, then departs. Though Strom’s green eyes shine as his beloved grandfather goes, I also see Strom fret now as he runs a hand through his wind-mussed tawny hair, rucking it up even more, if possible.

“All the main Eriksson family?” I smile, lifting an eyebrow at him. “Does this mean I get to see Mathilde… and finally meet all the rest of your sisters and such?”

“Fuck.” Strom’s grin says it all as he turns to me, his green eyes shining very much like his great-grandfather. “Grandfather would screw me like that.”

“What do you mean? Don’t you want to see your family after just escaping death?” Bjorn asks now, a deep frown on his features as he cocks his head at Strom. I understand what Bjorn’s feeling; his family is all gone except for his horrible father, and mine are, too, except for my royal uncle and cousins.

Strom has a ginormous family, his Eriksson clan blessed with numerous younglings over the years. Though they’ve lost many in battle, they remain a powerful clan not just because of their indomitable, no-fucks spirit, but also because like rabbits, there are just so darn many of them.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love my family.” Strom chuckles now as he regards us, watching his Jarl’s guards shift down and give us farewell nods before heading into the palace. “But grandfather knows my sisters, aunties, and uncles are going to give me an earful that I’ve taken a life-mate—something they’ve been after me to do for years. And it’s not somebody they got to approve of… Erikssons get pissy when they don’t get a chance to meet a potential life-mate before the bonding. They’re going to give me hell because of it.”

As my eyebrows lift and Bjorn snorts, which is practically a chuckle for him, I get it. We’re all going to get hell tonight from Strom’s big family. Because Strom isn’t just Bloodbound to me, but to Bjorn, as well.

All of us life-mates—and Strom’s family didn’t get a say in any of it.

“Come on.” Strom grins as he shakes his head. Opening his hand, he indicates for us to head inside from the landing tower. “Let’s get these things up to my rooms, then we’ll head down to dinner. And face our worst challenge yet: the torture of being grilled by my most loving family. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

As he laughs, ushering us inside, even Bjorn can’t help but grin. I’m in the best mood ever, as I sail inside buck-ass nude and beaming. We got out of Magnussen lands, we’ve got what we went there for, inside that altar, and now I get to meet my Second Drake’s family, which I’ve been dying to do.

And we finally get a moment to rest, together.

Which is the best gift of all.