RURIK RETURNED TO the house. There was no sign of Freyja, though her scent lingered all over the place, ingrained in the homestead. A scent that filled his heart with joy.

There was an old dreki tale that spoke of kataru libbu, an alliance of the heart. Dreki were the half-souled, and he’d always felt somehow incomplete. When the great goddess tore her soul to pieces to share it with her new dreki offspring, she had left them vulnerable, always hungering for the other half of their soul.

A myth of the dreki court. Some dreki found their other halves, the twin flame to their soul. Some did not. But all hungered for them. It was a concept beyond that of the mates they took, the lovers they consumed.

The second he saw Freyja, he’d known there was something different about her. He’d been unable to deny his yearning for her, and even now her distance from his side ached within him.

Was she the other half of him?

Was that why he was so helpless to walk away from her, so determined to claim her?

Some instinct stirred in his chest. He could not walk away from her. It would be like cutting out his heart. Freyja. Fierce, stubborn Freyja, who had brought him out into the light, brought him back to life. Without her, all he faced was an eternity of hibernation.

A dreki bugled, somewhere far to the south of him, reminding him this was not the time for such speculation. His enemy was still out there, somewhere.

Rurik turned to face the brewing storm on the horizon, looking for Magnus.

The bastard had used Haakon and his men to test Rurik, but why? Why not face him? He remembered battles between them as youths, where they’d tested their strengths against each other. Battles he’d won every single time.

There was a reason he’d been his father’s heir. A reason his uncle and mother plotted for his exile, rather than outright killing him. If Stellan or any of his sons had challenged Rurik, then there was a possibility he would have defeated them.

“Are you frightened to confront me?” he whispered, sending the thought-thread lancing through the skies as he searched for his cousin.

Magnus’s awareness linked with his, the other dreki’s fury searing his mind. “Frightened?” Magnus spat. “How dare you?”

“What else am I to think, when you hide behind the plots of puny humans?”

Days ago, he’d refused to offer challenge to Magnus, his pride standing between him and the thought of openly acknowledging Magnus was ranked above him. But that was before he’d come to realize what Freyja meant to him. There was no moving forward until he defeated this threat.

“I offer challenge,” he called, feeling the heat of his cousin's surprise. “You and me. No mercy. Let us settle this once and for all.”

Magnus could choose not to accept.

“Unless you are wary of battling me?” Rurik added. “I always won, did I not?”

There was a long moment of silence. He almost didn’t think his cousin would accept.

“That was a long time ago. Come and fight, you filthy cur. I am not frightened of you.” Magnus’s thought-thread linked with his, and for a second Rurik saw more than Magnus expected him to. Always a problem when two dreki linked. Magnus swiftly hid his thoughts, but there was enough there to cause Rurik to falter.

Magnus did not intend for this to be a fair fight.

“One hour,” Rurik whispered, knowing he would be facing two dreki, and not one. Sympathy for Andri’s dilemma stirred through him, even as a hint of doubt assailed him.

Could he defeat both of them? Knowing he would not—could not—harm the cousin he loved?

Magnus faded from his consciousness. And Rurik was left standing there, gripped by indecision.

What if he did not win? He was relying on Andri’s honor to stay out of this, even though he knew some hidden pressure forced the youth to join Magnus in this plot.

If he didn’t win, then what did that mean for Freyja?

She had not accepted him, not completely.

And he wanted so much more from her than merely a conquest, but how could he tell her that? He did not have the time.

Except... there was one last gift he could give her.

One last way to prove his intentions toward her were serious, and one way he could offer her protection, if Magnus defeated him.

Rurik slowly turned and looked at the house.

* * *

“You... you get out of here!” Freyja’s father snapped as Rurik entered, maneuvering with wicked speed around the dining table. “Benedikt told me what you are, and what you intend with my daughter! You leave her alone, you foul beast!” He snatched up a cross and started praying in Latin. “Our father who art in Heaven....”

Rurik’s temper flared. He had no time for this. “Did Benedikt also mention precisely what he’s threatened her with over the past few years? The coin he’s offered for her if she allowed herself to become his mistress? Or the threats he made when she would not?”

