Page 38 of Heart of the Wolf

Chapter nineteen

Leif

The sun and the moon both hung in the sky, the earth blooming with light despite the end of the day nearing.

Summer was a nice reprieve from the harshness of winter, but the amount of daylight played with Leif’s sense of time.

Side by side, he and Amund walked through the woods.

Quiet, save for the hoot of awakening owls.

Blood matted his braids, and new gashes marked his chest, ones for Brielle to heal while scolding him.

A smirk curled on his lips as his fingers traced the bloody wounds.

“Your firebird will slaughter you one of these times, úlfr,” Amund snorted, wiping scarlet droplets from his face.

“And I will spread my arms wide and welcome it,” Leif laughed.

Like a mighty Valkyrie, his kona was spirited and strong, and he would have it no other way. As the other half of his soul and heart, she could be nothing else. She tempered him. And their daughter would be just as beautiful, kind, and powerful as her mother, for his Brielle was all those things.

If Leif feared anything in this world, it was his wife. She could take out his still-beating heart, and he would thank her for it.

Whatever she willed was hers.

Leif grabbed his axe, scratching his beard as they followed a few paces behind the other men.

One clan had refused to send any of their warriors on the raids; that only meant one thing.

Leif and Amund rounded up a few men and went to the clan’s village, unsurprised to see them preparing for battle.

Their boyish features and carefree laughter died at the sight of a massive wolf stalking toward them.

Amund and their men flanked Leif, though he didn’t need them.

It was a statement, a show of unity. A reminder of what loyalty garnered them.

One by one, he severed heads from torsos and ripped bones from flesh until blood stained the lush undergrowth. Weapons clattered to the ground, and men dropped to their knees, bowing and begging for mercy.

When he was younger, Leif had been merciful; that time was now long gone. He would work through every traitorous clan if he had to, bringing them all to heel with blood and death if the gods demanded it.

Amund wrapped a thick forearm around Leif’s shoulder, shaking him. “úlfr, would you like me to stay for dinner or take Astrid home so you and your firebird can practice making other babies?” he snickered.

Before Leif responded, a blur of flaming hair jogged toward them. Liv pursed her lips, appearing more haggard than Leif had ever seen her. A ball sank into the pit of his stomach, foreboding and unnerving.

“úlfr. Amund,” she called, straightening her shoulders like she was preparing for battle. “They’re gone.”

“Who’s gone?” Amund snapped, running a scarred hand through his bloody hair.

“Brielle and Astrid. They went for a walk this morning and never returned. No one can find them. We searched for hours. It looks like there was a scuffle by the shore.”

“Show me,” Leif hissed, clutching Liv’s arm harder than he intended.

Leaves blurred into a hazy mass of green, and the ringing in his ears grew worse with each step he took.

For someone as stoic and composed as Amund, Leif felt the thundering of his heart and the thrumming of his pulse.

Even in his human form, Leif’s senses were heightened.

He scented his friend’s wrath, mingling with the burnt edge of fear for the missing piece of his heart.

As angry as Amund was, it paled compared to the rage that stormed inside Leif. The sky opened, lightning and thunder striking around them as if Thor sensed the impending battle.

When they reached the shoreline, Liv and Amund exchanged words Leif didn’t hear.

After a minute, the redhead turned to face the ocean.

Leif crouched, running his fingers along the muddied footprints.

The rain had started to wash them away, but two small sets were still visible, with another larger pair coming in from the forests.

It wasn’t long before Leif pieced together what happened.

“Two attackers,” he mumbled, sighing when there were no signs of blood.

Whoever took them didn’t hurt them. Not at first, at least. That meant they wanted something; that there was a chance his kona and sister were unharmed.

The looming storm moved out over the ocean, the rain ceasing and the dark clouds moving toward the horizon. Heavy braids framed his face, drops of water dripping from them onto the sand. Fingers closed around his shoulder when Amund urged Leif to his feet.

“úlfr,” he said, a feral possessiveness in his gaze. “Are we going? Should I gather more warriors?”

“No. They don’t want a battle,” Leif hissed, running his fingers through the snarls in his hair. “Weak and scared. They cannot win. They want me. Us. Rule of the clans. So, they stole them. Took what wasn’t theirs.”

A broken and primal sound carried out over the waves as Amund’s nostrils flared.

If he ground his teeth together any harder, they would crumble into ash.

Astrid may have been Leif’s sister, but she was the lifeblood that sustained Amund.

Without her, his jarl would wither away until all that remained was a shadowy wisp. Not that he would be any better.

In every lifetime, Brielle was his. And now, someone thought it was wise to steal away his kona and his daughter.

Every star foretold the birth of their daughter. Yet, Brielle was stubborn. Just the way he liked her. He would have her no other way. A pained roar ripped from his throat, leaving it hoarse and rough.

Somebody wished to barter with the lives of his family. Gods save them, because no one else would.

“Only us,” Leif said. “Liv, protect my people in our absence.”

“Yes, úlfr,” she said, resting a hand over her heart before disappearing from where she came.

The rain may have washed away many of the tracks, but he could still scent the sweet smell of his kona. Wildflowers and spring rain. He would find them. Tossing his axe to Amund, Leif shifted, the earth rumbling as his paws buried into the wet sand.

Sitting back on his haunches, Leif knocked his head back, barking a guttural howl. The trees shook from its force, startling birds from their perches. He snapped his jaw, hoping whoever took Brielle heard and knew of their impending death.

Slowly, he moved through the forest, sniffing to follow the faded hints of daisies that carried on the breeze.

When in his wolf, everything was intensified, but his mind had a singular focus.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

Quiet footsteps padded alongside him, Amund’s rage barely simmering beneath the surface. Usually, his jarl was stoic and strong, a steadiness to Leif’s brashness.

