Page 11 of Heart of Chaos (Chaosborn #1)

Chapter eleven

Arik

Baldur’s jaws clamped around the throat of the final garmr, its yelp of pain quickly silenced as black, viscous blood splattered the snow below.

He spat, blood and ash coating his tongue as he tried to rid himself of the vile taste of whatever noxious evil made up all of the odemarksdyr.

I think that’s all of them, he commented, sniffing the cold air. It was hard to smell anything other than the bodies of the dead garmr littering the snow before us, their wickedly sharp obsidian claws rendered harmless in death.

Good.

Without needing the command, Baldur opened his jaws and roared. White hot flame erupted from him, heat barreling through us as he seared the corpses of the garmr until they were nothing but black ash.

I felt him wince as the flames sputtered out, his shoulder giving a sharp, slicing bolt of agony.

Can you fly ? I asked, trying to sense the extent of our injury.

He shifted, extending one of his membranous wings and making both of us hiss in pain. He craned his neck so we could inspect the injury—a deep, blackened gash where his shoulder met his back, its edges blackened by the poison in the garmr’s claws.

I knew it was one of several injuries that would take some time to heal. Most of the odemarksdyr left traces of whatever dark power formed them in the wounds they caused. A dragon’s Chaos magic could heal it completely, but it took more time than a normal wound untainted by the evil of the creatures that first entered our world through the Rift.

It’s not far. I’ll manage, he replied as he launched into the sky and back toward Ironholm.

Baldur’s form shuddered as we passed into the mountain, his power reaching out to release the door that led to the aerie nearest to my rooms. It looked like the normal rock of the mountain, but it swung wide to allow us to pass before closing again behind us with a loud metallic clang. There were about five such doors around the lower levels of the mountain, each warded by some old magic against the odemarksdyr and used by the white and larger gold dragons who couldn’t exit through the smokestack.

Baldur landed heavily in the stone chamber, his claws digging deep grooves into the floor as we skidded to a stop, blood dripping from his wounds the whole way.

As if that action took all of what was left of his strength, we shifted, wings and tail folding back into my human form.

“Fucking garmr,” I groaned, pushing myself up and grabbing one of the nearby furs to cover myself in case one of the other reirleders came to use the exit.

I winced, a particularly deep gash in my shoulder dripping blood and black ichor on the stone ground.

I took inventory of my injuries. The shoulder seemed to be the worst—I’d likely need to stitch it closed, since all of Baldur’s magic would be focused on nullifying the poison. A shallower gash across my chest burned, but was already beginning to knit itself closed, and several other bites and cuts were painful, but mostly superficial.

Thank the gods you have a particularly thick hide, I commented, wincing as I rolled the injured shoulder and made my way through the aerie to my chambers.

You were distracted , Baldur chided as I fumbled with the lock and pushed into my own room. Reirleders were given the largest accommodations, and as the highest ranking next to Einar, I’d had my pick of dwellings when I bonded Baldur. I’d chosen this one for its distance from the general noise of the fortress and other accommodations, and for the natural hot spring that served as a bath.

The perks didn’t really make up for having to serve under Einar, but they softened the blow.

What did you expect? I hissed as blood dripped steadily on the stone floor behind me.

Einar won’t have to try very hard to kill you if you let him rile you up so easily.

He didn’t manage it today, I pointed out, gritting my teeth as I lowered myself into the bubbling pool with my good arm. Sending me out to face the pack of garmr alone had been Einar’s way to remind me of my place. And perhaps get me killed and out of his way. I hissed in pain as the hot water hit my wounds, then sighed as it began to chase away some of the stinging agony of the garmr’s claw marks.

Not for lack of trying. Baldur sounded as exhausted as I felt, his energy wholly focused on healing our wounds.

Rest, I commanded. I won’t need you again tonight, and I’ll try not to let anything else attack me.

That would be ideal, Baldur rumbled with a yawn. I mirrored the movement, letting my head drop back onto one of the rocks.

All I wanted was to wash away the blood of battle, then pass out for the next several days. I’d barely slept, a combination of guilt and frustration over the situation with Eisa keeping me up far later than advisable, and fighting off two dozen garmr alone had not improved my temperament.

A knock at the interior door to our cavern made me groan.

