Page 16 of Daddy’s Muse (Bloody Desires #12)

Colby

I slid into my usual seat in the lecture hall, flipping open my notebook just as Dr. Stratfield dimmed the lights and turned on the projector.

“Alright, let’s get started, folks. We’ll be getting into a new unit today,” she said, her voice echoing across the tiered rows. “The Vikings—traders, raiders, explorers… and, for our purposes, a culture of striking complexity.”

A few heads perked up at raiders . I wasn’t immune either.

My mind drifted—uninvited—to Bodin and his long blonde hair, the carved line near his right eye, his striking eyes.

The way his presence felt… old. Not in years, but in something else.

Like you could drop him into the ninth century and he’d never miss a beat—maybe even thrive.

On the screen, Dr. Stratfield pulled up a map of the Nordic countries: jagged coastlines, icy fjords, routes marked in curling lines across the sea.

“These were not merely marauders,” Stratfield continued. “They were farmers, craftsmen, poets, sailors who could navigate open water with uncanny precision.”

Uncanny. Yeah. That fit Bodin too.

Slide after slide of reconstructed longhouses, iron tools, and brooches hammered into intricate knotwork played.

My pen moved without much thought, but I wasn’t just copying notes—I was imagining Bodin in those spaces.

Hauling in nets heavy with fish, standing before a roaring hearth, and laughing with people who spoke in the same low, rounded vowels he used.

Bodin with his shirt off and his hair done up in braids. Bodin’s abs…

Bodin chopping firewood with an axe.

Bodin lying in a bed of furs… maybe naked…

Then came the next slide. Gone was the warm firelight, and in its place was a stone platform smeared with dark red.

“And here,” Stratfield said, “we reach an element often sensationalized—ritual. The Norse had complex religious practices centered around the honoring of gods such as Odin, Thor, Freyja, and Freyr. Seasonal feasts. Offerings. And, in some cases… blót rituals.”

“Blót,” she repeated, “were sacrifices—sometimes animals, sometimes, according to certain sources, human. These were rare, but notable enough to be recorded by Christian chroniclers. Whether those accounts are entirely accurate… well, that’s debated.”

The projector clicked to the next image, but I didn’t follow it. My brain snagged on that word—on the smear of red, on the steady grip of a pale, rough hand holding a knife in my mind’s eye.

I shoved the thought away, forced myself back to the drone of the lecture, back to neat bullet points and timelines.

Blót.

“Colby?” Dr. Stratfield called.

I jerked my head up from my notebook, startled. A glance around showed me that I was the last student left in the hall. Had I fallen asleep?

“Are you alright?” she repeated, a look of concern marring her face.

“Yes, I’m so sorry!” I blurted, jumping into action to pack up my belongings.

“It’s okay. I was just surprised, as you’re typically very engaged in class. Are you sure you’re fine?”

I slung my backpack haphazardly over my shoulder and walked hurriedly down the steps to her.

“I’m fine, must just be more tired than I thought. I love your lectures. It won’t happen again, I promise!”

Dr. Stratfield pursed her lips, drumming her fingers on the edge of the podium.

“It’s really okay, Colby. Trust me, most of your classmates beat you to it.

I’m more worried about your health. I know you couldn’t accept the research opportunity I offered you due to your work commitments.

Taking a full course load and working a job on top of that is a lot. Are you getting enough sleep?”

“I thought so, but maybe not…” She raised an eyebrow at me. I hunched my shoulders, embarrassed. “It’s very nice of you to be worried about me, Professor. Thank you. I’ll try to take better care of myself.”

She frowned at me, pity in her gaze, along with a bit of disbelief. “Please do. You’re an outstanding student, and I want you to continue to succeed in your studies. If there’s anything I can do, please don’t hesitate to let me know. Okay?”

I nodded, averting my eyes. “I will.”

She sighed at my lie. “I’ll see you next class. Thank you, Colby.”

“Bye, Professor.”

* * *

I spotted him almost instantly, leaning against the brick wall outside the humanities building, broad shoulders catching the light, hair tied back in a bun.

He didn’t look like he belonged among the clusters of students with backpacks and earbuds.

He looked like he’d stepped out of the lecture I’d just left.

Bodin’s mouth curved in a faint smile when his eyes found me. “There you are,” he said happily, as if we had arranged for us to meet after class. Spoiler alert: we hadn’t.

“Yeah,” I said, “and here you are.”

“I hope you don’t mind, kanin.”

