Page 39 of Heart of the Wolf

Chapter twenty

Brielle

What?! Brielle swallowed past the hard lump in her throat, trying to ease the harsh itch. Emotion choked off her words as she tried to speak. Something prickled behind her sternum, urging her to comfort Leif.

It burned in her chest. The echo of his pain as anger rolled violently off him. Slowly, her eyes blinked closed as she lifted her chin, breathing in a lungful of stale air.

For a moment, as brief as it may have been, she only focused on her love for Leif.

A torrent of warm memories quieted her worries.

The first time they cuddled in the cave when she met his wolf, every time he called her hjartae mitt, the tender way he cared for her—feeding her, braiding her hair, and pleasuring her.

Soon, she no longer registered the cold steel of the dagger anymore, only Leif.

The rapid patter of his paws subsided. Once the hurried rhythm of her heart calmed, Brielle fluttered her lashes open, smiling when his icy eyes blinked back at her.

Her wolf was as steady and sure as an ancient oak, his frame taut with command. A single intent blazed in the glare of his frozen irises.

“Herja,” Amund hissed, gripping an axe in each hand. His nostrils flared; his face relaxing when his attention whipped to Astrid. “My moon, are you hurt?”

“No, Amund,” Astrid said, her voice as breathy as the willow trees.

“Quiet,” Herja snapped, nudging Brielle’s chin back with her dagger. “Blood of my blood. Face me like a man, not a beast.”

A tiny tremor shook Herja’s voice even as she tried to hide it. A shuddering sigh escaped Brielle. The woman was terrified of Leif, especially his wolf. Pride swelled in Brielle, their baby kicking happily with the feeling.

With a growl, Leif shifted, taking the offered weapon from Amund, glaring at Herja.

“Hjartae mitt,” he said, the lines around his jaw softening. “Everything will be okay, I promise. Herja,” he snarled, his face hardening into stone once more as his gaze locked on the other woman.

His kin. His family. His mother’s sister had done this.

“I am here now. Do you have no honor? You didn’t dare to fight me? So, you did this?”

“Honor?” she spat. “What do you know of honor? You stripped the clans of ancient traditions. Weakened us. And if that wasn’t enough, you defiled our family’s blood with this filth.”

Herja buried her fingers in Brielle’s hair, yanking her head back until she hissed, pain prickling the base of her scalp.

The wolf raged, boiling over like a forgotten pot. Barely restrained fury darkened his eyes into obsidian steel as knuckles whitened around his axe. Despite that, Leif stayed rooted to the spot.

“Not only did you fuck this thing,” she scoffed, dragging her blade along Brielle’s exposed forearm. “You married it. You bred it. And now, this dirty half-breed will be your heir. You are not fit to rule the clans. Step aside.”

“Show the proper respect,” Amund shouted, lunging forward. Leif halted him with a stiff arm to the chest.

“Stand down,” Leif whispered, the command no less impactful.

Amund bowed his head, his fiery gaze alighting on the mad woman.

“And you are?” Leif bellowed, taking two deliberate steps forward.

“Your own people do not believe in you. You had to manipulate some timid, little thrall to help you. A thrall that you shouldn’t have.

Do you really think the clans will bend to you?

They respect strength. They respect the will of the gods. You have neither.”

“Odin,” she huffed, rolling her eyes and spitting at Brielle’s feet.

“You defy the will of the gods? Of Odin?” Amund said, blood coating the tips of his teeth as they buried in his lips. “Leif is Odin’s chosen. Forged by strength and blood. The clans will not yield to you.”

“Ah, but what if I were Loki’s chosen?”

A hollow, deadened laugh rattled the ceremonial weapons displayed on the walls. Amund tilted his head, his tongue smearing crimson across his terrifying smile.

“Crazy woman. Loki plays games, and you are nothing more than a pawn. He cannot give you strength or power. You will die because you believed false promises from a meddlesome god. He will laugh at your misfortune.”

Sweat trickled off Herja’s brow, mixing with the cold beads of it on Brielle’s forehead.

She willed her heart to remain steady. Sharp steel slid over Brielle’s arm.

Enough to prick the skin, making her want to pull away.

It wasn’t painful, more bothersome. She refused to give Herja the satisfaction.

Rather than dwelling on the bite of the blade, her attention narrowed on Leif and the unspoken emotions stirring within him.

If anyone else gazed upon him, he appeared stoic and unflinching. The true image of a Konungr.