“Fuck off,” I shouted at whoever had come looking for me. Likely Revna. Only my reirhold and Einar knew where my private chambers were, and Einar never deigned to venture this far below the mountain.

“So you’re alive, then?” Revna said, pushing through the door as if I hadn’t locked it to keep people out. She had a key, of course, but it was the principle of the thing. “Thought I’d check in case I had to scrape your remains from the Odemark.”

“No scraping today,” I confirmed, not bothering to look up from where I rested my head. “Did Jorgen report in?” It had been hours since I’d left to deal with the garmr, and I’d been worried the whole time that Einar might have returned to torture Eisa in some way.

I’d also lost a whole afternoon with her. Not that there was a lot I could do. What happened at the Rifting would depend on Eisa’s own mental fortitude. But she should know what to expect at least. Now I’d have to spend every moment of the next few days getting her as ready as I could.

Unless Einar had other plans for me.

“Eisa’s fine,” Revna confirmed, perching on the edge of the pool. She looked as exhausted as I felt, but I didn’t trust any other reirhold to fly the perimeter of the Rift when it was this volatile. The increasing Chaos made the odemarksdyr bolder. “Or she was when she left training. Another nosebleed, but Jorgen got her cleaned up.”

I pushed down the stab of jealousy at her ease with Jorgen and Revna, wondering what I had to do to earn that trust.

Why is she bleeding so frequently? I asked.

The Chaos is difficult to weather for one so sensitive. It may stop when she bonds .

Can she even survive the Rifting?

You won’t let anything happen to her, Baldur reminded me, as if this were a foregone conclusion. It will all be as the Norns foresee.

Fucking fates. I rolled my eyes, catching Revna’s frown.

“You look like shit, by the way,” she drawled. “What did you do to piss Einar off this time?”

“He saw me with Eisa.” I tried and failed to shrug, my shoulder too sore and stiff to make the movement. “Didn’t like how close I was getting.”

Revna rolled her eyes. “Of course. She knows, by the way. About Baldur.”

“I figured that out this morning when she elbowed me in the liver. Thanks for that.”

“You should have told her sooner,” Revna shrugged. “The girl isn’t an idiot. She figured it out.”

“With help, I’m certain.”

Revna raised her hands in surrender. “Blame Jorgen, not me. He was the one who started flirting with her.”

“Fucking Jorgen.” It took a great deal of willpower to stay in the pool and restrain myself from finding Jorgen and wringing his fucking neck.

Now who’s possessive? Baldur drawled with a jaw-cracking yawn that made me wince. I knew you’d like her.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Arik?” Revna, unaware of my internal desire to splatter our friend against the walls of my cavern, looked down at my wound, which continued to weep blood and blackness onto the stone. “If you die—“

“I don’t plan on dying,” I snapped, temper frayed to the breaking point. “If you have nothing constructive to offer, you can leave.”

“Fine,” Revna sighed, standing and stretching behind me. “You know, you’re a real ass when you’re injured.”

“So I’m guessing you won’t sew these up for me?” I tried to gesture to the bleeding wounds and hissed in pain when the movement tugged on them.

She gave me a withering glower. “You’ll manage. Take a nap. And apologize to Eisa.”

“Yes, mother.”

She flipped me off as she left, Baldur chuckling in my head as the door snicked shut behind her.

I groaned, shifting in the water as my shoulder throbbed. Stitching it would be an absolute pain, but it wasn’t worth wasting the time trying to find someone else to do it.

The sound of the door opening again surprised me, but I didn’t bother to lift my head.

“Back to scold me some more, Rev?”

The door slammed, the lock clicking into place.

“Something like that.”

I sat up, hot water sluicing down my body and making me wince in pain as I turned to see Eisa glaring at me, her back against the wooden door as if it might steady her rage.

“Fucking hells,” I hissed, slapping my hand over my injured shoulder to stem the flow of blood and black ichor that spilled out from my rapid movement.

“You’re bleeding.” Eisa’s voice was flat, as if her rage were a layer of ice rather than the fire of the dragon who would bond her soon. She was only like this with me—cold and careful and unwilling to risk saying something that might set me off.

I’d have to work to change that.

“The irony of you pointing that out to me doesn’t escape me,“ I replied.

Her cheeks flushed pink as she turned around to face the door. A feral part of me wondered what else could make her go that color.

