Page 22 of Heart of the Wolf

Chapter eleven

Brielle

Amuscle in Leif’s jaw ticked while the veins on his hands flexed, twitching by the hilt of his axe.

Amund stood a pace behind him, a palm clenched on his shoulder.

Styrr glared at Leif, rising from his knees and spewing more hateful words.

The room was quiet, save for Styrr and his speech, all eyes watching the scene unfolding.

Finally, Styrr said something that made Leif laugh, a dark, emotionless sound, before sharing a bemused look with Amund.

He took two slow steps down from the dais until the men were almost touching.

Leif was taller than Styrr, but not by much.

The man didn’t have the visible scars Leif did.

For being a blacksmith, his body showed few signs of battle.

Leif tapped two fingers on his chin. Almost bored. He glowered at Styrr like he was a bothersome gnat, needing to be snuffed out with the heel of his boot.

Sweat itched Brielle’s palms, her mouth painfully dry. The only thing holding her nerves at bay was his confident demeanor.

Leif murmured a threat, causing a smattering of sniggers to break out among their guests. Despite her racing heart, her voice was steady as she whispered to Astrid.

“What are they saying?”

Smooth hands stroked along her arm as Astrid tried to soothe her, wiping away the gooseflesh that rippled there.

“Styrr called Leif a coward. Dared him to accept the challenge and forego his wolf. Face him as a man. Leif agreed and said, ‘You bark loudly, little dog. Let’s see if your yelp matches your bite.’ That he would end him with his own hands.”

Blood turned to ice in her veins when Styrr sneered at her, licking his lips and cocking his head with a maniacal grin. His eyes traveled a slow trail over her, cataloging the curves of her waist, humming a low, appreciative noise.

Leif snarled, teeth flashing. The points of his incisors elongated into pearlescent fangs, glittering in the moonlight, the wolf threatening to tear from within him of its own accord.

In a blink, Leif closed his hand around Styrr’s throat.

A strangled laugh choked beneath Leif’s unrelenting grip, a sinister mirth swimming in Styrr’s features.

“Astrid,” Brielle started, unsure she wanted to know what Styrr said.

“It would never happen, Brielle.”

“What would never happen?”

“Styrr said that when he kills Leif,” she paused, blonde hair spilling over her breasts.

“When he kills Leif, he will take you as his thrall. Make you his personal hora,” she continued, catching the fear in Brielle’s eyes.

“Styrr cannot best him.” Astrid turned Brielle until they faced each other.

“My Amund would protect you.” Astrid kissed her cheek.

“If the worst were to happen. Amund would honor Leif and challenge Styrr. His threat would never come to be.”

The crowd thinned, people moving out into the snow. Styrr left, hissing a parting phrase over his shoulder. Leif and Amund strode to their sides. Something glacial slid into place over Leif’s eyes, encasing any remaining warmth in a frosty haze.

Nimble fingers undid the fastening of his furs, removing his cloak and tossing it on a nearby bench. The expanse of his chest strained under his leathers.

A strange chill tingled in her fingertips. She had devoted her entire life to being a balm for the sick. Tending to injuries, whispering reassurances, and gently holding fading hands as souls transitioned so they wouldn’t be alone.

Here, however, blood and strength were coveted more than peace. A Konungr didn’t show weakness. Leif wasn’t afforded that luxury.

How did she embrace his violence? Reconcile who he was versus who she was. Accept it as an intrinsic part of the man who owned her heart.

Heat billowed off him as he palmed the back of Brielle’s head, guiding her mouth to his in an urgent kiss. Unspoken promises followed the swipe of his tongue, easing her fears. He pulled away, his thumb stroking at her nape.

“Go home, hjartae mitt. Wait for me there.”

The harsh cut of his words clipped the gentleness of his command. He spoke in the cadence of a man unaccustomed to being questioned.

In that moment, staring into the depths of his soul, she knew who he was and what she would accept.

All of him.

She planted her palm firmly on his chest, in a gesture only he understood. Whatever waited for him outside that longhouse didn’t alter the rhythm. It remained steady and strong, like him.

She narrowed her eyes, flexing her fingers on the buckles of his leathers.

“I’m not leaving,” she said, her tone confident and her jaw set.

Amund snorted, the sharp sound cut off when Leif glared at him. Smirking, he slipped an arm around Astrid’s waist, pulling her to his side and kissing the top of her head.

“úlfr,” Amund said. “Your firebird does not like you clipping her wings.”