But with Astrid gone, he became wild and uncontrolled.

Normally, Leif would revel in a bloodthirsty jarl, but he didn’t think that would bode well for them today.

His wolf panted at the thought, wanting nothing more than to spill blood, to ravage the person or people who dared to touch what belonged to him.

Most of the clans were close, and Leif had an inkling that his nose would lead them to the coastal clan.

They were unassuming, and most were in awe of Leif and his wolf, but there was one who exuded influence over the others, one who was not happy with his decisions.

Leif’s choice of kona angered her, as it had Styrr.

That, along with a decade’s worth of jealousy, made her dangerous.

Brielle’s sweet scent carried along the tree line, mixing with an earthier oak moss that made Leif’s snout twitch. The forest opened to the mouth of the sea. A massive, wooden gate barred their entrance, with tall oaken pillars surrounding the village.

It was a fortress.

Leif turned in a circle, snarling and growling at the offending blockage. Brielle’s scent had grown strong; she was here.

Amund rapped harshly on the gate with the butt of his axe, any lingering light fleeing from his gaze.

“Your Konungr demands passage. Open the gate,” he hissed, his voice teeming with venom.

When the wood creaked with the sound of the pulley groaning to life, Leif’s ears twitched in surprise.

He wasn’t sure if they would let him in or let him see her.

If the gnawing in the pit of his stomach was to be believed, they wanted him to see her alive and unharmed.

They lost their bargaining power if Brielle or their baby were injured.

Amund shared a look with Leif, full of understanding. His jarl knew who and what waited for them on the other side.

With the gate opened, Leif lumbered inside, splaying his claws out in the tender earth.

A young thrall bowed deeply, trembling and afraid to look at him. Only a few thralls remained in some of the clans. Ones that had been taken during his father’s reign as Konungr. It wasn’t something Leif believed in. He’d outlawed the practice.

Yet, many young thralls milled about here, trepidation evident on their sallow faces, pointing to this clan’s defiance of his laws.

Or rather, two specific people, swaying the others.

Among the thralls were women and men who openly greeted Leif, dipping their chins in respect at his advance. He ignored them for now, focused on one thing.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

His wolf chanted it over and over again, like a broken prayer to the gods. Leif paced back and forth, circling the vibrant longhouse in the center of the village.

“In there?” Amund asked, jutting his chin in the direction of the building.

Leif nodded, his nose working furiously at the overwhelming scent of his kona. It soothed him at first.

Soon, her sweetness mixed with the metallic tang of blood, threatening to rip apart the last dredges of control he had, making him give in fully to his wolf.

But with her smell came the foul stench of another he had long forgotten.

Someone he wished to be rid of for years, but duty forbade him from scorching her from this plane.

But now, blood had threatened his blood, and nothing would stop him from spilling it.

His kin had been allowed to maintain this settlement. And they had defied him, doing as they wished, taking thralls and who knew what else.

Many disagreed with him, but few were brave enough to face him, hiding like cowards. At least Styrr had faced him like a man. But now his kin stood against him.

They stole his soul. Took her instead of clashing steel with steel.

Outside the longhouse stood a frail thrall, a fresh bruise on the young girl’s face. Her shoulders shook, and her knees knocked as Leif’s wolf approached. A low growl vibrated his chest and the ground beneath him.

The girl was told to wait for him, no matter how much it frightened her. He had to fight against the desire to rip out her throat, knowing she had something to do with Brielle’s capture.

They stopped at the entrance, Leif pawing at the ground to prevent him from attacking the thrall. Finally, she looked up from the dirt, offering an awkward bow. When she tried to speak, her teeth chattered as she covered the bruise on her cheek.

“Speak, girl,” Amund hissed, spit flying from his mouth. “Do you have a message from your mistress?” he added, slightly softer.

She nodded, her jaw quivering. Leif took an ounce of pity on the thrall, covering her foot with his paw.

Inhaling a sharp gasp, the girl locked her wide, doe-eyes on the wolf. For a minute, the dark irises and smattering of freckles reminded him of a younger version of his kona.

“Only Konungr and his jarl may pass,” she said.

A pathetic excuse for a dagger dangled limply in her hand, and Leif didn’t stop the huffing snort that puffed from him. The girl skittered back into the longhouse with the sound, dropping the dagger before frantically picking it up again.

Leif’s icy eyes turned to Amund, who nodded.

“Your mistress has destined you for Helheim, girl,” Amund huffed, the wide-eyed girl shaking in response, tears staining her cheeks. “Are they harmed?”

“No,” the girl blurted.

Without another word, Amund pushed on the door with his axe, opening it to the dingy meeting space. Leif padded behind him, his massive paws thundering ominously as he moved. Fire raged in the hearth, flames licking the stone as smoke billowed out of the holes in the roof.

A whimpering howl ripped from deep in his chest at the sight in the middle of the room. Astrid smiled sweetly, her blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. Her arms were bound behind the rickety wood seat, but otherwise, she looked unharmed, her cerulean eyes sparkling at Amund.

In another chair sat his kona, her dress torn and her face swollen and bloody.

Knotted curls cascaded down her back, dirt caked in the braids that framed her face.

His icy eyes trailed slowly to the swell of her belly.

Leif paced hurriedly in front of Amund, snapping his jaw toward the woman, who was chuckling between the chairs.

Black, gnarled braids bracketed her bony cheeks. A knowing smirk grew on the woman’s face as she pressed the tip of her dagger into Brielle’s stomach.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

Leif shook his head, forcing himself to regain control. He could not give in completely to his wolf. Not yet.

“Welcome, son of my sister,” she sneered, running the dagger from Brielle’s navel to the hollow of her throat and back again.