“Gods, why are you always naked?”

I huffed a laugh and wrapped a towel around my waist as I stepped from the pool, blood and ichor seeping slowly down my back and staining the white cloth red and black. “You’re exceptionally lucky.”

She turned, cheeks still tinged pink as she took in my chest. I knew it was laced with scars from battles with both the odemarksdyr and my father, and I raised a brow as her gaze caught on the edge of the blackened wound over my shoulder.

“I wouldn’t call it luck,” she replied coldly.

I sighed, moving toward the table next to my huge, platform bed where I kept needle and thread and salve for my more severe injuries. “Can you sew?”

“What?” Her booted feet stomped behind me as she followed. Either I’d caught her off guard, or her curiosity got the better of her anger with me.

Anger which was admittedly well-deserved.

“This needs stitching,” I explained, gesturing to my shoulder and wincing with the movement as I rummaged for my supplies. I placed them on the table, picking up the needle and holding it out to her. “And you seem angry. You can’t scold me if I bleed to death first.”

She snatched the needle from me as I perched on the nearest edge of the bed. She eyed the furs and pillows with distrust as if the bed might bite, then settled gingerly behind me as I turned my back to her. Cool fingers pressed into the edge of the wound, and I tried not to hiss in pain. “Why is it black?”

“Garmr claws. Hellhounds. Most of the odemarksdyr have poison in their claws and teeth. I let this one cut too deep.”

“The wounds stay when you shift?”

I nodded, wincing as the sharp point of the needle entered my flesh.

“Serves you right,” she murmured. The huff of her breath against the shaved side of my scalp was warm, and it sent shivers down my spine. “So you weren’t going to tell me about Baldur’s mate?”

I stiffened, considering how to respond. Truth felt like the best option at this point, and telling her more truth couldn’t possibly make anything worse than it already was. “No.”

The point of the needle stilled in my flesh. “Why?”

“Telling you would have been pointless,” I replied matter-of-factly. “If you’re truly destined to bond with Baldur’s mate, there’s nothing you can do about it. If you’re meant for some other dragon, then there’s nothing Baldur can do about it.”

The needle moved, poking sharply, and I winced as Eisa channeled her anger into her work. Good. I probably deserved the pain.

“I could refuse. Revna says I have a choice.”

“You could,” I shrugged, immediately regretting the motion as it tugged on the open wound. “But Baldur is certain you won’t refuse.”

“So you were just assuming I would bond with Baldur’s mate and then what?” she accused as she resumed stitching. “Hope I was fine with it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” She stabbed the needle into my flesh and tugged hard on the thread. “I deserve the truth. I deserve to know what’s at stake here. You speak of destiny, but you told me I had a choice.”

She’s not wrong , Baldur rumbled.

I ignored the meddling lizard.

“You do have a choice,“ I sighed. “In the Rifting. Einar–the Dragehersker–wants you to bond his dragon’s mate.” I grunted as she stabbed again at my shoulder, breathing through the pain. “Likely why he sent me to face the garmr alone. If I die, then Baldur’s mate is no longer a threat, and Einar can push you toward Ragnar’s mate.”

“Ragnar is Einar’s dragon?”

“Yes.”

“And what’s Baldur’s mate called? It would be a lot easier to talk about her if I knew her name.”

“I don’t know her name,” I said with a grunt. “Dragons reveal them only to their bonded human. Even Baldur doesn’t know the name his mate will give you.”

“I see.” She was silent as she continued stitching, and I felt every nerve stand on end awaiting the eruption of her anger. “These are my choices? The man who lied to me, or the one who clearly wants you dead?”

Not even a real choice if you ask me, Baldur snorted imperiously.

“You could refuse a bond,” I said. “Send both dragons back into the Rift. Then you’ll spend ten years slaving away in the kitchens before we do this all over again. Is that what you want?”

“What I want is to make my own choices,“ she finally said, her tone cold and final. “So you can tell your Dragehersker that he won’t be getting into my bed any more than you will.”

“You think that’s what this is about?” I asked, catching her wrist in my hand and stilling the needle. “Bedding you?”

Eisa flushed pink as she tried to pull her wrist from my grasp. “I don’t know what to think.”

