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

10. Family

10

FAMILY

O ne hour later, Strom, Bjorn, and I are clean, rested, and ready for dinner with the Eriksson clan. As we take the corkscrewing stone stairs down from Strom’s tower rooms at the Old Palace, I feel happier than I have in ages. Dressed in chic clothing fit for dinner with a Jarl and his family, we’re looking good, we’re in even better spirits, and we’re feeling like a million bucks after having escaped death so many times today.

Because even though we got little recovery time from all the craziness, it’s as if the strange blessing Aesa gave us thrills all through us now. I glance down at the silver stone, just visible above my cleavage in my tight little plum dress with its wealth of black lace, to see it swirl with slow, golden runes, flickering in the stairwell’s light.

I’m not wearing a necklace tonight, only braided gold and silver hoop earrings to match my new adornment. Though I have something stuck permanently to my chest, embedded in my breastbone beneath the skin, it’s not uncomfortable.

It’s actually kinda cool, as I touch it for the umpteenth time in the past few hours. I feel a thrill pass through me now, as I get the sensation of a strong dragon-matron standing behind me.

It’s as if Aesa herself gazes down at her Truthstone over my shoulder, her warm breath on my chest as we both regard it. Whatever this blessing is, my deepest dragon instinct tells me it’s a good thing, as I feel Strom’s attention on me now and I glance over.

His frown is thoughtful, but not displeased, as he watches me. We’ve hit the landing of the stairwell; as we move through an ornately carved hallway of the Old Palace and past several beautifully decorated state rooms, I feel how my Second Drake is just as curious about this object as I am. Bjorn is more wary, however; he scowls hard now as I touch it again.

He reaches out, taking my hand, as if to stop me from exploring it.

“Don’t draw attention to it, Yava,” he murmurs as we stride down the hall, on our way to the family dining solar to have dinner with Jarl Eriksson. We’re in a family-only wing of the palace, and see just a few guards and palace servants going about their duties here, the traffic sparse.

“No one’s going to jump out and strike me down because of this gem, Bjorn. Especially not here,” I say. Strom turns us down another hall and we move down a short flight of stairs, then up another. Even the family wing of the Old Palace is a confusing warren of multiple eons.

“We’re in a safe place here, Bjorn.” Strom glances at my First Drake now with an amused grin. “This palace isn’t like your forbidding home up north. My family is very close-knit and all our personnel are like family, as well. No one’s going to accost us here or get a dagger in our flanks from the shadows.”

Bjorn only scowls more, however, at Strom’s comparison of his beautiful, palatial hodgepodge of a home to Bjorn’s. I can only imagine what it must have been like for Bjorn, being raised at the forbidding Jarl’s palace so far up in ice-cold Magnussen lands; it wasn’t a friendly place, by any means.

Strom’s upbringing seems like that of a pampered prince now, by comparison. The contrast becomes even more apparent as we make it to the family dining hall where dinner is being held tonight.

All the central family of the Eriksson clan who could make it on such short notice have; the small but ornate dining hall is packed with over forty individuals as we enter, turning heads and interrupting the family pre-dinner mingle.

Lofty and lit bright by crystal chandeliers that shine far above with white-gold, sorcerous light, the beautifully carved white stone and silberskrae wood of the columns and gables has a strong yet whimsical character. Every scene here is of dragons enjoying pastoral leisure with large, joyous families; the nature of Strom’s aunts, uncles, and sisters is no less buoyant as we enter the hall.

Rounds of chuckles assail us, plus cheering and wolf whistles. A gaggle of beautiful women with bright green eyes swarm Strom, hugging him.

I notice Mathilde in the group and know these are Strom’s elder and younger sisters as the eight jaw-droppingly beautiful women accost him. He laughs; giving hugs to everyone, Strom rakes his sisters in as everyone kisses cheeks.

Strom is an adoring brother to them; something inside me soars now to see him with his family, making my heart luminous. The only brother of the lot, ever since his elder brother died at the Battle of Riksfold where my parents were killed, it’s apparent Strom is beloved to his family not just because he’s the second boy child, but because of his effortless, kind nature.

Strom’s parents are both living, but as they are foreign ambassadors for King Huttr and often gone on missions, they aren’t present tonight. I know they travel often, ensuring positive relations with other dragon Lineages all around the world, not to mention a few other pockets of Blood Dragons who don’t live in Scandinavia.

His grandfather is dead from battle, but his grandmother survives; coming to him now, the regal drakaina in a long 1950s emerald ballgown with swept-back silver hair kisses Strom on both cheeks as he bends to kiss her hand. Aunties and uncles of his family step in to kiss his cheeks or shake his hand now, dressed in elegant attire from the past few centuries. Everyone beams at me, knowing who I am, though they only nod soberly at Bjorn.

All of them knowing precisely who Bjorn is, as well.

