THEY TIED HER to the village green, both of her hands bound and tethered by pegs they drove into the hard earth. A rough strip of black linen covered her eyes, leaving her blind to the nightmare about to befall her.

“Please,” Freyja begged, but without her sight there was nothing for her to work with. She was blind to the world around her, and the ropes they used to tether her had been drenched in blessed water. It itched against her skin, resisting all her attempts to free herself.

The truth of it stung. They had planned this—no, Benedikt had planned it. He alone knew of the strength of her unnaturalness, and had worked to counter her.

Her heart thundered raggedly in her ears as the crowd fell silent. She could hear the harsh rasp of Benedikt’s breath behind her. Excited. Enjoying her discomposure. Be careful of a man’s pride, my love, her mother had whispered when they’d both noticed the way Benedikt began to watch her. It is a dangerous thing, and unpredictable if rebuffed.

“Blow the horn,” he instructed.

The enormous bellow of the troll horn cut through the silence, rumbling across her skin and vibrating in her ears. Freyja flinched. She had never felt so helpless in her life. This was what her mother had warned her of. Choose your battles wisely, Freyja… for you are not invulnerable. Every creature of power had a weakness, even the mighty dreki they were summoning to claim her.

Where was Rurik? She didn’t believe he’d left her. She couldn’t believe. But if he hadn’t gone, then he would have heard the villagers take her. He wouldn’t just let them do this to her. Would he?

The thought made her breath catch.

Unless he truly had gone. She shivered as her memory of their words that morning washed over her. “We’re done here,” he had said, a death knell of finality underscoring the statement. Stepping back, bowing his head politely to her.

Rurik! She threw the thought out into the world on an ache of despair. I’m sorry!

There was no answer but the wind swirling through her skirts. Then the thundering bellow of the troll horn again. The last time a man had blown that horn had been thirty years ago, when her father and the other villagers called the dreki forth to forge the treaty.

“Here he comes,” Benedikt murmured with satisfaction. His voice dropped even lower as he stepped closer. “I’ll see you when you return, my sweet.”

No mistaking the dark intent behind those words. If he couldn’t have her now, then he would take the scraps that were left once the dreki had finished with her.

Freyja strained at the ropes to no avail. Her shoulders sagged as she heard the villagers moving back, scurrying for the safety of their homes to watch.

She couldn’t see. Yet she felt, more than anything, the mighty thrust of wings through an icy sky; the sudden ache of the pressure his immense presence wrought.

Wind beat down upon her as the dreki wheeled overhead. Freyja went to her knees, but there was no escape. She was almost flattened by the wind his mighty wings stirred, as the tether binding her left arm was tugged, then fell away.

The right snatched loose, the rope nearly jerking her arm from its socket. Free? She froze for one tremulous second, gathering her feet beneath her.

“Not free,” the dreki whispered in her mind. “Mine.”

Then its massive claws curled around her shoulders with a delicate gentleness, and with a mighty surge, he thrust into the sky.

“Now!” Benedict bellowed, as Freyja’s feet left the ground.

She screamed and wrapped her arms around the scaled claws; terrified the dreki would drop her.

“Release!” That was Haakon’s voice.

The world turned upside down as the dreki’s war cry pierced the air and it threw itself into a tumble. Over and over and over, her body jerked around like a rag doll. Something screamed through the air as it tore past them, and Freyja suddenly realized what had happened.

They’d used her as bait. Something to lure the dreki from his lair so they could kill him.

She ripped the blindfold from her eyes as the dreki righted himself, catching a glimpse of the tableau beneath them. Wind whipped at her skirts as little figures ran and screamed, pointing at the sky above them.

Haakon was clearly visible, the muscles in his biceps straining as he loaded the ballista and cranked the shaft back. The heavy steel cable tautened, the deadly sharp spear gleaming in the sunlight.

And Freyja felt a rage she’d rarely felt before.

Not powerless now. Not blinded, her magic muted within. She lashed out, her temper a whip she wielded with ruthless efficiency. She couldn’t touch the iron cable—iron was one of the few things that refused her power—but the heavy wooden wheels of the ballista were made of the earth. As Haakon reached for the release, she smashed each wheel.

The ballista angled forward, its sharp steel point dropping as the handle tore through Haakon’s grip. The cable let go, steel snapping with an audible twang as the javelin cut straight through cloth and flesh and buried itself in the stone wall of one of the houses, with Benedikt dangling from the end of it.

He squealed like a stuck pig as the dreki wheeled around curiously to watch.

“Remind me never to allow you near that thing,” the dreki whispered in her mind with a laugh.

Then he angled sharply, his fluid shape cutting through the wind as he soared toward Krafla.

* * *

The flight was barely ten minutes, but even Freyja was starting to shiver with cold by the time Krafla loomed in front of them. The sparse, barren fields that surrounded the volcano smoked and bubbled, but she could see the glittering white of the glacial fields further south, and her breath caught, even as the wind stole it from her.

She could scarce believe the sight before her. The entire world stretched out in miniature, like a map come to life.

