Page 32 of Heart of the Wolf
“My pretty kona,” he said, the word muffled as he nuzzled her curls. “I have loved you for a thousand lifetimes.”
“Only a thousand,” she teased.
Under the lights, Leif was all she had ever known.
He chuckled, his warm breath blowing a curl off her face. “Give me time, and I will add a millennium more to it.”
Nimble fingers worked elegantly over the clasp of his cloak, removing it and spreading the thick wools out across the snow in front of the fire as a blanket. Sparks sputtered off the logs, sizzling and melting into nothingness as they hit the ground.
“Sit,” Leif said, flicking his eyes to a spot by his feet.
“Demanding.”
The tip of his tongue licked along his teeth, the points elongating into fangs. Laughing, she stood on her tiptoes, and he kissed her forehead. Her nails raked through his hair, thumbing the knobs on his braids. Having had her fun, she lowered herself onto his cloak, shifting closer to the fire.
Brilliant indigo and gold sparks sputtered around him, casting long, twinkling shadows along the frost-glazed ground.
The transformation from man to wolf was as terrifying as it was mesmerizing.
Paws lumbered beneath a towering figure as two sparkling eyes blinked at her, shining like pure ice crystals.
The ground shook under her as her wolf sat, making a disbelieving laugh tickle in the back of her throat.
A chuff puffed past his muzzle as he curled around her, positioning her tiny frame in the crook of his body.
Fur as soft as silk flicked against her legs, settling there.
Hot breath fanned against her cheeks, his large muzzle resting on her belly.
His eyes blew wide. One ear perked up and twitched while the other flopped at the side.
Shaking his head, her wolf calmed once more. She followed suit, burying her face in his chest. Each heavy breath raised her head, sending a soothing pulse down her spine with the familiar beating of his heart.
Cocooned by her wolf and the fire, she almost forgot they were outside. The lights still danced above them. Brielle traced the movements on Leif’s fur, whispering a story that came to her while lying under the night sky.
“Before the sun and sky, there were the moon and stars.” A quiet rumble purred in his chest, and she continued.
“With each new star, another soul appeared. Mournful night plunged the stars into perpetual darkness. Freyja wept for her children, determined to make them whole. With the help of her lover, she created the light to their dark, the other half to their souls.”
A yawn stretched her limbs, and Brielle closed her eyes, still running her nails through Leif’s velvety fur. Of course, it wasn’t a real verse, nothing of the poetry or sagas told by the skalds.
But to her, it was something tangible. Freyja led her to her moon and stars. Lost in that thought, she slipped into a deep sleep, lulled by the rhythmic rise and fall of her wolf’s chest.
***
Before even realizing she had fallen asleep, light pushed against her eyelids, making her groan.
A low laugh echoed in her ear. Wrapped up in wool and furs, she swayed gently.
Blinking, a sleepy smile pushed against her cheeks.
Leif grinned back at her, his lips molding to hers in a lazy kiss that made her want to strip him of his tunic and straddle his thighs.
Unfortunately, they were in the middle of the village. Little girls giggled as Leif carried her home, gossiping about how in love their Konungr was.
“You’re getting a reputation,” Brielle teased, twirling one of the ties of his tunic around her finger.
“It would appear so. Everyone knows how soft their Konungr is for his kona.”
Shards of icy blue mixed in with the swirls of gray in his sleepy gaze, hinting at the slumbering wolf inside.
Sometimes, after spending too much time transformed, Leif still maintained his wolfish features.
It must have still been early, with only a few young children and mothers milling about.
A pleasant feeling pooled in her belly at the smiles following them when they disappeared into the longhouse.
Leif placed her in bed, smirking at her slight pout when he left her to stoke the fire. It didn’t matter how often she watched him. The sight of his sculpted figure made her long for the weight of him buried between her thighs.
The gods had crafted Leif just for her, and she wouldn’t be ashamed of the speck of drool that clung to her mouth at the vision he made. The glow of the fire illuminated him like a fallen angel, sent to earth to collect her soul, one she would willingly surrender to him.
To the naked eye, he was all hard lines and jagged scars, a blood-stained and unyielding warrior.
But to her, he would always be the moon and stars, bathed in its silver light.
Perhaps her story hadn’t been entirely untrue; some of his darkness spilled into her light, and some of her sun brightened his moon.
They complemented each other, as Freyja intended, bringing balance to the world and pleasing Thor and Odin.
“I must meet with Amund. Shall I send for Astrid or Liv to sit with you?”
His tall figure loomed over her, his gentle hold on her so at odds with the ridges of muscles strung taut under his tunic.
“You are tense,” she said, running her finger over his jaw.
“I don’t like leaving you,” he murmured, nudging her nose with his. “My wolf is restless for some reason.”
“Go. And no, no need to send for them. I’m a bit sleepy.”
She shook her head, burrowing under the furs. Grinning, he pressed a kiss to her temple, heading outside. Feeling unusually tired, Brielle slept most of the day, trying to ignore the nausea rolling in her stomach.