Page 37 of Heart of the Wolf

Chapter eighteen

Brielle

Sharp stings of pain speared in the spot behind her right eye, each one more jarring than the last. The darkness behind her eyelids offered a little reprieve from the pain.

She debated keeping them closed. If only to keep the nausea at bay.

A kick in her ribs sent a jolt down her spine.

One at a time, she fluttered her lashes, opening her eyes, relaxing when a dim room greeted her.

Orange firelight flickered in the corner, illuminating rows of tapestries and furs mounted on the walls.

Long tables and stacks of chairs lined the edges of the room.

It reminded Brielle of the gathering space in the longhouse back home.

However, this place lacked the warmth and happiness she associated with such a communal spot.

White gold hair sparkled in the glow of the flames beside her. Astrid looked so tiny, limp, like a wilted flower in the oversized chair she was strapped to.

Strands of sweaty blonde hair fell over her cheeks, obscuring her gaunt face. Brielle opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Her lips parted again and again, but all she tasted was the dry feel of batted cotton.

A drawn-out sigh made her aching body sag when the baby in her belly kicked happily, unaffected by their circumstances.

When she tried to reach around and cradle her stomach, leather straps tightened around her wrists.

The rough material bit into the raw skin there, making her hiss and clench her jaw.

Outside of her throbbing temple, she appeared to be otherwise unharmed. As did Astrid.

Wood creaked in the distance. Brielle’s head snapped to the source of the sound.

A frail girl stumbled into the room, her thin shift dress torn and dingy.

Wide, bloodshot eyes stared at her, the girl’s fingers trembling around the bowl in her hands.

She was young, barely old enough to be a woman.

Bare feet padded over the dirt floor, stopping in front of Astrid and nudging her.

“Don’t touch her,” Brielle croaked, her voice hoarse like she had swallowed shards of stone.

The girl squeaked in surprise, jumping back as if she had been burned. Frantic blue eyes landed on Brielle, almost pleading with her, begging for help.

As if Brielle could help anyone, given her current state. Upon closer inspection, various bruises marred the girl’s face. All of them in different states of healing. The girl had a nasty, fresh bruise under her left eye, likely inflicted within the last day.

Perhaps she could help the terrified girl; she looked English.

“Those must hurt. I’m a healer. I could tend to them if you untie me.”

Scared eyes darted around like a cornered deer in the forest, searching for the source of its death.

“She will kill me,” the young girl whispered, almost afraid that if she spoke too loud, it would breathe life into the words.

A woman.

Brielle tucked that piece of information away, not sure how helpful it might be. Right now, their only hope was for Brielle to make the shaky girl trust her.

“What is your name?” Brielle asked.

“Which one do you wish to know?”

Silently, Brielle tilted her head. Her brows knitted in as her lips narrowed.

“Do you wish to know my true name or the name I was given when I came here?”

Any life that remained in the girl’s words vanished as she finished that sentence. Something gnarled in her chest, festering like a weed until it was painful. Brielle remembered her father’s stories, stories of heathens ransacking villages and stealing women and children.

Based on the fleeting words of her captor before her world went dark, the visage of a longhouse surrounding her, and the broken girl in front of her. Brielle assumed she was in the village of one of the other clans.

But which one? And how long would it take Leif to find her?

If he found her.

Copper coated her tongue. Her teeth pierced her raw lower lip again, making more blood stain her lips. Nothing would stop Leif and Amund from finding them. She chanted the reassurance over and over again, refusing to believe anything else.

Whoever had taken them wanted Leif to kneel in exchange for her. That meant she was more valuable alive. She was likely safe, for now. The taste of bile mixed with blood in her mouth. Hopefully, Astrid would garner similar protections as the jarl’s wife and Leif’s sister.

“Your true name,” Brielle said sweetly, remembering the trembling girl before them.

“Vala,” she said with a sad smile. “I was stolen from my family two years ago, now.”

Brielle froze. Leif had outlawed thralls when he became Konungr almost a decade ago. Wherever she was and whoever had taken her had ignored Leif’s laws.

“Vala,” Brielle echoed, returning her attention to the frightened girl. “That’s a beautiful name. Let me help you, Vala. Untie me and my friend,” she said in a voice similar to one a mother might use to soothe a child with a skinned knee.

Brielle forced her wild heart to calm, afraid she might pass out from the strain if she didn’t. It was thundering so violently that blood hammered in her ears, reigniting the sharp pain that pierced her temple. Vala watched her, her eyes flickering back and forth over her feet, deep in thought.

The door groaned again, and Brielle cursed Odin under her breath.

Whatever progress she had made with the timid girl evaporated.

A thin woman flanked by a halo of dark, thick braids strode into the room.

A well-crafted leather bodice with metal buckles accentuated her silk dress as the jewelry on her neck glittered.

The richness of the materials alluded to her status.

Her garments weren’t as fine as Brielle’s or Astrid’s, but still finer than most.

“Stupid girl,” the tall woman hissed, backhanding Vala, making tears spill from her eyes. “I told you to tell me when she woke. Get out,” she snapped, making the young girl flee from the room.

The woman sneered a disgusting, crooked smile, cocking her head to one side as she twirled a jeweled dagger.

Despite her appearance, a wildness shone in her features, more apparent the closer she got. She reminded Brielle of apples she’d find on the ground, shiny on the outside but rotten at the core.

She stalked toward Brielle, the blade rolling threateningly between her fingers. Refusing to show fear, Brielle trained her gaze forward, focusing on a tapestry depicting Freyja. Warmth heated her cold fingertips as memories of Leif came to the surface.

Dirt-caked nails pinched her chin. The woman ripped the necklace from Brielle’s throat, sending the pieces of amber skittering across the floor. It was a piece Leif had given her after their wedding.

Anger blurred out rational thought. Brielle reared back and spat on the woman, smiling triumphantly when it landed below her eye. But her victory was short lived.

The wild woman retaliated with unnatural speed.

A burning sting radiated over Brielle’s cheek, quickly replaced by a throbbing ache right over her eye.

The ring on her captor’s hand cut into Brielle’s face, causing a line of blood to trickle down.

Brielle licked the bead of blood from her lips, swallowing the coppery tang, snarling at the woman.

A menacing figure loomed above her, the woman cast in a demonic glow. She tapped the tip of her dagger on Brielle’s lip, humming a chilling song before trailing the blade between the valley of her breasts, over the swell of her stomach, and stopping at her navel.

“Mind yourself, girl, or I’ll carve that babe from your belly and feed it to the pigs.

” The tip dug in just enough to make Brielle gasp, her eyes blown wide.

“We have to make sure your wolf recognizes you when he arrives. I’d rather not disfigure you until he’s here to watch.

That would ruin the fun, don’t you think? ”