Page 29 of Heart of the Wolf

Chapter fourteen

Brielle

In the morning, Brielle’s body ached in that delightful way that only Leif was capable of causing.

The muscles in her legs burned while that spot between her thighs stung with the reminder of him.

Rigid muscles flexed on his abdomen as she ran her fingertips over his bare skin, stretching out like a contented cat.

They spent most of the day in bed together, Leif feeding her pieces of fruit and nuts, only leaving to add more logs to the fire or to get more food and water.

The week that followed was much of the same; the two rarely untangling their limbs, lost in each other.

Surprisingly, no one bothered them. Everyone content to let Brielle hoard their Konungr to herself for a few days.

Amund must have kept things under control while they pretended the outside world didn’t exist, tasting the promise of their vows from each other’s lips.

She made a mental note to find a gift for the jarl.

Brielle ran a hand over her stomach, trying to rub away the unease that grew upon smelling the apples on the platter. She picked at the fruits, only to put each one down when none appealed to her.

Unfortunately, their quietude didn’t last forever. A few days later, Amund knocked on their door, his motions lacking their usual confidence. However, he shouted loud enough that the entire village surely heard him.

“úlfr! Throw a fur on, please. I have already seen your cock one too many times, and there are things we must discuss!”

Brielle laughed despite the pink stirring high on her cheeks. Leif’s chest rose with steady breaths, and he kissed the crown of her wild hair, matted with the evidence of their exertions.

Sitting up, she pulled a skin lined with fur to her chin, shielding most of herself from Amund.

Leif made no effort to move or say anything, instead tossing another fur haphazardly across his waist. After another moment, the wood groaned as Amund opened the door and crossed the threshold, eyeing them warily.

Amund sagged with relief, color rushing back to his face when he realized they weren’t bare.

“Many blessings to you both,” he said, dipping his chin. “You look well.”

Leif rested an arm around her shoulders, sweetly stroking the backs of his knuckles over her collarbone. The men exchanged words, speaking slowly enough for Brielle to understand most of them.

After apologizing for interrupting them, Amund said something that made her brows raise. Something about supplies and a delegation. There were a few words she didn’t recognize, but she pieced together enough to make her body shudder.

Picking at a thread on the blanket, she ignored the rest of their conversation, instead ruminating about the first part.

Their words faded into a quiet din as Brielle traced Leif’s scars on his chest with her fingers, carefully holding the furs up. Despite her growing confidence with her nakedness, she was not inclined to flash Amund her breasts.

The muscle at the base of Leif’s neck loosened as she massaged it. Soft kitten-like purrs fell from his lips at her ministrations, and she grinned. It wasn’t long before Amund said his goodbyes, closing the door behind him.

Slender fingers released the skins, letting them fall, and her nipples pebbled in the open air.

A dark, possessive sound hummed in his chest. He tracked her movements as she traced each line of every scar, committing it to memory.

Nails scratched along her scalp as his long fingers carded through her curls, sweeping them back.

He slid a knuckle under her chin, tilting her head back.

Those resolute gray eyes bore into her soul.

“What is it?” he asked, sensing the frantic whir of her mind.

“I want to go.”

“Go where?” he asked.

“To the village with Amund and the others, to gather the bribe my father gives you every winter. I heard you talking about it. They plan to go tomorrow.”

“Why?”

No hint of worry colored his tone. If anything, it was tinged with curiosity, adorned with his usual commanding timbre.

“Closure, I think. There is a small part of me that feels bad that my father doesn’t know what happened to me after never returning home that day.

I am sure by now he assumes I’m dead.” Leif looked like he was about to say something, but Brielle continued.

“Not only for him. But for me, too. I want to close that part of my life for good. Knowing what I know now about him and what he did. It feels unfinished.”

He relented quickly, gently scratching her scalp.

“If you wish it, it is yours.”

The knot in her chest uncoiled with her slow breath.

“While I trust Amund,” he added. “I will come. I do not like the idea of you going there without me.”

***

The sun rose leisurely, speckling the mountains in the distance with its clouded light. Winter came earlier than ever; its grasp now firm on the lands, a good month before it was expected. Brielle bathed, barely aware of her own movements as she got ready.

