Page 24

24

CHAOS

M ikkel falls into my arms, tears running down his face as he kisses me. He keeps his lips locked on mine even as he shakes and shudders; I’m crushed in his naked arms now, much like I was earlier in his coils, although this is far more pleasant.

Relief swamps me as I realize disaster has been averted; as Mikkel kisses me over and over, peppering my face and seizing my cheeks in his hands as he cries, a deep brightness fills me. It’s not mine, Baldur’s, Bjorn’s, or Strom’s brightness I’m feeling now. It’s Mikkel’s, as he opens up to his own inner light.

At last.

It’s the careening, everything energy that powers his go-go-go—rather than his hate. And it’s so beautiful, as I see his eyes blaze entirely copper now, rather than green or black.

Mikkel’s energy lifts, and a soaring sensation surges throughout our Bloodbond; everyone feels it, as a towering Bloodwind goes sweeping around the dungeon, with all our amalgamated dragon-powers in it.

Because each of us has found our inner light now, despite our darkness. We may not do it all the time; we may still get in fights and collide in our ideals. It’s a start, though, and a good one, as I cinch Mikkel close to me now.

Kissing him back with all my heart.

He takes it deep inside himself. Mikkel’s kiss scorches my lips now as we kiss hot and bright together at last, rather than drowning in our mutual darkness.

I still feel his vast inner darkness seething behind his light, though it’s been overcome for now. He still has a lot of damage that one simple moment of brightness can’t solve, but I know we’ve made progress as he devours me now with his kiss.

And I devour him right back.

I feel it as our dragons twine together, at last. No longer adversaries, no longer trying to see who is the most dominant in this relationship, I feel us come together, as Mikkel’s incredible dragon sweeps me up.

It’s not dark and devastating this time, but bright, complex, and vulnerable, as he kisses me and grinds hard into me now with abandonment. Despite everything he’s been through, he’s rock hard, as our auras coil and wind together all through our beings now, complete. It took the threat of death to get us here, but I feel it as our bond finally solidifies.

Into a truly loving partnership neither of us will ever leave, much less forget.

That blistering bond fills us up now, terribly dark yet so scorching and bright. I feel it as we twist together harder, tighter, Mikkel’s powerful hand gripping me to him behind my neck as he seizes my ass and hauls me in, close.

I know we’re going to fuck, right here, right now in front of everybody—and for the first time, the prospect of doing that doesn’t send me running screaming for the hills.

But even as things get hot and heavy between us, there’s no more time to get it on .

As a veritable battalion of guards pours in now through the damaged wall L?rke had been assaulting earlier.

“Time to go!” Bjorn roars as he seizes me, hauling me back hard from Mikkel and breaking our embrace.

Mikkel doesn’t growl at Bjorn, however, as I’m ripped from him. Because we all know it’s time to fight; all that renewed sex energy between Mikkel and I just gets funneled right into bloodlust now, as we harness our dragon-powers and shift up.

We barrel through the arriving guards like a battering ram, with all that renewed heat scorching through us, escaping into the hall. We have to shift down again almost immediately, however; though the dungeon’s catacombs were ample to allow guards to shift up and keep their captives in check, the Copenhagen palace’s underways are too tight to permit us to pass in our dragon-forms.

It’s a blessing and a curse, as we rush through the passages butt-ass naked now, hammering furious drives of magic behind us as we fight. We still haven’t hit inescapable waves of guards anywhere. Most of the Jarl’s forces must still be occupied by Emil’s distraction at the gate, as we run smack-dab into another minimal party of guards, then another, dodging and weaving our way through the palace but never getting caught.

Gradually, we make our way up to the light. Dawn has come and gone; it’s full morning now, warm and bright outside as we rush up to a lofty marble hall covered in Baroque gilding, the palace’s main level.

We’re aboveground, finally, and though all of us have space to shift now, we don’t—because we’re beat. Even though none of the guards we’ve met have been able to halt our progress, fighting them in our exhausted state has us struggling for control over our magic now, as exhaustion swamps us.

It’s been a long day and night, all of us drained from our insane magical shenanigans over the last week, and certainly the last twenty-four hours .

The only objective now is to get the hell out without being trapped; but as more cordons of guards surprise us over and over, we have to take a wild zig-zag route through the palace, a place I don’t know at all.

Mikkel, L?rke, and Strom don’t know it, either. None of them have dealt with the Jarl of Copenhagen in person, and none of us has ever been invited to this palace. It leaves us at a severe disadvantage now, as we’re surprised by yet another solid knot of guards we have to blast through and fight.

Despite our unified Bloodbond with Baldur, and Mikkel finally finding his inner light, we’re exhausted from sustaining this endless, high-level magic. Bjorn has to half-carry Mikkel now as Strom supports L?rke, Baldur struggling along beside me, though I have to shore him up plenty.

The magnificent resonance our dragons made to free Mikkel is nearly spent. We’re running on fumes as we’re suddenly caught by another knot of guards.

And we escape through a towering door, covered in gilt.

