Page 30 of Heart of the Wolf

It was like Leif had said. He wasn’t a leader. Too occupied with the jarl, her father didn’t notice them as they came to stand beside Amund. He looked as he always had; a mask of superiority settled over the carefully crafted submissive tone he always used during his dealings with the Norse.

Leif clapped Amund on the shoulder. And that was when she saw it—the moment her father’s gaze drifted from Amund to Leif and, subsequently, Brielle.

The ground dropped out from under her feet, leaving her unsteady. A crease formed between his brows, his nose scrunched up as if there was something foul-smelling on his upper lip. Nothing prepared her for the utter look of disgust on her father’s face when he saw her.

She’d expected shock. Maybe relief or joy.

But no, her stomach curdled at the realization that her father held so little love for her that seeing her with the Norsemen was enough to sicken him.

Amund narrowed his dark eyes at the man who had sired her, his hand drifting to the hilt of his axe.

“Consider yourself honored,” Amund said in a low staccato. Everyone who knew him heard the undercurrent of threat in his words. “The Konungr has come.”

Something flickered in her father’s gaze; fear poorly concealed in the shadow of his mask.

“He was kind enough even to grace you with the presence of his beautiful bride,” Amund added with a saccharine smile.

A murmur of whispers broke out among the men who stood beside her father. Their eyes widened at Amund’s comment, their words obscured by their hands as they all tossed worrying glances at her father.

Repulsion twisted into a seething rage as scarlet crept up his neck above his tunic, flaming his cheeks and ears with it.

Whether it was bold or stupid, her father stepped forward, closing the distance between them.

Feet shuffled, closing in around her and Leif. The warriors with them made to grab their blades when Leif raised a hand in a silent command. Anger simmered in Liv as she restrained herself, ready to attack the moment Leif allowed it.

An oppressive cloud pressed down on them, the intensity of it cloying the air and making her want to gag.

“What have you done? Went and became a whore to some heathen,” her father spat. “I was better off thinking you were dead.”

Shocked by his accusations, she froze.

A deafening crack shook the barren trees when the back of his hand connected with her cheek, snapping her head to the side with its force. Stinging heat erupted at the spot where he slapped her. Blood dripped from the tiny gash split open by his ring.

Brielle fought against the sob lodged in her throat that had nothing to do with the physical pain, refusing to show weakness. Delicately, she cupped her cheek, biting back the tears that threatened to spill free, keeping the cool look etched on her face.

Before she had time to react, an ancient power shuddered the rooftops. The force tore at the veil between this world and the next as beams of purple and golden light encased them.

The air crackled with the sound of bending bones and snapping sinew. Thick white fur rippled across Leif’s haunches, already standing on end. Clawed paws dug into the earth, shredding through frost and dirt as a deep, resonant growl hissed through his fanged muzzle.

Screams rippled out from the villagers, some running toward the woods while others sought shelter in their homes.

Amund chuckled, content to watch the scene unfold before him. Fingertips flexed on the hilt of his axe as he scrubbed a hand through his well-groomed beard.

The moment his paws touched the ground, Leif bounded forward.

The man Brielle no longer considered her father was pinned to the hard ground before he had a chance to think about running.

Pearlescent fangs glittered in the sun as jaws snapped and bit down on nothing in the air near her father’s face.

Genuine fear appeared in the depths of his beady eyes.

Tears tracked down her father’s cheeks as he begged for mercy.

He had been handsome once, skin tanned by the sun and waves of nut-colored hair falling over his face.

However, years of overindulgence and greed corrupted him, mixing with the grief of her mother’s death, twisting him into something unrecognizable.

“Oh, God. Please. D… Don’t. I didn’t. Didn’t mean to offend. I wa…was surprised to see my only daughter alive. I grieved her so.”

A rattling breath felt wet in Brielle’s lungs. Even now, he used her to save himself.

It was all a lie.

Copper stained her lips as she rolled them between her teeth, biting back every unkind thing she wanted to say. Each swallow she forced down was rougher than the last, saliva turning to ash in her mouth.

Ears twitching, her wolf turned his muzzle toward her. The cerulean irises swirled into a soft shade of gray, just for her.

An unspoken question passed between them. He was leaving the decision up to her; Leif would spare her father’s life if she wished it.

But what he had done wasn’t worth forgiveness in Leif’s eyes. It was treason. If anyone else had laid a hand on Brielle as her father had, they would already be dead.

Pinpricks tingled across her nape, acutely aware of every stare fixed on her.

For the first time, the burden of being Leif’s wife, the Dróttning, weighed heavily on her. No one could be allowed to treat her like that.

Not anymore.

After spending an entire life letting others treat her as less than, she finally had the strength to stop it.

Usually, Brielle considered mercy to be a merit of character. But not now. Today, mercy would be a weakness, one that she refused to have.

Amund and their people eyed her, curious what choice she would make and what kind of Dróttning she would be.

Quieting her wild heart, she laced her fingers at her waist. She declined to look at her pitiful father, and kept her gaze locked with Leif’s. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she dipped her head in silent permission.

She exhaled a thankful breath when Amund moved to block her view in the split second before Leif attacked.

Blood-curdling screams wailed in the stagnant air as Brielle heard the now familiar sound of flesh being torn from bone.

Her eyes flickered open, but she kept her gaze trained on the ground below her. It didn’t take long before her father’s screams gurgled into nothingness.

The terrified sounds of the rest of the village echoed in the distance as Leif lumbered back to her side, making it clear that he had no intention of harming anyone else.

Crimson marred his muzzle, though the rest of his beautiful, white coat was somehow untouched. She palmed the underside of his bloodied snout, her tiny fingers disappearing in the thick fur. Leif nuzzled into her touch, grounding her to him.

In the center of the village lay her father’s mangled body. It didn’t bother her as she expected it might. Rather, an odd sensation of relief eased her.

Another smattering of gasps rang out as Leif shifted back into his human form, blood caked in his beard. His hand ghosted over her nape before he stepped forward.

“It is done,” Leif declared. “You have nothing to fear from us. There is no need to provide us with a cache each winter anymore. If you do not disturb us, we will leave you in peace.”

Hushed whispers murmured amongst the men as Leif turned, taking her face in his hands and kissing her forehead.

“Let us go home, hjartae mitt. There is nothing left for us here.”