I ground my teeth. It would be a lie to say the thought of what would happen if Eisa became my bonded mate hadn’t crossed my mind. It had—multiple times if I was being honest.

She’d nearly taken my breath away when I saw her that morning, clean for the first time and dressed like a drage instead of a drudge. Her hair was glossy and sleek and black as night, her skin pale as the snow of the Odemark except for the pink cheeks and dark lashes that framed her ice-blue eyes. Even with sweat dripping down her face from Jorgen’s push-ups, she was stunning.

She was still too thin—too pale and gaunt and weak. Her lip was still healing, the swelling still prominent and the bruise a deep purple, and I was certain that if I ever managed to see beneath the layers of furs and leather she wrapped herself in, there would be bruises and scars that might never heal.

But training and sleep and some proper meals would begin the process, at least. And if she bonded Baldur’s mate, the dragon magic would do the rest.

But if that was all she thought was at stake, then she was sorely mistaken. Fucking Jorgen and his fucking flirting.

“Then let me clarify it for you,” I said as calmly as I could, pushing aside the mental image of my fist slamming into my best friend’s face. “Einar is ruthless and a coward. He fears me, and he will do anything and everything in his power to get you to bond Ragnar’s mate because it will increase his power and make it very, very difficult for anyone—specifically me—to question his rule over Ironholm. He will use you for the power it will give him and treat you as his property.”

Eisa paled, flinching in my grasp. “You’re trying to scare me into choosing you.”

“I’m trying to tell you what you’re facing,” I corrected, gesturing to my torn and bloody shoulder. “ This was because Einar would rather kill me than let you bond Baldur’s mate. He’d rather let you die, Eisa, than let you tie yourself to anyone but him—than let you bond my dragon’s mate and make me strong enough to oppose him. If Einar claims you, he will see bedding you— mastering you—as his right. And if you bond no dragon, he will spend the next ten years breaking you until you either die or submit. You will be nothing but a tool to him.”

I didn’t want to scare her, which is why I hadn’t bothered to tell her about Baldur’s mate or the consequences of her choice. Baldur had been certain she would bond his mate, and I believed him. But she was wavering now, and she had to know the truth. The next ten years would be torture for her, and the thought of letting Einar get anywhere near Eisa—to let him put his slimy hands on her delicate skin—practically boiled my blood.

Baldur rumbled his agreement.

“And you?” she asked breathily, her face flushing prettily. “Am I not just a tool to you too?”

She was. And she wasn’t. I could protect her, but only as my dragon’s bonded mate. And I couldn’t figure out how to convince her of that when she stubbornly insisted that I had a larger agenda, which I absolutely did. So I decided to heed Baldur for once and tried to be gentle. Kind. A little charming.

I lifted my good hand to cup the back of her neck as gently as I could, forcing her eyes to meet mine. “You will have the protection of my body and my soul-bonded dragon. Baldur will never hurt you. I will never hurt you.”

She flushed pink again, her lips parting as her breaths came more raggedly. I wondered if any man had ever touched her like this. It made me want to rip Henrik’s head from his shoulders. Had he hurt her in other ways? If she bonded with Baldur’s mate, would I find scars of a different kind?

I’d teach her to burn down the world if he had hurt her like that, starting with his fucking tavern.

“That wasn’t an answer,” she murmured, trying to pull away from my touch. “Let me go.”

“I will,” I vowed. “After this—I can promise you that if you choose Baldur’s mate, then the next time a man touches you—the next time I touch you—it will be because you want it. I can’t promise you that if you bond with any other dragon.”

I released my grip on her and she stumbled backward, eyes sparking with indignation—a blue flame far hotter than dragon fire.

There she is, rumbled Baldur approvingly, pride coursing through him. There is our queen.

“I will never want you to touch me.”

I laughed a little, delighted by her fire and stupidly wanting to provoke more of it. “I assure you, Kj?re , you’ll enjoy every second spent in my bed just as much as I’ll enjoy having you there.”

“Fuck you,” Eisa snapped, her cheeks flushing with fury. I wasn’t sure if she was more incensed by my endearment or my blatant proposition. I rather hoped it was both.

I raised my brows, amusement still tugging at the corner of my mouth. “You just vowed not to.”

She turned on her heel and stormed from my room, her black braid swaying behind her as she muttered curses under her breath.

That went well , Baldur yawned.