I took a big breath, my exhale ending in a smile. I should mind , I thought. Still, I shook my head and walked toward his outstretched hand. “Hi,” I sighed contentedly as he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into his chest.

“Hi,” he chuckled.

We were quiet for a few minutes, as if he knew I needed to decompress. I closed my eyes and listened to the beat of his heart, feeling sheltered in the warm nook between his biceps and chest.

When I finally came up for non-Bodin-scented air, I caught him gazing down at me with an overwhelming fondness.

“I love feeling you against me,” he expressed, loosening his arms and letting a hand roam up and down my back.

I blushed, not knowing what to say to that. “We started a new unit on Vikings today,” I said, changing the subject.

That smile of his deepened, like I’d said something pleasing. “And?”

“Our professor spent most of it talking about trade routes and farming… but there was this part…” I hesitated, wondering if it would be offensive to him to ask what I was thinking about.

Luckily, Bodin picked up on my hesitation, placing a kiss on my forehead. I shivered at the light contact of his lips against my skin.

“What is it, little one? You don’t have to be nervous about asking me about my culture. That is what is bothering you, is it not?”

Why did he have to be so… so Daddy ?

“Um, well… I just… I’m worried it might be culturally insensitive.”

“Nei, nei. Do not worry about that.”

“Well, um… it was about blót rituals,” I said, watching for any change in his expression. “I’m not sure if I’m pronouncing that right… Sacrifices—I mean… I guess it’s all historical, right? It just… did people really do that? A-and why?”

“Ah,” he chimed, as though I’d mentioned a favorite dish.

I tried not to picture the bound figure from one of the slides. “So… did your family ever—” I stopped, feeling my neck and ears heat. “I mean, you’re not—I’m sorry, that stuff probably happened forever ago. Or—you know—stopped forever ago.”

He chuckled, low and warm, the sound brushing along my spine. “Yes, that was… a long time ago, and not as common as people think. Not as… barbaric, either. But most in Norway now are Christian or agnostic anyway.”

“And you?”

Bodin’s gaze held mine, steady and unblinking. “We keep the old ways—Norse paganism. My mother often makes offerings: small things—bread, mead, honey. We honor the gods, the spirits of our land. It is not… so bloody.”

Something in his tone was meant to reassure me, but my brain kept circling back to the part where he didn’t actually say it never got bloody. I swallowed and nodded anyway. “So… like… festivals? Prayers?”

“Yes. We mark the solstices and the equinoxes. We give thanks for the hunt, the harvest.” His lips twitched as though at a private memory. “Sometimes, we ask for guidance.”

“From…?”

He tilted his head, considering me. “From those who have always been with us.”

The way he said it—calm, sure, like there was no doubt someone was listening—made the back of my neck prickle.

I told myself not to think about the carvings, or the blood on the idols, or how easily I could imagine him holding a ceremonial knife.

And yet, the image refused to leave.

Bodin glanced down at me with a little smirk, like he could see the thoughts I was trying to shove to the back of my mind. “Maybe we should talk about something a little lighter,” he suggested, his voice calm but threaded with amusement.

I huffed out a laugh, relieved to steer away from the mental image of bloody altars. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

We fell into step together, the late afternoon sunlight spilling over the campus in warm streaks. A gentle breeze tugged at my hair, carrying the faint scent of flowers from the planters along the walkway. I shoved my hands into my pockets, more to keep myself from fidgeting than from the chill.

“So,” I said after a moment, tilting my head toward him, “what do you miss the most from Norway?”

“Hmm… I miss the quiet. Where I’m from in the North, you can walk for hours and only see trees, mountains, maybe a fox if you’re lucky. The air feels different there—colder, sharper, cleaner. It cuts right into you, but in a good way. Invigorating? I think that’s a good word to describe it.”

I tried to picture it. My life had been spent in cramped spaces and creaky trailer floors, the air heavy with the smell of cigarette smoke or the too-sweet vinegar smell of my parents’ vice. “It sounds like a fairy tale,” I said, a sense of longing filling my lungs.

“It’s not always so romantic,” he said, but there was something in his eyes—soft and faraway—that made me think maybe it was that beautiful to him. “But I miss the winters where the snow is so thick it swallows sound, and the summers when the sun barely dips below the horizon.”

“Really?” I asked. “I’d probably mess up my sleep schedule so bad.”

“You’d adjust,” he said, glancing at me with a faint smile. “You’d like it there.”

The way he said it—like he was sure I’d end up seeing it someday—made something warm bubble up inside me. I looked down at my shoes before I could read too much into it.

