“When I took the blue drakaina’s scale from her at Riksfold, she gave me a vision of taking it to Baldur,” I say now as I purse my lips and breathe out slow, talking it through. “I didn’t understand then, but now… thatmusthave been Hekla Sigurðsson, our blue Icelandic drakaina who fought our enemy Bone Mage—Baldur’s sister. Remember at the Battle of Riksfold, individuals in all our families were targeted by our small enemy Bone Mage drakaina, Litha. Our blue Icelandic drakaina was, as well.”
“Which makes her for sure the other Sigurðsson, Baldur’s sister Hekla,” Ström says seriously now as he stares me down.
“It’s as if Hekla gave me her scale and that vision, because she somehow knew she had to get Baldur and I to meet properly,” I say now, as something else strikes me. “When my cousin Rhennic was talking about me taking a Fourth Bloodmate, I got a vision of Baldur then, too, my own Bloodwalker magic confirming it. And if Baldur kissed me just now, as I was thinking about him… perhaps he knows he has to meet me and bond me, as well.”
“With power like that, what we just felt, pushing through the ether to contact you, I’m sure Baldur has more than a few sights on bonding with you.” Ström shakes his head. “Maybe he did put some kind of magical connection on you, and you just don’t know it. Lærke knows him. We need to speak with her, see if we can get his whereabouts. Because if Baldur Sigurðsson is the right candidate for your Fourth Bloodmate?—”
“We need to find him.” I steel myself now; glancing at Bjorn sleeping like the dead, I feel my heart firm. “I will do anything to save my First Bloodmate, Ström, even taking a Fourth one I don’t know at all into our bond. I will doanythingto save Bjorn from my magic—and from my bond to Mikkel—killing him.”
“I know you will,” Ström says gently as he smiles. “You and that pig-headed bastard fight like banshees, but when it comes right down to it, you love each other tremendously. In a way I’m not sure any of us will ever match—or understand.”
“Hey. I love you, too,” I say firmly as I touch his cheek. “I would never choose between you and Bjorn,ever. Bjorn needs us now, though. I will do what has to be done, even life-mating with someone I don’t know shit about, to save his ass.”
“And get us more firepower against the Black Dragon—something we desperately need.” Ström nods, a practical fighter like me, to the end.
It’s something I’ve always loved about him. Despite his teasing flirtatiousness, there’s a frighteningly competent tactician and fighter inside Ström. He’s far more than a pretty face, though I love that about him, too. He’s a Jarl-Heir, and he didn’t get that position from his great-grandfather by simply being charming.
He got it because, like me, he’ll do anything it takes to protect the people he loves.
I feel his excitement now, however, as we put together a conclusion that doesn’t feel like a total dead end. As he pulls out a cell phone from the pocket of his tactical pants, the same ones he had on earlier during our battle in the amphitheater, Ström makes a quick call.
I hear Lærke’s brisk, “Yes?” on the other end of the line.
“Lærke. We need you real quick. Can you come back on over here? Without Mik?” Ström says at once, relinquishing his grip on me to put a hand on his hip.
I hear a long pause. “Sure. One sec.”
Lærke hangs up. It’s a minute before the door between our suitesopens and Lærke returns. Still dressed in her chic outfit from before, she’s got a stylish professional headset on and a gilded tablet computer to hand with a stylus. Her pale violet gaze pins us as she taps through a few last notes and screens.
“Yeah, uh-huh,” she says on the phone, speaking to someone else, “get Philo in there, at once. He’ll do the job and do it right. No, I don’t want Cruxus—he’s too brutal. I have to go.”
I don’t even want to know what part of her business dealings Lærke was just managing as she takes the headset down now, pressing a button to darken her tablet before setting it down on the table. Statuesque, she crosses her arms, buffed and perfectly manicured nails tapping on her arm.
“What’s up?”
“Lærke. Can you get us contact details for that Icelandic artist who occasionally paints with his magic at The Vault? Baldur Sigurðsson?” Ström asks, as we both watch Lærke.
“Baldur?” Her eyebrows shoot up as her pale gaze flicks between us. Before her eyebrows knit. “Unfortunately… not really. He’s sort of a… wild hermit. He contacts us when he’s ready to display some art, and we organize an entire event around it. He always does it from a pay phone at a bar in Reykjavik. We’ve back-traced it. It’s a place called The Squeaky Mouse. He’s a pillar of the community, and still nobody knows where he lives; Mikkel and I have visited twice, trying to get firmer contact details for him, but he’s like a ghost. He just… doesn’t exist when he doesn’t want to be found, even to all the resources we have—which, believe me, wehavethrust in that direction to make contacting him more reliable. Why?”
“Rikyava and I think we finally have a lead on her possible Fourth Bloodmate,” Ström says before I can answer.
It’s then that Lærke looks at me—reallylooks at me. “Rikyava. Baldur’s impressive in his magic, but…”
“But what?” I challenge her now, feeling like there’s some big stopping point here I didn’t consider.
Something Lærke knows, and I don’t.
“He’s not a fighter.” Lærke gives it to me straight as she watches me. “The drake’s a dreamer, Rikyava. Sure, the art he makes is almost hauntingly impossible, beautiful and powerful to take in, but… he’s not the drake you’re looking for to fight the Black Dragon. In all the years he’s been spontaneously showing up to make art for Mikkel’s and my clubs, he’s never once challenged anyone. He’s a renegade, sure—a hermit for certain, but a warrior? I seriously doubt it.”
“I’ll take that into consideration,” I say as something inside me clenches. Though Lærke’s words are sage, and her opinion and observations astute, since she knows her warriors, something inside me doubts that she’s right.
If Baldur Sigurðsson could have left a kiss on my lips from gods-know-how-far away without us even being bonded one bit, then he’s got far more firepower in his magic than anyone gives him credit for.
Or perhaps, than he’s ever showed anyone.
It’s a conundrum to be solved later. For now, we still have no useful information on how to contact Baldur, or even where he’s located, other than the general location of Iceland. It’s not a gargantuan island, but it’s big enough.
Ström has clammed up, pensive now, as Lærke looks between us. I sigh, but even as I’m tempted to slide into a dangerous funk, I remember something.
