Page 13 of Heart of the Wolf

“No. No,” she laughed, sniffling at the absurdity of it all. “This is perfect. It’s…” She blinked, staring up at him through glassy eyes. “I’ve never. This is too much. The clothes. The sword. What about everyone else? I shouldn’t have things as fine as this when others need…”

He growled, cutting her off with a bruising kiss. She melted into him, letting him take his fill. When he pulled away, he shoved the sword into her hand, taking her fingers in his and curling them around the hilt.

“You are worthy of much more than this. Our people do not suffer. They have full bellies and happy lives. We do not need to go without, so they can live. If you stay here with me, I will give you much more. My kona will be draped in all I can provide. Wools and furs, silks and jewels, weapons and lands, and more.”

Kona.

She hadn’t heard that word before. Instead of asking what it meant, she pressed her cheek to his chest, listening to the beating of his heart. It thumped, the slow and methodical rhythm calming her own. He didn’t rush her, content to let her stay like that for as long as she wished.

When her tears dried, she stepped back and met his gaze. She huffed a laugh, surprised when he didn’t call her hysterical or ill-mannered for sobbing in front of him. He paused, searching her red-rimmed and puffy eyes.

Satisfied with what he found, he placed his hand low on her back.

“If you are ready, I will show you how to use it,” he said, looking at the blade.

Frosty grass crunched beneath their boots. Others in the village watched them together, some laughing and whispering, others nodding with bright eyes.

The blacksmith, Styrr, was the only one who appeared upset, glaring as he followed their steps through the pathways until he disappeared beyond a towering pillar. Based on her interactions with him, Brielle assumed he was usually grumpy.

Eventually, they arrived in an empty meadow on the outskirts of the forest. Leif removed his satchel, placing his axe beside it on the ground. Standing stone still, Brielle gripped the sword hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

“Breathe, Brielle,” he commanded, his hands resting on her shoulders. “You are too tense. Your body must be calm, like the seas before a storm.”

Nodding, she focused on his eyes. On how the gray swirled with flecks of silver. On an exhale, she let her shoulders fall from their pinched position at her ears. With each breath, she relaxed a little more until the grip on her sword was featherlight.

“Good,” he said, bathing her in his praise.

“Fighting is about footwork and speed. One’s skill with one’s weapon is only a tiny part of it.

For you, most men will overpower you. You should seek to injure and flee.

Most men are slow and stupid and will not chase once bleeding,” he said, winking at her.

A laugh bubbled up, making a dimple crease against her cheeks. After spending most of her life in the woods, Brielle was quick on her feet, having outrun bears and wildcats.

Leif moved behind her, his warm hands bracketing her hips and making her mind go blank. He kicked her feet apart, angling her body.

“Like this,” he murmured. “Your blade should be an extension of your arm. It moves as you do. You are one.”

With one hand still pinching her hip, his other wrapped hers on the leather hilt, adjusting her grip.

She choked down an unfamiliar noise. He moved closer, eliminating the rest of the space between them.

Despite the nip in the air, sweat trickled along her nape.

Heat pooled in her belly, and an ache grew between her legs.

“Now. You want to make small, slicing motions, aiming for your opponent’s weak spots. Calves, ankles, between their legs,” he chuckled, and she flushed.

Brielle allowed him to move her body, guiding her feet and arms as he saw fit. When she was too heavy on her feet, he shifted her hips to keep her on her toes. He murmured sweet praises in her ear, encouraging her with every step.

“You’re doing so well. Try to cut me,” he ordered, and she froze.

“What?”

“Go for my throat.”

“What if I hurt you?”

“You won’t. Your heart won’t allow it,” he said, his eyes full of something that looked like adoration.

With an almost taunting lilt in his gaze, Leif stepped back.

Brielle held the sword at her side, firm without being too tight.

Dust kicked up under her feet as she attempted to get behind him.

Leif didn’t go easy on her, matching her movements until they were circling each other like a pair of fighting stags.

Continuing their slow dance, she considered her options.

Running straight at him wouldn’t work. His arms were twice as long as hers.

He’d stop her in her tracks before she got close.

Getting into an advantageous position wasn’t working either.

She didn’t have a chance to sneak up on him.

She rolled her lip between her teeth, licking away the beads of crimson.

She wouldn’t overpower him.

So, she did the only thing she could.

She turned and sprinted toward the tree line. At first, Leif didn’t give chase. It wasn’t until she reached the trees that she heard his steps growing louder. With much of the leaf cover gone, she dashed behind a boulder, covering her mouth to quiet her breathing.

“Are you hiding from me?” he asked, his deep voice shaking the barren trees.

Keeping her hand steady, she held her sword in position, watching as his shadow closed in on her hiding spot. Once he was in line with her location, she leaped forward, thrusting the tip of her sword into his chin.

Warmth, pride, and something feral and possessive glowed in the depths of his eyes.

The look was so heady and intoxicating that she faltered, almost dropping her blade.

A wide smile split across his lips, pushing his wind-streaked cheeks into his eyes. His hands stretched out to his sides, palms up, as he tilted his chin back to avoid the sting of steel.

“Well done. I am at your mercy. What will you do with me?” he purred, his tongue sweeping over his teeth.