The dreki touched her mind, as if wondering what had caught her attention so. A light caress against her senses, a sudden connection where she sensed his curiosity.

“You wish to see the glaciers? I will take you one day….”

And just like that her sense of wonder died, protective walls sliding into place between her mind and his. “Put me down.” She eyed the sheer rock walls of the volcano’s side. “Gently, please.”

They wheeled lower, the sudden downthrust of his wings halting them mere feet above the ledge that led to the caves. His claws released her, and Freyja dropped. She landed on the ledge, her ankle giving way beneath her as she fell. Though his touch had been gentle, her shoulders ached from his grip, and for a moment she simply lay there, trying not to hurt.

The sinuous head was suddenly directly in her field of vision, and Freyja screamed despite herself, scrambling onto her back and away. The dreki froze, his golden eyes gleaming.

“Are you hurt?”

Freyja stared at him with the rock walls against her back, her breath coming hard and her skirts tumbled around her knees. “Am I hurt?” she gasped weakly, hot and sharp emotion dampening her eyes. She could barely hold it in anymore. The only creature that gave a damn about her was the dreki, and even he had ulterior motives, though what they were she couldn’t even begin to guess.

“I have been kidnapped, tied down, and offered as sacrifice to… to you. Then dragged through the air, dropped, and—” She couldn’t hold it in anymore. Rurik, damn you. “Nobody came to save me! They all just watched! My father will be beside himself with worry! Who will care for him? What do you want with me? Damn you, what?”

She exploded into tears, angry, damning tears that blinded her to the world around her. The last thing she thought she saw was an expression on the dreki’s face that could only be described as perplexed. And that set her off, laughing, crying, and hiccupping all at the same time.

“Why am I even telling you?” she whispered, scrubbing at her hot eyes. “You would not even begin to understand what is wrong with me. With the world.”

“There are many things wrong with the world. These puny humans insist on marking it as theirs, even though it belongs to no one.”

“Not even you?”

His glorious eyes narrowed. “Only a fool thinks he owns such power. I may wield it, but I do not own it. And why would I wish to?” Even she heard the hesitation. “I admit I am not certain what is wrong with you, however. It is difficult to understand in this form. Where is your blindfold?”

“M-my blindfold?” she stammered. “I tore it free.”

“Make another.”

Freyja’s jaw dropped. “What for?”

“So you cannot see.”

And blinded, she would be powerless again. “No.”

“I will not hurt you, Freyja. I swear it.”

As binding as a dreki’s oath, the goodwives often said, to indicate manners of legal standing. No dreki would willingly break his word.

She'd felt powerless when Benedikt jerked her out to the green, hooded and vulnerable. Powerless when she cowered beneath the unknown, wondering when the dreki would strike. She hated that feeling.

Yet her hands tugged at her hem, taking the small knife she wore secreted in her boot and slicing a strip of the black wool free. Shaking slightly, Freyja bound it over her eyes, the wool irritating her reddened skin. He was not taking her power away. He had asked, and she had complied. That gave her some illusion of control.

“Why?”

Power washed over her, hot and liquid, an enormous cascade of it. Every inch of her skin tingled, her stomach pooling with heat. Tidal waves of molten power. She wanted to reach out and drag her hands through it, but something warned her not to.

“Because I do not wish you to see me,” a man’s deep baritone voice said.

Freyja’s jaw dropped open, her hands rising automatically to her blindfold.

“Don’t,” he warned.

Somehow she stopped herself, though she couldn’t contain the shock. He’d said there was little reason to shift shape. And with that thought came another, unbidden. Why do the dreki hunger for virgin flesh, Freyja? Not to eat, for a certainty. Which means….

“Because we are jealous creatures,” the dreki replied, his bare feet rasping over the stone as he stepped closer. She heard skin shivering over muscle as he knelt in front of her. “We do not like it when someone has touched what is ours.”

Fingers came out of nowhere and stroked her cheek. Freyja jerked, her heart racing, but his touch was soft. Gentle. Like a man soothing a startled filly. Insanely hot, as though the volcano’s fire burned beneath his skin.

And suddenly suspicion burned within her.

This wasn’t the first time a man’s skin burned with an unnatural heat. No. It couldn’t be. Could it?

“What do you want of me?” she whispered. But she knew. Oh God, she knew. And even as she thought it, she suddenly started putting together the little puzzle pieces in her mind.

He hesitated, but not, she thought, for lack of courage. Gauging her reaction, most likely. “It is time, Freyja.”

His warm hand cupped her cheek and she softened, leaning into it. Hungering for… something. Not want, not need. So desperately did she want to be touched as if someone cared.

And this fearsome creature had never hurt her, nor betrayed her.

But had he misled her? She didn’t know the answer to that.

“Yes,” she whispered, leaning into the dreki’s touch. There was only one sure way to find out if her suspicions were true.

Let me burn my fingers, just once….

His hand caught hers, drawing her fingers to his scalding lips. “You will not be burnt, Freyja, but you will burn, this I promise.”

And a dreki never lied.