The Midnight Bride Read online

  The Midnight Bride

  Kati Wilde

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  THE MIDNIGHT BRIDE

  Copyright © 2019 Kati Wilde

  Cover design by Kati Wilde. Couple photo © The Killion Group. Background image © metehan and licensed from Adobe Stock. Bonus map sketches © mtmmarek and © only4denn.

  All rights reserved.

  First Audiobook Edition (Read Me Romance), June 2019

  First Digital Edition, September 2019

  katiwilde.com

  Contents

  The Midnight Bride

  Map

  1. Strax the Last

  2. Mara the Defeated

  3. Strax the Vowkeeper

  4. Mara the Thirsty

  5. Strax the Hungry

  6. Mara the Fallen

  7. Strax the Believer

  8. Mara the Champion

  9. Strax the Guardian

  10. Epilogue

  Strax’s Journey

  Author’s Note

  Also by Kati Wilde

  Newsletter

  The Midnight Bride

  A Dead Lands Fantasy Romance

  To save her family from a tyrant king, Mara of Aremond must win a tournament—and she won’t let anyone stop her from claiming the prize. Especially not Strax, the barbarian warrior who has tormented her every step of the way. But when a sorcerer's trap binds them together, Mara must decide whether Strax is her greatest enemy, or if everything she seeks can only be found in the barbarian’s arms…

  Please note: The audiobook version of this novella was originally featured on the Read Me Romance podcast. This release marks the first time this story is available in ebook or print, and includes a bonus epilogue and map not included in the podcast version.

  1

  Strax the Last

  Here we are, once again weaving a tale of a bride, hoping the words become a spell and make magic. Others have come before—one mail-order, one pretty—and still we await the midsummer bride.

  But now comes one at midnight.

  The time is anotherwhen, a date unknown but nearing the conclusion of a perilous tournament. The place is anotherwhere, a world unnamed but far north of the Illwind Sea. And this story begins, as many stories do, long before our hero and heroine were born. Before ink and parchment, before chisel and stone. So long ago, all that is known of this story’s beginning are legends of legends—of two brothers who loved each other, but whose battles broke the world.

  Those brothers are not the heroes of this story. Nor are they the villains. Instead they are a warning and a lesson. For we know well the powerful magic that is love.

  But sometimes…love is not enough.

  The Forest Road

  The day that Strax’s heart was torn from his chest began as every other morning did—he awakened from dreams of Mara with his cock hardened to steel and his hand gripping his sword. Each night, sleep revealed everything he concealed while awake: that his body yearned for Mara’s touch as powerfully as his heart yearned to protect her.

  But Strax could not help Mara on her quest to retrieve the Gauntlet of Khides. Not without betraying his sacred duty. And with his brother lost to the waves of the Illwind Sea, Strax was the only warrior who could see this journey through to the end.

  So when he rose from his furs, Strax didn’t cross the short distance between their camps. Instead he broke his fast with a strip of dried venison and watched Mara stir from her own bed. First her head emerged from the furs, and dawn’s golden light glinted off the russet strands interwoven through her long dark hair like sparks rising through smoke. Then came her shoulders, clad only in a heavy woven tunic. A quiet moment passed wherein she sat hugging herself against the early morning chill, with her legs still covered and her blankets bunched around her waist.

  In the autumn and winter, she’d always leapt out of her furs fully clothed, then quickly saddled her mount. But as spring progressed, she lingered longer and longer in the warmth of her bed.

  Strax wished he could interpret Mara’s delay as an invitation to join her and truly warm her bed. But the only invitation Strax was likely to receive would be an invitation to stab a sword through his head. She rarely glanced back in his direction—and when she did, no desire burned in her dark eyes. Instead he could only see anger and distrust.

  Strax preferred Mara’s anger and distrust to what he suspected kept her in that bed, however. In the past weeks, an invisible weight had settled upon her shoulders. Despair, perhaps. Or hopelessness.

  It didn’t matter what Strax called the burden; only its cause mattered, and that he could easily guess. Six months past, Mara had entered the king of Aremond’s tournament to retrieve Khides’ ancient gauntlet from the goddess’s stone keep. Three dozen other contestants had joined the race, all hardened warriors—and they had all quickly outpaced her. Within a week, a full day’s ride had separated Mara from the pack. Within a month, she traveled faster than she had started out, yet the distance between her and the other contestants had widened.

  Yet although she lagged far behind, Mara hadn’t given up. Strax had seen the determination that pushed her onto the road each day at first light and kept her there until she fell exhausted into bed each night. He had witnessed her struggle through every obstacle in her path. That she could reach Khides’ keep, he had no doubt.

  But she wouldn’t reach it before the others did. To the northeast, the Skull Cliffs were visible in the distance. Not more than a week’s ride away, and Khides’ keep wasn’t much farther than that.