The prayer faded as Einar gasped. “What?”

It dampened Rurik’s temper to a smoldering coal, but the heat remained. Freyja had refused to allow her father to share her burden out of some misguided attempt to protect him, but in doing so, she’d not allowed him to protect his daughter. “Your precious Benedikt threatened to name her a witch if she’d not lie with him. Who do you think tied your daughter to a stake and offered her up to me? Who do you think has been stealing your sheep over the years, and whispering in local villagers’ ears so they would not buy your daughter’s barley when she tried to trade it? I have been talking to many of the locals. Some spit on your daughter’s name for dealing with the devil—which you and I both know she has not done—but others admit they were afraid Benedikt would turn his wrath on them if they traded with Freyja, or tried to help her. She’s slowly starving because of Benedikt, and you cannot see it. He wanted to cut off all of her resources so the only person she could turn to was him, when she was finally desperate enough. That is the snake whose words you listen to.”

His words took all the wind out of Einar’s sails. The old man slumped against the table, his mouth agape in shock. “She never said a word.”

“Knowing Freyja as you do, did you think that she would?”

“But he... he said you had taken her.”

“And so I did,” Rurik replied. His temper got the best of him. “They’d tied her to a stake in the village green, and threw rotten food at her. What would you have me do? Leave her there?”

“Did you....”

He grasped what the old man wanted to know. “What happened between us is a matter purely for us.”

The old man was gasping quite hard now. “No. No.” He shook his head. “She is a good girl.” His gnarled hands curled into fists. “Both Benedikt and you have ruined her!”

Rurik knelt in front of him. “You know dreki cannot lie. You said so yourself. So, know this... I love your daughter and I wish, in another world, she could be mine. I would not abandon her, not willingly, not if I had a choice. And I will never harm her, or place her in danger, which is why I cannot marry her. If I could—” His voice broke a little. “If Freyja would accept such a thing... then I would do so in a heartbeat. But to mate with Freyja is to place her in danger. I finally understand that. I cannot have her, not without bringing darkness into her life, no matter how much I wish to. But I also cannot leave her defenseless, and as much as she could bring this small village to its knees if she wished to, she is also remarkably vulnerable against those threats she has no power to control.”

Rurik captured Einar’s face in between his hands. “She needs you to protect her. And she needs you to be well, because she loves you. She will accept no other gift from me, but perhaps she will accept this....”

Power welled within him. Einar gasped as that honey-trickle of it slid through his skin.

“My cousin Magnus has accepted my challenge. I go now to face him.” He let his power threaten to brim over, finding the shadow in the old man’s chest, the one that was slowly killing him. “Think of me as the devil, or think of me as a monster, but the truth remains I might not vanquish two dreki. I would not leave your daughter unprotected in the wake of my death.”

Healing was not his greatest strength, but he knew well how to manipulate flesh and bone, and shift the core of the body. The shadow sat there, resisting him, a cancerous growth within the old man’s lungs. Rurik poured more power into the working, using lashes of fire to burn away the shadow, then sweeping the cobwebs from the old man’s vision, until Einar gasped, slumping against the table as though he breathed hot ash.

“Done,” Rurik gasped, and took a shuddering step sideways.

Something was wrong. He felt hollow and empty; his bones curiously light, as though he’d expended too much raw power.

Einar clapped a hand to his chest, his skin glowing with health and vitality. “You... healed me.”

Rurik could barely acknowledge him. “For Freyja,” he said, then staggered outside.

The storm battered at him. He’d cost himself a great deal of power in healing Freyja’s father, but it was worth it if by doing so, he could protect her. Rurik spread his arms wide, fanning the kernel of golden heat deep within him to flames. The change lashed through him, shockingly slow. By the time his wings unfurled, he felt almost breathless and a faint hint of nervousness lit his stomach.

Had he expended too much energy in healing Freyja’s father?

No. Of course not. He was a prince of his people, not a weakling. Magnus had dared to challenge his territorial claim, and such needed to be answered. He’d beaten his cousin before. He would not fail this time.

But as he launched himself into the air, wings thrusting down in furious beats, he couldn’t hide the hint of doubt in his heart.