Leif leaned in and whispered something to Amund without looking away from Brielle. After Amund nodded, Leif covered her hand, still anchored on his chest.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave. “You will not forget what you see. The ground will be bathed in crimson. I am not merciful, Brielle. Do you wish to see me like that?”

Memories of that day in the forest floated to the front of her mind, of the wolf, of Leif slaughtering those men. Visions flashed of bright white fangs piercing flesh and severing limbs, crushing bones.

None of it bothered her.

Not how the blood of those men stained his white fur or how their bodies twitched with a final breath of life before stilling.

Something hardened in his eyes, and it wasn’t fear that made him try to send her away. Leif didn’t doubt his victory. No, he worried for her, wanting to protect her gentle soul from something so brutal. Except it wasn’t necessary. She wasn’t fragile. Not anymore.

“I have already seen you like that.”

“As the wolf, not as a man.”

Her fingers tingled as his thumb stroked her knuckles.

“It’s all you,” Brielle said. “Man or wolf makes no difference.” She teetered on her tiptoes, pressing a reverent kiss to his jaw. “I’m staying.”

With those words, the sheen around his eyes melted, revealing something tender only for her. His lips caressed her temple. “Brave. Beautiful girl.”

“Be safe,” she said, her lips resting on his jaw. “You promised me pleasure, and you can’t do that if you’re hurt.”

If Astrid and Amund heard them, they acted otherwise. A sound of approval vibrated in Leif’s throat as he gripped her hips, yanking her hard.

“I’ve created a needy little kona.”

“Yes,” she said, inhaling the smell of pine and smoke that reminded her of him. “You should fix it.”

“Soon,” he cooed. “Amund.”

The command came out harsher than his previous words as he jutted his chin in the jarl’s direction. Nails scratched along her scalp, urging her mouth to meet his. She groaned, her back arching to give him better access.

Amund cleared his throat, and Leif broke away. Heat suffused her cheeks. Steel sparkled in the firelight when Leif took the offered axe from Amund. Obsidian dyed leather wrapped around the hilt, a series of runes engraved into the material.

He effortlessly feathered the weapon in his hands as they walked outside, where everyone awaited. Leif appeared in his element like he was born to fight, and if the stories of Odin were to be believed, maybe he was.

In the open air of the village, the endless sea of people appeared more intimidating than when they were all crammed into the longhouse.

Perhaps it was the never-ending gazes that tracked their movements the moment they passed the threshold.

Leif held Brielle at his side, his axe at the other, leveling an icy glare at Styrr.

The bravado the blacksmith held in the longhouse doubled in the center of the village.

The hard line of his chin jutted out, the sight making joy spark in Leif’s eyes like a flickering flame.

A burst of wind cut through the crowd, blowing her hair in the breeze.

Styrr’s knuckles turned white as meaty fingers curled around the shaft of his spear, the polished steel gleaming in the setting sun.

Leif squeezed her hand, about to move into the center with Styrr when she yanked him back.

Specks of silver ignited into a mercurial, molten heat in his eyes.

Smiling softly, Brielle lifted the hand with his axe, brushing her lips over the cold metal of the blade.

Her lips twitched when a feral sound echoed in Leif’s chest.

More wolf than man in that moment, Leif pulled her in by her nape. He claimed her as his, leaving her mouth bruised after the primal display.

The hushed din of voices turned deathly quiet when Leif took his place opposite Styrr.

The distant hooting of owls echoed from the woods as torches illuminated the two men.

The shadows of the flames highlighted Leif’s porcelain skin, making him look like a ghostly figure as streams of starlight bounced off the steel of his blade.

A smattering of laughter broke out when Leif mock bowed and gestured to Styrr.

Sandy brown hair blew behind him as he advanced on Leif, his spear clung tight in his outstretched hand.

The nerves buried deep inside her fluttered to the surface.

Brielle dug her nails into Astrid’s delicate hand, which was gently clasped in hers.

Dazzling blue eyes found hers. They were serene, not a flicker of distress marring the beautiful irises.

Astrid’s calmness eased Brielle, the lump in her throat loosening.

With his chin raised, Amund observed the duel, his arms crossed and his jaw tight.

Where Styrr’s strikes were wide and powerful, Leif took unhurried, deliberate swings, almost like he was bored. Styrr fought with the raw, unrefined power of a berserker, his spear moving in an ungraceful arc, but no less imposing.

Brielle worried her lip, knowing that if one of those strikes connected, it could prove lethal.