Her heart pounded in her chest, the force of it so brutal, he must have heard it.

Before she could respond, he fisted the blade.

Blood spilled from where it bit into his flesh, staining the steel red.

Gold sparked in her dark eyes. She glared at him, her mouth pressed into a thin, disapproving line.

“Leif. Are you mad? That could get infected,” she hissed, glowering at him.

“Only a scratch. Are you worried for me?”

“Of course,” she huffed, and he smirked, looking almost smug.

Releasing the sword, he dug his fingers into her hips, pulling her into his chest. He spun her, nuzzling her throat. He latched onto the sensitive spot fluttering above her pulse, sucking and soothing the bruise with his tongue. She whimpered, her head falling back onto his shoulder.

Unconsciously, she rocked into him, rolling her bottom against his groin.

His nails dug into her, stilling her movements.

She squeaked, and a low, broken laugh blew across her cheek.

The hand on her hip moved, splaying over her navel.

His teeth grazed the shell of her ear, his breath hot against her face.

“You are playing a dangerous game,” he said, flicking his tongue over her lobe. “My little firebird is going to get burned if she’s not careful.”

“Maybe I want to catch fire,” she breathed, a boldness she didn’t know she had lacing her words.

She turned in his arms to face him.

More than once, her father had scolded her for being too forward.

If she were anywhere else but here, she never would have dared to challenge any man as she had Leif.

But with him, she melted under the molten intensity of his gaze.

It wasn’t lit with distaste. No, he gazed at her with a dark desire that made her insides twist.

She placed her hands on his shoulders, kneading the taut muscles there. His jaw jumped. When he didn’t stop her, she continued.

Slowly, she perused his body, her hands moving from his shoulders to his biceps. Her fingers toyed with the soft linen of his tunic, rolling the ties between her fingers. A primal sound rumbled in his throat, his eyes closing as he sucked in a shallow breath.

A deep voice boomed behind them, pulling her from her exploration. Jumping back, she hid her face under her hood. Amund glanced at them, his face riddled with amusement. Heat crept up her chest and throat, burning her face with it.

Leif snarled, dragging his nails through his beard. “Amund. I will skin your flesh from bone.”

The jarl smirked, unbothered by Leif’s threats, raising his hands in surrender.

“I thought you were training?” he observed, eyes flicking between their scarlet-stained faces. Leif’s reddened in anger. Brielle’s in embarrassment. “Perhaps swordplay takes many forms, úlfr.”

Dipping his bloodied hand into his boot, Leif retrieved his dagger. Brielle paled, unable to stop him before Leif hurled the blade straight at Amund’s head.

Without breaking a sweat, the man plucked the steel from the air, laughing as blood dripped down his fingertips. Leif scowled, rolling his eyes.

Amund dipped his chin in her direction, winking. Twigs cracked under his boots as he rolled the ornate blade between his fingers before clutching Leif’s shoulder.

“You should try harder next time,” Amund taunted, giving Leif his dagger back like he hadn’t just tried to kill him with it.

“Next time you interrupt us, I will,” Leif hissed, shoving the blade back into his boot. “What is so important?”

The mirth in Amund’s dark eyes fizzled out, leaving something steely and cold.

Leif raised a brow. Sensing the tone shift, he kneeled in the cold earth, taking bandages and paste from his satchel.

He cleaned the wound on his palm, applying the paste before wrapping it in fresh linen.

The steadiness and confidence in his movements impressed Brielle.

He was someone who was well-versed in basic healing practices.

Standing, he faced Amund. The jarl slipped into furious Norse. Brielle stood back, listening but not understanding any of it. Leif nodded, his eyes narrowed into slits as he scrubbed his jaw. When Amund finished, Leif clapped him on the back, murmuring a few words before the jarl left them again.

In two long strides, he was back at Brielle’s side. He tucked her into his chest, his hands curling around her waist. His massive hand splayed across the span of her ribs, reminding her how tiny she was in his grasp.

“I will take you home,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

Furrowing her brow, she scraped her nails through his beard.

“Is something the matter?”

“Nothing more than usual,” he murmured. “One of the outlying clans hasn’t responded to a formal summons. I must remind them of their place. I will be home before it gets dark.”

Once, before she properly knew him, she had assumed he had died. And while the pain had been manageable, it had never really left her. For years, she couldn’t understand why she grieved for someone she never knew. Now she knew him, but only just.

A knot coiled in the pit of her stomach, snaking its way around her heart and squeezing.

She tried to inhale, but it did nothing to help her catch her breath.

Instead, it came out in short, stuttered pants.

One hand slid up the column of her spine until he palmed the back of her head, urging her more firmly into his body.

Finally, her chest fully expanded, the pain of earlier dissipating.

“Steady. I promise I’ll return before you have time to miss me. There is nothing to fret, hjartae mitt. If this is all I have to deal with as Konungr, I will have a boring life. I will send Astrid to keep you company.”

Nodding along, she stared at nothing while Leif brought her back to his home.

She couldn’t shake the memories of his face visiting her dreams. She whispered prayers to his gods to keep him safe.

Odin. Freyja. Whoever would listen. Not wanting to see his ghost instead of him the next time she opened her eyes.

She didn’t think she could bear it a second time. They had only just found each other.