Page 21 of Heart of the Wolf

“No sorries. You must do as you will. You do not need my permission. Besides,” he murmured, nudging her nose with his. “Whatever you did, worked. The families came out tonight, helped process the grain, and spoke with others.”

A choked laugh escaped her, her cheeks hurting with the breadth of her smile. She wasn’t certain if anything she had done had changed anything. Smirking, he lifted her, tossing her effortlessly on the bed as she yelped.

“Now let me reward my kona.”

His stormy eyes glimmered like lightning striking across cloudy skies. The furs soon clung to her back, already sticky with sweat.

All night, Leif rewarded her with his tongue and fingers buried so far inside her that her body never forgot the feel of them.

Even when she begged him to stop, he didn’t.

Only when tears slid down her cheeks from too much pleasure did he finally relent, making her finish one last time while clenched around his cock.

***

An onslaught of nerves assaulted her the night of the feast. It wasn’t just their village in attendance; there were jarls and delegations from every clan. Leif bathed and dressed in his finest silks and furs, looking too gorgeous to share with others.

His hands framed her face, thumbs sweeping over the swells of her cheeks. She leaned in, pressing her lips to his and taking what she wanted. A quiet growl hummed in his chest as she broke away, admiring his swollen lips.

Gods above, he was beautiful. Fierce and foreboding and entirely hers. Something in this world that belonged only to her.

“Pretty, hjartae mitt.” Unable to stay away, he kissed her again, tasting of honey. “You will join me in the hall once the celebration has started.”

She traced the line of crimson, highlighting her freckles. Brielle nodded, stealing a final chaste kiss before he disappeared, ignoring the muffled giggles coming from Astrid and Liv.

“úlfr is happy,” Liv beamed once they were alone. “It is good.”

Astrid wrapped a hand around Brielle’s wrist, manhandling her between the two women. They spent much of the evening bathing and preparing Brielle for the festivities.

Like Leif, they dressed her in the most luxurious materials; even her linen underdress was woven with rare ivory silk. They braided her hair into a crown of curls and fastened her fur cloak with a golden wolf brooch.

The other women smiled, pleased with their work.

“Ready?” Astrid asked, weaving her arm through Brielle’s while Liv did the same on the other side.

“Yes,” she responded.

Rowdy people, already deep into the ale stores, packed the longhouse. The ladies entered through the back, unseen. An oversized chair sat at the front of the room, wolves and lightning bolts carved into the wood.

Leif lounged elegantly in the seat, looking as regal as any English king presiding over his court. Heat danced in Leif’s mercurial gaze as he laughed at something Amund said while tracking her movements. The man slapped him on the back, shoving an overflowing mug of ale into his hand.

Liv disappeared into the crowd, grabbing a skin of mead from Andri, who shook his head at something his wife said.

Leif exchanged words with other men Brielle didn’t recognize. Based on their clothing, they appeared to be leaders from the other clans.

Even as Astrid led her toward the high table, Brielle felt out of sorts in such a place of honor. Despite that, she lifted her chin, fixing her expression into something worthy of Leif’s wife.

Leif reached out, beckoning her to his side.

All his attention was on her, the conversation with the jarls forgotten.

His larger hand engulfed her much smaller one.

Warmth settled in her bones when they touched, steadying the fluttering wings of her heart.

Brielle squealed, making the other men laugh as Leif yanked her into his lap.

Muscles flexed under her bottom, and she sucked down an indecent noise. A hand splayed over her stomach, his thumb stroking it possessively. Soft lips pressed a reverent kiss to her jaw before he whispered in her ear.

“Hjartae mitt. You are too beautiful for this world. You make it hard to want to share you with others. Right now, I wish to steal you away.”

He banded a forearm over her thighs, securing her to him. Amund raised his mead to her in a simple salute, pulling a laughing Astrid into his lap. She gripped her husband’s chin. He grinned, pecking her cheek and handing her his ale as a peace offering.

The scene surrounding them devolved, general drunkenness running rampant through the throngs of people.

Leif left his ale untouched. Instead, he watched his people and whispered sweet, filthy words only for Brielle to hear.

She still wasn’t confident this wasn’t one of her dreams, scarcely believing he was real.

“How hard will you come for me tonight? They all know you are mine. Will you quiver in my arms?”

Scarlet flamed her chest, that same heat making another ache bloom between her thighs.

Brielle wiggled in his lap, the length of him pressing into the curve of her ass.

Not once had she bothered to observe the crowd; her attention focused on the besotted man blowing hot air over her thrumming pulse.

Leif jutted his chin at Amund in a wordless order.

Amund stood, bellowing a command that shook the hall and quieted the crowd.

Every eye in the room landed on her and Leif, and for the first time, uncertainty swam in her belly.

Her heart stammered like a thundering herd of horses.

Leif’s large palm curled around her nape in a possessive grip that steadied her.

“Relax. Remember, you have nothing to fear in my arms,” he said, his words soothing her.

Keeping her in his lap, Leif spoke, his voice a commanding echo. Everyone hung on his words, nodding and raising their mugs. She only caught a few of them: kona, the gods, Freyja, and her name.

While everyone already knew of his intent to marry her, this was his official proclamation to all the clans. A declaration more binding than any contract. The longer he spoke, the more exuberant the crowd became, excited to celebrate their Konungr’s marriage.

A content leader boded well for them all.

Leif ended with an unfamiliar word, only for everyone to chant it back, raising their drinks in a toast. Leif stole a demanding kiss from her, making their guests roar and bang their mugs on the tables.

Undeterred by their audience, Brielle ran her fingers along his nape, giving his braid a tug. A sly smile greeted her, his eyes darkening as he raked his gaze over her curves, pausing at the swell of her breasts.

“úlfr. When will you make me come?” she asked, his name a wanton plea.

“Greedy girl,” he said, nipping her jaw. “Can you be patient for me?”

A scuffle broke out near their feet as voices turned from drunken stumbling to something unsettling. Leif shuffled Brielle from his lap. Shoving her into Amund’s arms, who moved her further back until Astrid stood with her, out of the way.

Someone cloaked in darkness rose before Leif, disgust plastered on his face.

Spit flew from his mouth as he shouted. Leif remained stoic; his arms crossed over his chest as his nostrils flared and a vein in his throat pulsed.

Amund stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Leif, his face an expressionless mask.

Brielle watched; her mouth parted in confusion. It was the blacksmith. A muffled scream fell from her as he unsheathed his sword. Astrid covered Brielle’s mouth, so no one heard, holding her back with surprising strength.

The blacksmith gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands before striking it into the ground. He kneeled before it, hissing a string of venomous words.

“What just happened?” Brielle asked, afraid of the answer.

“Styrr does not want an outsider to marry our Konungr. He has challenged Leif for the right to lead the clans,” Astrid said.