But to her, his kona, the other half of his soul, he couldn’t hide. Tension hung heavily in the air, its scent almost sulfidic. Worry plagued her wolf. She tried to offer him silent refuge, praying the calm flicker in her eyes brought him some semblance of peace.

Leif once told her that Loki was a trickster, and only a fool would follow him. This woman, Leif’s kin, made a fatal mistake. Blinded by her hatred for the English and her own family. She called Brielle filth, their child a half-breed.

Leif was a Konungr, and Brielle was his Dróttning. People would honor their child above all others.

“If I step down,” Leif said. “Is it your wish that I name Einar as my successor? Make him Konungr and you, Dróttning?”

Staying markedly still, Astrid kept her blue eyes trained on Amund, who stood his ground while Leif inched unknowingly closer. The quiet hum of Brielle’s heart quickened, soon pounding like hoofbeats in the forest.

No.

He wasn’t merciful. He had said so himself. Every fiber screamed at her to stop him, but instinct took over, keeping her silent.

“Yes,” Herja said, a victorious sheen glimmering in her dark eyes.

“And why would the clans accept Einar as Konungr? It is not something to be given. It must be taken. Do you think the clans will respect him, respect you? How long before someone challenges him and he is nothing more than a bloodied corpse staring unseeing into the sun?”

“Silence,” Herja shouted, pulling on Brielle’s hair, sending another sting of pain down her spine.

“Neither of you could maintain the unity. It would crumble. Do you not think someone would slaughter him the moment he took control? Your husband is weak. Einar is no Konungr. No matter how much you will it,” Leif spat, eyes brimming with the shadow of his wolf.

“No,” Herja snapped, digging her blade in deeper, making blood trickle down Brielle’s arm.

“My sister, of course, was married to a jarl,” she scoffed, “even though she was younger, she got the more advantageous marriage. And I got matched with a worthless lout. But the clans will love us. We will spill blood, take thralls, and do not mix with those beneath us.”

Something ticked in Leif’s eyes, the stormy gray sparkling with flecks of molten silver. The taut muscles in his shoulders flexed and eased, the scars on his chest flickering in the firelight.

Leif was much closer to them than when they first arrived. Crimson coated Brielle’s pale arm, the color draining from her face as the pain became almost too much to bear. His eyes darted to the blood dripping down her arm, a snarl catching in his throat.

“If I grant you this,” Leif said. “What is to stop you from killing my Brielle or my baby afterward?”

A frigid sound disguised as laughter fell from Herja as she sliced the point of the blade in deeper, pulling a muffled scream from Brielle.

Tears burned her eyes, unable to stifle the sobs anymore.

The look on Leif’s face hurt more than the blade.

She wished she could take the noise back and be a strong kona for him.

Torment twisted his features, his mouth twitching in a tight, silent snarl.

“Shhh, hjartae mitt. It will be over soon,” he soothed. “I will take care of you, both of you, when this is done.”

Biting her lip, Brielle closed her eyes, tugging at her restraints, trying to twist away from the burn that tore through her arm.

What started as a slow sting turned into a radiating pain that grew worse with each breath she took.

Herja carved marks into her arm as casually as if the woman were drawing with a stick in the sand.

“Because I loved my sister, I won’t kill you, Leif, but exile you instead.

You, your filth, and your half-breed will be given a boat.

” Her eyes flicked to Amund. “You can take your jarl and your sister, too. None of you will be welcomed here. If you set foot in these lands again, your lives will be forfeit.”

Leif raised his hands in supplication, bowing his head.

No. No. No.

This couldn’t be the plan. Amund’s brow furrowed, his chest tightening as his fingers turned white around his axe.

“I will give you what you want,” Leif placated. “Only if you release Astrid first. Amund will take her and leave.”

Amund’s eyes widened as he protested. “But úlfr…”

“Silence, Amund,” he commanded, his wolf snarling at the surface. “For now, I am still your Konungr. You will do as I command.”

Lowering his head, Amund averted his gaze, silencing the retort he was desperate to say. Instead, he focused on Astrid.

“Fine,” Herja huffed, deftly undoing Astrid’s bindings while pressing her dagger into Brielle’s stomach. With a shove, she forced the blonde girl to her feet, causing her to stumble into Amund’s outstretched arms.

Amund showered kisses all over Astrid, hugging her fiercely.

The two exchanged flustered words in Norse, their bodies still tense.

His eyes trailed over Astrid, slowly assessing her for any injuries.

Satisfied she was unharmed, he pulled her snugly into his chest. The tension did not entirely leave the jarl, his anger still palpable in the cut of his jaw.

“Leave,” Leif rumbled after giving them a minute.