The air in the room thickened, almost choking her. Blood rushed in her ears, drowning out the background chatter as her heart hammered against her ribs like a war drum.

Leif explained to her the night before that she would return there as a Dróttning.

As his.

The mere memory of how he had said those words made a shiver shake her frame.

In the years since becoming Konungr, Leif never went to the village; it was always Amund.

Their presence alone would be a statement.

A powerful one.

So, she slipped into a woolen dress threaded with golden silks and delicate embroidery. Rough but gentle fingers fastened her ornate fur-lined cloak that rivaled the ceremonial one from their wedding day. He, too, wore an elegant cloak lined with obsidian fur, highlighting his regal features.

***

It was nearly a two-hour ride from their village to Brielle’s old home. Horses were a luxury growing up, and while she had ridden one before, it had only been for a few minutes.

To Leif’s chagrin, she agreed to ride with him and spare another horse from making the trek. Amund led the way on his silver mare, flanked by two others on each side, their horses trotting quickly through the thin layer of snow.

Leif hoisted her onto the back of a midnight black stallion.

Flecks of snow sparkled like constellations on its coat.

It nickered sweetly as Leif slipped into place behind Brielle, pulling her into his chest. His arm slipped snugly around her waist, holding her protectively while he gripped the horse’s mane, nudging it in the ribs to move.

Brielle found she quite enjoyed riding with Leif, and the feel of her body close to his. The subtle sway of the horse’s canter beneath them relaxed her, almost lulling her to sleep, especially when Leif’s tender touches brushed her belly.

“Almost there,” he said, dragging his teeth along her jaw.

Anxiety clawed at her chest, knowing they were close. She couldn’t quite place what exactly made her so nervous. Her heart started to flutter like the wings of a hummingbird in search of nectar. Subconsciously, her hand covered his, still resting on her stomach, seeking his comfort.

“Easy,” he soothed, his thumb stroking her knuckles. “It is them who should be frightened. They are meeting you, a Dróttning to the Konungr of these lands. You are powerful. You have no reason to be worried. Be proud, my tough, little firebird.”

Warm lips pressed to her pulse, a smile growing against her throat as sharp teeth grazed her flesh. His reassurances calmed her restless nerves, stitching together the tangled threads.

The flutter in her chest settled, and her breathing evened out, matching the steadiness of his behind her. Sighing, her head fell back until it collided with his hard body, resting there.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For what?”

“For reminding me how strong I am.”

“I will never let you forget,” he murmured, brushing her braids to one side and kissing her pulse point.

“I love you,” she said, swaying with the horse’s movements.

“And I you, hjartae mitt. I have loved you for a thousand lifetimes, and will love you for a thousand more.”

She leaned further into him, letting his words flourish, weaving together the unfinished pieces of her soul.

The trees thinned, and the path opened into something Brielle immediately remembered. Part of her believed this moment would feel like returning home, but this place didn’t hold that for her anymore.

In fact, she doubted whether it ever had.

Fate always intended for her to be with Leif and the Norse.

They were her people.

And that was her home.

Their horse brought up the rear, keeping their presence hidden. At the head of a small group of men in the center of town, she made out the straggly, bearded face of her father.

A chorus of boots crunched in the snow as their attaché dismounted their steeds gracefully.

Liv’s red hair blew in the wind, her spear as tall as she was at her side.

Winking, Amund patted his mare’s neck, passing it an apple as he moved toward her father.

The others followed him with their weapons held tightly in their hands.

“Are you ready?” Leif asked.

“Yes,” she said, channeling the confidence that Leif empowered her with.

Snow and twigs cracked under Leif’s weight as he stepped down from the horse.

Distracted by Amund and the others, no one had seen them yet.

Large palms bracketed her hips as he carefully helped Brielle to the ground.

Leif schooled his features into something cold and indifferent before placing his hand on her lower back, guiding her forward.

Brielle did her best to do the same, relaxing her body and raising her chin. Wild curls billowed mostly free behind her in the wind while two braids framed her face.

At their approach, the others parted for them, opening a way for Leif and Brielle to move to the front.

That was when she heard him, her father, speaking contritely—weakly—to Amund.