Relations between the Magnussens and Erikssons have always been cool at best. Uneasy neighbors, both clans are some of the strongest in all of Blood Dragondom, and have only gotten along in the past few centuries since our Lineage has modernized.

Both clans support the King, however; a number of Erikssons nod to Bjorn, honoring him as Jarl Oggi’s only living son, though I doubt they know the deeper story of the tensions that exist between father and son.

As Jarl Jorg Eriksson steps forward now, parting the throng of this massive family, all birthed from his loins, Strom sinks to one knee. With a fond smile, Jarl Jorg places his hand on Strom’s head, ruffling his hair.

Then slaps his shoulder to rise—no one standing on ceremony here.

“Time to eat! Let’s get to the table,” Jarl Jorg says as he nods to an enormous dining table in the lofty hall, which I can just see through the gathered throng. With laughter and conversation, everyone heads over and takes seats, as if they all know precisely where they sit whenever the Jarl summons the family to dine.

My mates and I are at the head of the table right beside Jarl Jorg; it’s not coincidence, as Strom settles at the vacant seat on the Jarl’s right, which is probably always his, while Bjorn and I take the two remaining empty seats on the Jarl’s left.

“Right! Let’s get to it.” Jarl Jorg claps his strong, gnarled hands now as he reaches out to a towering silver vat of Swedish meatballs, heaping a huge amount on his plate. At his cue, everyone reaches out to the ample dishes that cover the large iron pine table. There is no politeness here as everyone takes what they want and passes dishes around, calling down the table for something that’s not nearby.

Eating family style, as a cacophony of laughter is heard all around .

It makes me happy, as I heap my plate with food from the delicious dishes. Though the items on the table are fit for a king, the Jarl and his family aren’t pretentious.

I see now where Strom gets all his cheeky, impudent ways, as siblings and uncles tease each other with a finger of mashed potatoes to a nose, or a pat of butter hidden on a neighbor’s seat. It’s all laughter and fun; though some here are dressed regally like Strom’s grandmother, most wear only modern, casual suits and spring dresses to have dinner with the family.

It makes me feel overdressed in my chic cocktail dress and black lace heels; Bjorn is even more so, wearing a dark navy suit tonight with a black tie, his short golden beard neatly trimmed and his massive waves of golden hair corralled up into a neat man bun.

Strom apparently knew the occasion better than we did; wearing a charcoal blue suit jacket and jeans, a fitted black turtleneck shirt on beneath, his only decoration tonight is a lovely gold Rolex at his wrist and an ornate silver and gold dragon-ring with a sparkling emerald in it.

A perfect match to his eyes.

“So, Rikyava! Tell us how you and Strom met.” The Jarl turns to me now as he eats, roguishness sparkling in his green eyes as he peers at me.

I know we’re in for it now, as Strom finishes a bite of roast boar and levels his fork at his great-grandfather. “You know how we met, grandfather. I’ve told you that story a dozen times.”

“Yes, but has the entire family heard it?” Jarl Jorg’s clever eyes glitter at his great-grandson as he takes a bite of mashed potatoes with lingonberry sauce.

“I want to hear it!” Mathilde’s voice cuts through the general din as she calls down the table now, bright and full of mischief. Her blue eyes twinkle as she leans in to see me around all the aunties, giving me a wink. “I officially got to meet Rikyava first, and she’s awesome.”

“You were not supposed to be serving at that restaurant that night, and you know it, Tilde.” Strom laughs now as he takes a bite of pickled herring, grinning .

“Hey, I quit that job.” She waves her fork at him. “The manager was an asshole, anyway. Now I work at a bar. Father can suck it.”

Strom laughs, and his great-grandfather only chuckles as he eats. “The tempest will do as she will,” the Jarl says with affection as he winks down the table at Mathilde. “My grandson Andreas tries too hard to contain the storm of passion that lives in those veins. But Rikyava—let us hear the story of how you and Strom met.”

“Well, we were both in the Kingsguard at the time. This would be about… forty years ago? I had just transferred in from the Blood Dragon Military and been assigned as a Lieutenant in the Palace Investigations Division.” I recall it, though I glance at Bjorn, because this isn’t a story he knows yet. I wonder if it’ll make him jealous, but Bjorn only watches me with a kind of candid curiosity now as he takes a forkful of kroppkakor dumplings.

Wanting to hear this story as much as everyone else.

“What does the Palace Investigations Division do?” Mathilde calls down the table again, the youngest member of the family and probably not much acquainted with the Grand Palace in Stockholm.

“They investigate magical crimes in the palace and upon palace personnel, also in the greater King’s City of Stockholm,” I say, filling her in. “We’re like magical detectives for the King, throughout the palace and the city.”

“Cool.” Mathilde takes a bite of food, rapt as she listens.