Mikkel, Bjorn, Strom, L?rke, Baldur and I careen into a massive hall; Bjorn slams the doors shut before casting his Bloodwind at a gargantuan silberskrae beam to make it thud down into an ancient lock and keep our assailants out.

I notice at once that the hall we’ve come to isn’t like the rest of the palace; though everything we’ve been through so far was built in the Baroque era, with gilding and floral designs everywhere, this towering hall is far older by a few thousand years.

A classic Viking-style hall but of gargantuan proportions, dragons are carved into ancient timber beams all around, which support a ribbed and vaulted ceiling like the underside of a ship. The massive timbers are all painted a scorched, bloody red, though gilded paint has been used everywhere in runic script to show the Blood Dragon whorls of magic we use when we fight.

The floor is white marble, however, a modern addition to the ancient, lofted hall. But the moment we jog across the center of the space to get to an open door on the other side, a massive bloody red and searing gold sigil lights up on the floor we’re crossing.

A towering field of vicious magic goes rushing through the hall as we cross that sigil. It’s unlike any Blood Dragon magic I’ve ever seen or felt, as that whirling vortex of black, red, and gold power assails us.

It hammers us to our asses inside the gargantuan hall as it slams all the doors around the space shut, magically locking them with insane rune-phrases for containment that blaze red and black with vivid gold.

Suddenly, I know this is the Jarl’s Hall we’ve been trapped in—purposefully, as over three hundred guards are now revealed by clever illusion magic in every vault.

Wielding nasty Bloodspears of their magic, they’re in no hurry. It’s then that I understand from the smirks on each and every face that this was exactly what the Jarl of Copenhagen intended. He wanted us to make a run on his palace to liberate Mikkel and L?rke and make our escape, only to be herded like cattle towards his main hall by all these strategically placed groups of guards.

So we could be caught right here, right now—like cattle in a pen.

It’s not only us that are caught, however, as I see in one gable that another group is trapped here. Emil Beck and his people have lost their battle; Mikkel and L?rke both make a tortured sound as we see Emil, his folk, and the Thorsens’ remaining fighters from The Chartreuse trapped inside a similar field of magic as what closed the doors on us.

The Jarl of Copenhagen is forbidding as he finally makes his appearance, emerging from behind a towering dragon-throne of carved silberskrae wood, inlaid with gold, ebony, and garnets. Dressed in black buckled leathers like those he had on when he captured the twins, Jarl Alexander Christensen looks far more terrifying than just a mercenary pirate, as he comes to us inside our roiling cage of magic, not a single adornment upon him of state.

The Jarl’s bloody, dark red eyes pierce us as the winds of his magical seal smooth down so we are no longer caught inside a barrier of magic, but standing openly before him.

We can see him clearly now that the energy-barrier around us has fallen; the doors to the hall are still closed the fuck up, however, as even more powerful containment sigils spiral up through every arch and timber, now that the Jarl’s arrived.

They seal us into a gargantuan lockbox inside this hall—sealing our fate. As Baldur tries to thrust a massive drive of his power at one door to force it open, he gets hurled to his ass on the stone seal. The door and seal both flare, and Baldur cries out as I feel a vicious surge drain us all, focusing on him but ripping through our entire bond.

Collapsing, Baldur’s out cold as Bjorn rushes to him, giving him whatever Blood Magic he can spare. I’m trembling from that terrible drain of magic, like some fucking vampire or something just got ahold of me, as I set my jaw and stare into the bloody eyes of the Jarl of Copenhagen.

Knowing that he, like this hall, is far more than he seems.

Jarl Alexander Christensen is like a vampire, a Blood Dragon of death, as he ignores Mikkel and L?rke, though those two have been thorns in his side for decades and are currently being held back by Strom as they both snarl.

He stares at me only as I realize he’s happy that he just caught another Bloodwalker—and not just a Bloodwalker, but all of her drakes along with her, as a nasty little smile twists his lips. Hate spikes inside me for this man who has done our kind so much wrong.

Hate for his entire bloodline, as he gloats before me, smug.

“Hog Skjaldm?r Rikyava Andersen. So nice to finally make your acquaintance.” Jarl Christensen regards me, as his terrible eyes stare like vicious daggers into my very soul. His gaze flicks to Baldur and the rest of my drakes now, ruthless. “Try anything else like that one did to break free of my hall and get far worse than he did.”

The Jarl’s message is clear; he controls this nasty, magic-sapping rune field inside this hall.

And we are only alive so long as we do not test it.

“Let us go.” I bite back a snarl in my throat, hate for this Jarl scourging my veins and blistering my bones like lava, as I force myself to stay somewhat cool. “We are on a hunt of vital importance for King Huttr Erdhelm. We have a King’s Writ explaining our mission and that we have free passage?—”

“I do not doubt you have the full support of the King, your uncle, to be here in Copenhagen,” the Jarl interrupts me now. “These two, however, do not.” He waves his hand nonchalantly at Mikkel and L?rke. “And since they’ve engaged my people in all-out war, attacking my palace like the devils they are, I have the rightful jurisdiction to punish them. Which I was doing until you broke them free. A deep crime in these lands, liberating those who are being lawfully punished. A crime also punishable by death.”