We were almost to my dorm now, and I wasn’t sure I wanted the walk to end.

When we reached the dorm steps all too soon, I slowed my pace without thinking, dragging my feet a little, like I could make the walk last longer.

Bodin noticed. Of course, he noticed. His hand brushed my shoulder—not a push, not a pull, just a warm, steady weight. “I could come up with you,” he said softly.

I glanced up at him. The sunlight caught the edges of his hair, and for a second, I forgot to answer. “Oh… would you… would you want that?” I asked, my voice quieter than I meant it to be.

He looked down at me with that same calm, assessing gaze that made me feel both small and safe. “Ja. Yes.”

* * *

I swiped my keycard with hands that felt just a little clumsy, the soft click of the lock sounding louder than usual in my ears.

Inside, my dorm was precisely as I’d left it—bed unmade with Steve the Raccoon on my pillow, a stack of coloring books on my desk, and a pile of laundry I’d been pretending didn’t exist.

Bodin stepped inside like he belonged there, filling the space without trying.

I shut the door behind us, leaning back against it for a second to steady myself. “Uh, so… welcome?” I offered with a weak smile. “Sorry for the mess.”

Bodin didn’t laugh—he just settled onto the edge of my bed, then uncurled a hand toward me. “Come here, kanin.”

I hesitated only long enough to think this is probably a bad idea , then crossed the room and let him pull me down, straight into his lap.

The strength in his arms wasn’t just holding me there; it was wrapping around me, settling me.

My knees bracketed his thighs, my cheek pressing to his shoulder.

His scent—pine, leather, and something faintly smoky—made my thoughts go syrup-slow.

My hands bunched in the fabric on his back as I tried to ignore his…

his… thing chubbing up underneath my butt.

“You think too much,” he murmured, taking in the awkward stiffness of my lower body. “Just relax and let me take care of you, sweetheart.”

“Do not,” I mumbled into his shoulder.

He made a low sound—something between a chuckle and a hum—that vibrated through my ribs. “Is that right? I don’t know…”

I nuzzled into the side of his neck, not replying.

One of his hands began tracing slow lines down my back. “I think kaninen min needs someone to help slow those thoughts down.”

The words slid under my skin like heat. “I—uh…” I swallowed. “That sounds kinda cryptic.” It didn’t, I just couldn’t understand how he knew me so well—knew the parts of me I hid from the world.

His lips brushed my temple, not quite a kiss. “Is it?”

My heart thudded in my chest as a small whimper slipped out of me.

He smiled, continuing to stroke me. “Let go, Colby. I’ve got you. Pappa’s got you.”

I whined lowly, my head filling with cotton.

He shushed me gently before sliding us further onto my bed until his back rested against the wall.

“There, sweet boy. My lille prinsen, my little prince,” he cooed, his voice dragging me down further and further.

I snuggled against him, determined to get as close as possible.

We sat there for a while; the quiet stretched but never turned awkward. My legs were beginning to tingle from the way I was perched, but I didn’t move. If anything, I wanted to never move again and let him keep talking in that low voice until all the buzzing in my head went quiet.

I was halfway to sleep, my eyelids heavy and drooping, when Bodin pressed his thumb into my bottom lip. “Open up,” he whispered.

I opened my mouth, just enough to poke out the tip of my tongue and find the digit seeking entry. Bodin’s breath stuttered as I tasted the salt of his skin. With a hum, I sucked his thumb fully into my mouth and began to suckle.

“Odin, gi meg styrke ,” he groaned under his breath.

The weight of his thumb in my mouth was oddly soothing, even more than my paci, a quiet anchor in the swirling fog of my thoughts.

His voice softened to a murmur. “Someday, kaninen min,” he whispered, “we will build a life where you never have to be afraid. A place where you can be small as much as you’d like, and I will always be strong. I will take care of everything for you.”

I blinked slowly, the warmth of his breath and the steady rhythm of his heart against my cheek lulling me closer to sleep. The world outside my room—my worries, my fears—felt miles away, as if his voice was weaving a cocoon just for me.

“You don’t have to carry it all alone,” he said, thumb moving gently against my tongue, “I will be your shield. Your harbor. Your home. Anything you wish.”

My eyelids fluttered, heavy as velvet curtains. I tried to hold on to his words, but the pull of exhaustion was stronger.

“I’m here,” he murmured into my hair. “Always. Perfect, perfect boy. My gift.”

And then the quiet wrapped around me like a blanket, warm and safe, and I let myself drift.