“Rikyava and I had just been assigned to the same unit.” Strom picks up the tale now as he glances at me from across the table. “I was already a Lieutenant, but she had just made the rank; her magic and mine both had an affinity for magical sleuthing, so the Sergeant made us partners.”

“Our first case together was a cursed object that had shown up at the palace.” I nod, taking a bite of meatballs and thinking back. “It had stricken six palace cooks and five dishwashers with a three-day blindness; we discovered it was a silver spoon that someone had found and started tasting the soups with. We traced its origin and found it came from a little- used vault of extra silver cookware that no one had used in centuries. Strom and I investigated the vault, and found, what? Thirteen cursed pieces of silverware? Quite a lot… probably intended to harm someone at the time those items were still in use centuries ago.”

“See no evil.” Jarl Jorg nods as he listens. “It was a popular tactic, maybe five hundred years ago, to curse cooks with temporary blindness so they wouldn’t see poison being dumped into a dish.”

“We cleared them all out and tested the rest of the silver items in that storage cache for curses. Everything else was clean.” Strom smiles at me. Though the hot glimmer in his eyes says far more about what we discovered back then.

And have been discovering about each other, ever since.

“Boooooring!” Mathilde calls down the table now as she boos at us. Several uncles laugh, someone shouting, “Tell us the real tale!” as Strom’s family all grins.

As I raise an eyebrow, Strom gives me a subtle grin, too. I’m suddenly fretting, though, as I debate how much to say in front of Strom’s copious family.

But he doesn’t care—diving right in.

“I was dumbstruck the moment I first saw Rikyava.” Strom regards me from across the table, a haunting but incredible smile on his lips as he watches me. “You must recall, she was the King’s niece; I was a nobody back then, not even Jarl-Heir yet, since grandfather was still alive, after my brother died. But there I was, just shucking my Kingsguard uniform down in the guard hall after a long day of drills and sparring. I was about to step into the hot pools and have a good soak, when in strides the King’s niece, bold as fuck with six buckles of her Kingsguard leathers already undone. She eyeballs me—I’m totally naked, by the way, with a towel around my neck—then she shucks her own jerkin, undershirt, boots, and pants, sticking out her hand. So I’m nude, she’s naked too, now, and I’m just staring at her in complete disarray as everything inside me goes haywire from this impossibly gorgeous noble drakaina just striding right up to me and getting buck-ass naked. Then offering to shake my hand.”

“Hey, I felt it was unfair for our first introduction to happen when you were naked and I wasn’t.” A blush hits my cheeks as I take a deep swig of mead. “I wanted us to meet as equals.”

“I appreciate that.” Strom laughs as he lifts his own tankard at me. “It completely fried my circuits, though. And gave me a raging erection to boot. Somewhat embarrassing, when we were about to become partners, but didn’t know each other yet.”

“I stand by my decision,” I say as the table erupts into laughter, making my face redden more. “I didn’t want you to see me as someone above you, or untouchable, as the King’s niece and Hog Skjaldm?r for our Lineage.”

“Oh, I got to see everything of who you were,” Strom says with a disastrously hot chuckle now as his green eyes devour me. “And as for touchable… yes, please.”

“You get to touch her now, ha! Good thing you two are life-mates, or our King might kick your ass!” A laughing baritone voice calls from down the table. I see it’s one of Strom’s uncles. A larger man than most, with a jolly face and flyaway tawny hair, he lifts a tankard of mead. “Good on you, Strom, for locking up the King’s niece!”

“No one’s locked up anything. Rikyava is a strong drakaina, and makes her own decisions, regardless of being the King’s niece.” Bjorn gives a sudden growl, pinning the man with his formidable golden gaze. Even as the uncle holds his hands up in surrender, his eyebrows rising at Bjorn’s icy comment, Strom also pins the man with a glittering green gaze.

Not amused.

“Rikyava is a powerhouse of a drakaina, Uncle Nils. You shouldn’t fuck with her, or underestimate her.” Strom’s comment is sober as he regards his uncle.

Vibrating with power as he defends me.

“A Bloodwalker, like the ancients,” Jarl Jorg says now as he stares me down, wise and thoughtful. He sips his mead. “None should underestimate her or the things she may do. But there is a price for such power. Or am I wrong you will need to bond far more drakes than just my Jarl-Heir and the once-Heir to the Magnussen Jarldom, before your magic is satisfied? Before it is fully balanced, and can make itself a true power in the world… bringing down the Black Dragon you hunt, the fell-beast of the ancients?”

As Jarl Jorg Eriksson gets to it, why he’s called Strom, Bjorn, and I into this family dinner tonight, the entire table quiets. I see the deeply thoughtful, intense side of the Erikssons now as they all listen with rapt attention to the change in conversation.

And wait with bated breath to hear what I have to say next.