“The King—” I snarl at him now.

“The King will not be on his glorious throne long.” Jarl Alexander Christensen lowers his chin, gazing at me with the dark menace of his dragon now as his lips twist up into that terrible little smile again. “Just as you and your Bloodmates will not be leaving this hall alive, Bloodwalker, King Huttr Erdhelm will not be leaving his hall alive soon, either. I say good riddance to the Erdhelm and Andersen royal lines. Good riddance to the Bloodwalker taint that was allowed to flow unchecked within them.”

“You support the Jarl’s rebellion against our King?” Bjorn growls then, as he rises to his feet supporting a very unsteady Baldur, though my Fourth Drake is finally awake, blinking off his unconsciousness.

“Dear youngling, masquerading as the palace’s top defender.” Jarl Alexander Christensen smiles his terrible smile wider. “I am the Jarl’s rebellion against our most misguided King, who favors truces with Ice Dragons over the honor of his own people. But that is to be expected in a bloodline run rampant with weakness. Bloodwalker weakness… time and time again.”

As the Jarl’s gaze pins me again, I feel how his vast hate goes way back. Even further back than his own life, this hatred towards Bloodwalkers and their mates goes all the way back down his family line, to every Jarl who has ever held this hall.

“What did we ever do to you?” I ask him then, as I see what really lives inside Jarl Christensen’s bloodthirsty eyes.

“You unleashed hell upon us,” he says softly, staring into the depths of my soul. “And for that, your people will be scourged from these lands. Forever.”

As he speaks, I suddenly know the Jarl is aware of the ancient story of the Black Dragon. Something passes between us then, as he sees me understand. Surprise takes his eyes as he stares into the gaze of a Bloodwalker he’s about to annihilate, and sees me know why he and all his previous Copenhagen Jarls have always waged war upon my kind.

That moment is brief, however, as all my drakes bristle to tear Jarl Christensen apart. L?rke’s among them, backing me up now as she and my men move into a fierce chevron at my sides.

Ready to fight the Jarl of Copenhagen, or die trying.

“Remember your people.” The Jarl warns me and the Thorsens now as his gaze flicks to everyone he’s captured from The Chartreuse, along with Emil and his dragons. “Fight me now and watch them die.”

“We’re dead, with or without fighting you.” Mikkel stares the Jarl down, wrathful. “We know what you do to Bloodwalkers and their mates?—”

“Just like we know what you do to those who cross you.” L?rke’s voice is a vicious snarl now as they face their most hated Jarl down, at last. “Our parents sure as fuck found out, long before we did—or didn’t you know we absorbed our mother’s memories from the womb?”

“I see. That’s why you both have been little bastards in my city ever since you were born.” The Jarl gives L?rke and Mikkel a level and uncompassionate look as he understands. “For what it’s worth, your traitorous parents deserved what they got, but I was not the one who betrayed them. Although… he does stand in this hall with you, right now, under th e guise of being your ally. If you want retribution… I’ll let you try to take it.”

As the Jarl’s gaze flicks at Emil Beck and the rest of the captives, a horrible sinking sensation fills me. Aesa’s Truthstone flares on my chest, and a deep instinct I was barely aware of seethes through me.

That instinct comes with fire, rushing through my veins as my inner drakaina and drake both snarl. Because somehow, deep down, I knew Emil Beck wasn’t an ally, always so generous to help us.

But an enemy.

That snarl fills every part of me now. I turn like I’m in a horror movie to see Emil step casually out from behind the seething wall of the Jarl’s containment like it’s nothing. None of the other dragons with him can cross it; Emil steps through that roar of magic and darkness like he’s walking through a sweet morning breeze, however.

It shocks the Jarl, too; the old mercenary doesn’t show much, but a flicker of his dark eyelashes tells me he didn’t know Emil was that powerful.

To trump all the copious warding and curse-work he’s got, all throughout this ancient hall.

“Jarl Christensen. A moment of your time, if you would. I have a proposition that you just might wish to hear before making any kind of rash move you might regret.”

Emil Beck is casual now as he moves forward, standing somewhat aloof as a third party in our tense talk. Lithe and trim, Emil’s body shows no age whatsoever, even though a subtle roar of his power in the hall confirms he’s old as fuck.

I don’t know how old, and it’s clear Jarl Christensen doesn’t either, as I watch him subtly bristle from standing near all the sudden fire and brimstone that is Emil, which was always so hidden from everyone before.

But as Emil smiles his generous, hotel proprietor smile, lifting one hand to slick back his already immaculately coiffed hair, even though he’s naked from having shifted down from his dragon earlier, I finally feel the dagger in him.

Though his words are genteel and he’s fought his way into the palace as our ally… I know he’s not, to my very blood and bones.

Emil’s black eyes shine as he glances at me and nods. And I know he’s about to use the ancient dagger of his personhood, and his power.

And thrust it right into my back.