  If the gauntlet could be retrieved—and if the guardians at the keep could be defeated—then one of the other contestants probably had it in his possession. Strax would know soon—and so would Mara. There was no other road back to Aremond, so the victor had to ride in this direction to claim his prize. Their paths would soon cross.

  So of recent mornings, it seemed that Mara had to force herself to greet a day that might bring her defeat. As if continuing on a quest she’d already lost required more effort from her than simply getting to her feet.

  Had Strax not been bound by a blood obligation to stop anyone from winning the tournament, he would have lifted her. He would have carried her.

  But he could not.

  Instead he called out, “At the speed you move now, woman, a snail will find the gauntlet before you do!”

  Her back stiffened. No doubt she was deciding how to respond. Moving quickly meant that his words affected her. But moving slowly proved him right.

  As always, she found the response that did neither. Without looking in his direction, she rose smoothly to her feet and called back, “At least I am not the slug in last place, warrior!”

  “Today will be the day that I overtake you!” Strax declared heartily. “Then you will be last!”

  Her dismissive scoff reached his ears, and Strax grinned. Reclining back on his elbow, he watched her dress in soft leather leggings and boots. Still pretending his comments hadn’t prodded her along, none of her movements were rushed. Yet she didn’t linger, either.

  Efficiently she broke camp. Much more efficiently than she had during the first days of the tournament. She had only a few possessions to gather—so different from the woman Strax had met six months before, in a coliseum in Aremond where the r
ace had begun. He and his brother had been standing among three dozen other warriors when a noblewoman had ridden into the stadium on her fine Glacian gelding, leading another horse loaded down with supplies. Her black hair was woven into a shining coronet, and her soft body was clad in silks threaded with gold.

  She was the most beautiful woman Strax had ever seen. And he’d assumed her presence in the coliseum meant she must be the victor’s prize—and in that moment, he’d wanted to join the tournament in truth so that he could win her. Then he’d discovered she was another contestant.

  Strax hadn’t expected her to last a week. And he’d told her so.

  Yet she’d proven him wrong. After a morning when she’d spent more time packing her camp than traveling, she’d given her extra supplies and horse to a villager she encountered on the side of the road. She’d traded in her fine gelding for a sturdy mare that could better handle the grueling pace. Everything that slowed her, she left behind. Now here she was. No longer as soft—and no longer in silks, but leather and furs.

  And still the most beautiful woman he’d ever beheld. So Strax beheld her as often as he could.

  Only a few minutes passed before Mara mounted her mare and started down the road at a brisk clip. Strax remained where he was. At some point today, he would make a show of attempting to overtake her. But being in last place suited him. He was not here to win.

  So it mattered little if he tarried in bed, stroking the thick length of his cock and picturing the smiling curve of Mara’s lush lips. He’d seen her smile before, though it had never been aimed at him. Instead she’d bestowed it upon his twin during those first weeks of the race. But Strax could not be jealous, because everyone smiled at Aruk. Strax’s brother was everything that he was not—always laughing and joking, putting both friends and strangers at ease.

  And unlike Strax, Aruk was not last; instead he was simply lost.

  Strax’s throat tightened and a dark ache bloomed in his chest. Determinedly he focused on Mara’s lips again—and the memory of her body against his.

  He knew that, as well. While crossing the Illwind Sea, a squall had nearly capsized the merchant ship carrying Strax, Aruk, and Mara to the northern shore. After a wave tore Aruk’s hand from Strax’s grip, carrying his brother into the thrashing waters, Strax had lashed a rope around Mara’s waist and tied the other end around his. Then he’d held on to the mast, and from sunset to dawn, she’d clung to him as wave after wave crashed over the decks.

  When the storm was finally spent, they’d been battered and wet and cold, yet Strax could still feel the comfort of Mara’s hand upon his cheek. He could hear the warmth of her voice in grief and sorrow—and picture the sympathy in her eyes when he’d insisted that Aruk had survived and so he had nothing to grieve.

  Just as he did not grieve the way the warmth in her gaze became an angry fire again when he’d stated that, if not for him, she would have drowned that night. That the race was too dangerous for a woman who wasn’t a warrior and that she ought to give up and return home. When he’d said she would never win.

  But the storm had not been the only night he’d known the softness of her body against his. There had also been the six nights through the Noredge pass, when the bitter cold that fell over the mountains would have killed them in their sleep—except they shared blankets and warmth and a fire. For six nights he’d barely slept, holding Mara’s slumbering form tight, his cock and his heart aching for more.

  Strax imagined more now, as he had every day since. He imagined that instead of lying stiffly with her back against his chest until her body relaxed into sleep, she had turned to face him. That she’d cradled his face in her hands and drew his mouth to hers. That he’d tasted the heat of her kiss and the sweetness of her cunt before plunging his cock deep. That she’d cried out his name with every powerful thrust, until she began shuddering beneath him, her luscious sheath clasping him tight as he found his own release. That he’d spilled his seed into her clenching depths and not into his hand.

