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“Alpha.”

Leif parted his hair and found his scruff; curved his hand over the warm skin at the back of his neck, and scratched at the hair on his nape. “It’s all right. I’m here. I’m okay.”

He was, but nearly dying had revealed a truth important to both of them, one Ragnar doubtless would have wanted to keep secret…and one which Leif wanted to scoop up and cradle in careful hands. It was irrevocable, that truth, and not the sort of thing he took lightly: Ragnar cared. Ragnar needed him.

And as Leif massaged the back of his neck, he could acknowledge that, at this point, the need was mutual.

~*~

A frightened-faced lad of about fourteen brought them a tray bearing food, wine, and water, and scurried away when Ragnar winked at him.

“Don’t antagonize children,” Leif scolded.

“Give me five minutes with the lad and I’d have him melting like warm wax in my hands.” He made an obscene gesture, and Leif growled without any feeling behind it, earning a grin.

“Help me sit up.”

“Yes, alpha.”

It took an embarrassingly long time, even with Ragnar doing most of the lifting and wedging pillows behind his shoulders so that he didn’t have to tense his core and hold his own weight propped against the headboard. The pain was electric, and Leif gritted his teeth and growled his way through it. He had to rest, afterward, catching his breath, dizzy from this new angle. Sitting up, he could see that the bandages went all the way down to his hips, and felt more on his legs as he shifted them beneath the linens.

Ragnar fetched the tray – it had little feet so that it could perch on the mattress, on either side of his legs – and set it across his lap. Poured water for him, and lifted the wine jug straight to his own lips. When Leif scowled at him, Ragnar lifted his brows and said, “You need the water.” Another slug. “And I need the stress relief.”

Leif snorted, and lifted his cup – and wound up greedily sucking it all down in a few swallows, his throat parched. Ragnar was ready to pour more the moment the cup touched down on the tray.

There was hard bread, and cured sausage, and a little pot of olives, of all things, and it looked like a feast in his current state of hunger. He tore the bread in half and asked, “What happened after I passed out?”

Ragnar stole an olive and settled back in his chair to tell the tale.

“Your lady–”

“She isn’tmyanything.”

“Your lady,” Ragnar insisted, glimmer of mischief coming into his gaze. It was a welcome return to his usual bratty ways. “Got on that beast of hers and threw a bloodied glove into the hole. It closed like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Cut off that other drake’s head when it did.” He drew a line across his throat with a finger in demonstration.

“Whatother drake?”

By the time Ragnar had walked him through all that he’d missed, his forehead was starting to throb because he’d pushed his brows higher and higher in disbelief. “Gods,” he murmured, rubbing the wrinkles out with his fingertips, food momentarily forgotten. “If the head and neck are that large…”

“Aye. It could have killed us all in a matter of minutes. It could have swallowed men whole.” He shuddered, and took another swallow of wine. Leif didn’t know what it said about him that he found the way Ragnar wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, afterward, endearing.

Erik would have been appalled.

But Erik wasn’t here, and didn’t bear thinking of at the moment.

“Do we know anything about the girl? The one who…” He opened his hand to mime the way she’d burst to bits.

Ragnar shook his head. “Scouts were sent back down the road to talk to the farmers and their families. No one is missing a child, nor knows of anyone who is.”

Leif frowned. “But the Sels weren’there. They came through that hole, and somehow, her death was what opened it. She was a sacrifice – but where did she come from? And how did they enchant her?”

Ragnar shrugged. “Who’s to say? Amelia’s been to that other plane to visit with Náli, and seek his wisdom.” He rolled his eyes. “The ice fairy hasn’t a clue what happened, but he’s going to, quote, ‘look into it.’”

“That’s an awfully mocking tone from a man who just threatened to defile a kitchen boy.”

“Heh.”

Leif mopped up the last of the olive brine with a bit of bread and popped it into his mouth, less ravenously hungry, but wishing there was more. He brushed crumbs from his fingers and said, “What now, then?”