  And Strax imagined that afterward, he would not feel this great emptiness within. Instead he would hold her, and every word he said would be the words Strax wished to say—and not the words his duty demanded.

  But that could not be. So Strax rose from his furs, washed the spend from his hand, and checked the snares he’d set the night before. Only two rabbits, yet that would feed him well—and Mara, too, if she failed to catch anything of her own this day. She would glower at him when he tossed the rabbit into her pot and remarked upon her poor hunting skills, yet she never refused the meat. She was proud and stubborn but not foolish.

  Strax was a fool for helping her at all. But feeding her also gave him reason to visit her camp, where Mara might ask him to stay and share the meal or invite him to her bed, so a fool he would continue to be.

  A slow fool, this morning. Despite his promise to overtake Mara, he let his mount amble at a comfortable pace through the forest road. The tournament map given to each contestant showed that he would soon come upon a crossroads marked by two stone obelisks. The sun was high overhead when he emerged from the woods and saw the obelisks standing upon a grassy mound ahead.

  The forest road continued east to Wintermere and the Silver Coast, and was well-traveled. The tournament route continued north, onto a road that was a rough track no wider than a game trail.

  Strax guided his horse onto the track—then reined the animal to a halt. The skin on the back of his neck tightened.

  There was a powerful enchantment here. The corrupted magic skittered over his senses like a spider bursting with venom. He could feel its presence, but because of the wards inked into his skin, the spell could not affect him.

  Mara had no similar protection.

  His stomach roiling as if he were in the midst of another storm, upon another ship that might capsize and drag him under, Strax dismounted. The source of the spell he found quickly enough—a lure and an illusion, the runes carved into stones and faintly glowing. A spell that would have made her see or hear something that would have drawn her in. A baby crying, perhaps. Or someone she loved shouting for help.

  Quickly he destroyed the spell and began searching for her trail. She had not continued up the northern track; there were no new hoofprints to follow.

  Strax raced for the east road. There was sign of Mara here…but not only of Mara. She had been ambushed by three men. And she’d fought—Strax found her bloodied sword wedged into a clump of grass—but lost. Then she’d been taken down the east road.

  Attacked. Abducted. And he had not been here to help her.

  His blood obligation demanded that he not help her now. Yet he did not even hesitate before leaping into his saddle and galloping down the east road.

  Strax had already lost his brother. He would not lose Mara, too.

  * * *

  He tracked Mara to Wintermere, and amid the busy streets he lost her trail. But in a city, there were always open eyes to see everything that occurred. The difficulty lay in opening mouths.

  Strax had been in kingdoms like Wintermere before. Realms where the citizens looked at him with wary, fearful gazes. Not only because of his size or the sword he carried, but because their courage had been starved and beaten out of them. Aremond, where the tournament had begun and where Mara was from, was such a realm. And in such places, Strax’s coins did more to open mouths than the threat of his sword would…but he was willing to use both if necessary.

  It didn’t prove to be. By the end of the day, he learned of an auction house where a foreign noblewoman was rumored to have been taken. With his last gold coin, Strax bribed the captain of the auction house’s guard, claiming he wished to view the merchandise before making his bid. The ease of the transaction told Strax the captain often accepted such bribes. And indeed, they had barely entered the holding pens before the captain slyly suggested that, for the price of another coin, Strax might do more to the caged men and women than view them.

  Despite the rage burning in his
veins, Strax did not yet draw his sword. Instead his heart thundered as they passed every cage, until he reached the final holding pen. Relief poured through him. Mara was here. Curled on a pallet against the far wall, naked but for the covering of her long hair. Even with her back to them, he knew at a glance it was she. His throat knotted with sheer emotion. Lifting his chin, he indicated to the captain that this was the woman he wished to examine more closely.

  “Eyes open and on your feet, wench!” The clang of a brass cudgel against the iron bars followed the captain’s command. “A suitor is here to admire you.”

  Mara didn’t stir, but replied in the melodic accent common to the realms south of the Illwind Sea. “Then he can admire my ass, because I have no intention of posing for two-legged swine.”

  “She believes herself too good to follow orders, which is why she’s got Thadus’s collar around her throat,” the captain said to Strax before raising his voice. “Wench! On your feet, or you’ll be slopped with a bucket of piss.”

  That was hardly a threat to a woman such as Mara. In the months since the Great Tournament had begun, she had suffered worse while overcoming the obstacles along the route. She had dived into a lake of putrid troll slime. She had crawled through a dragon’s rotting corpse. She had swallowed a baleworm’s fiery spend. Through countless challenges, she had suffered indignities greater than a bucket could ever hold.

  And through it all, she had endured. She had fought. And she had prevailed. Even now, she likely plotted her escape from this cage.

  Strax had no doubt that she would succeed. But he’d help her succeed more quickly. “Does she enjoy lying abed, then?” Strax asked softly and watched her spine stiffen at the sound of his voice.