Page 40 of Heart of the Wolf

Reluctantly, Amund led Astrid from the longhouse with one arm wrapped possessively around her waist, the other gripping his axe as if prepared for an attack the moment they stepped outside.

“How will this be done?” Leif asked, his voice cold and devoid of emotion, sending a chill through her veins.

“You will call for a meeting of the clans and announce it there.”

“All the leaders are on longships,” he said, eyeing the bloodied dagger. “That could take weeks. In the meantime?”

A malicious smile twisted her feral features. “I have two cells prepared for you.”

“My kona will not give birth in some dingy cell,” he grunted, a vein throbbing in his throat.

The pain in her arm overloaded all her senses, clouding her vision.

Leif was close, close enough that he could attack Herja, but not before she plunged her dagger into Brielle’s stomach.

Her wolf knew that. The calmness faded from him, the fiery rage flaring once more, and Brielle did not have the strength anymore to ease it.

Herja’s blade poked her belly.

All it would take was a slight movement for the tip to slice Brielle. Thick clouds of oakmoss billowed from Herja, the stench so potent, Brielle gagged.

Fighting the urge to vomit, Brielle blinked, trying to see Leif clearly. They were at a crossroads. Leif was troubled, willing to do anything to protect her and their baby.

Even if that meant surrendering himself to a traitor.

She had to help him.

As tension grew in the eerie silence, Herja moved closer to Brielle, almost straddling her legs, trying to make some disgusting claim on her. A guttural snarl howled from within Leif’s chest, his wolf on the precipice of breaking free.

When he was the wolf, Leif kept control. He couldn’t speak, but his conscience was at the forefront. Brielle saw it in his eyes, the wolf clawing at the surface, begging for release. Icy shards splintered into the gray, and soon, Leif wouldn’t be able to stop it.

Doing the only thing she could, Brielle raised her leg and kicked hard between Herja’s legs. The woman screamed, the dagger dropping to the floor with a thud. An untamed ferocity glowed in Leif’s gaze as he changed, his immense wolf shaking the ground.

Herja shrieked a sound of pure terror, fumbling as she desperately searched for her weapon.

Mustering what little strength she had, Brielle extended her foot, booting the dagger away.

The wolf stalked the wild mane of raven hair, its shoulders rising and falling with each thud of its paws on the muddy floor.

Herja fell backwards, trying to crawl away.

And failed.

For the first time in hours, Brielle’s body relaxed, watching as Leif cornered his prey. Her usually ruthless wolf toyed with his kill, batted at Herja’s boots. With a lazy swipe of his claws, Leif tore through Herja’s silks, making blood sprout from the shallow cuts on her chest.

Drool dripped from his fangs as he snapped at her trembling figure. Her tiny hands shoved at the wolf, unable to move him. A chilling howl made the hairs on the back of Brielle’s neck prickle.

“Please,” Herja whimpered, scratching pathetically at the wolf’s face.

The wolf’s frame shook with a rumbling sound, something almost akin to laughter. Massive paws pressed on Herja’s shoulders, one at a time, the bones snapping with a wet crack before a guttural wail pierced the stagnant space.

Slowly, Leif turned his icy eyes until they found Brielle’s. The pain subsided briefly, heat warming her strained body. Those deadly, primal eyes softened, soothing her before returning to the bloodied quarry beneath it.

“úlfr. My wolf,” she said loud enough for him to hear. The wolf’s head snapped back to hers instantly. “End it, please. I want to go home.”

Something flickered in the wolf’s gaze, an uncertainty Brielle hadn’t seen before. She understood the anguish completely; it was a unique kind of pain to extinguish light from someone you once loved.

Brielle didn’t doubt that there had been a time Leif loved his mother’s sister just as she had once loved her father.

Time, power, and hate twisted both of them.

However, as quickly as the hesitation came, it dissolved, replaced with a fierce resoluteness in her wolf instead.

Brielle’s body started to give in to its injuries, the force of it a crushing weight on her shoulders. Her head throbbed, the familiar pain now overshadowed by the burning ache in her arm. A dizzy spell made her sway, blurring the room in a muddled hue of muted light.

She wasn’t worried. Her wound would heal.

All she wanted was her wolf, and to be wrapped up in his arms.

A chorus of screams muffled by snot-ridden sobs echoed off the walls, mixing with the crack of bones. Too tired to hold her head up any longer, Brielle stared at the dried puddle of blood between her feet.

Sleep called to her.

It wasn’t long before the hoarse screams faded into the distance. Thunderous steps rattled the walls, a massive shadow pausing before her. Slowly, Brielle lifted her head, smiling at the bloodied wolf before her.

Her eyes fluttered, struggling to stay open, and Leif returned to his human form.

Scratches from Herja’s frivolous assault marked his chest and face, new scars mingling with the old.

Dropping to his knees, he undid the straps around her wrists before settling between her thighs and resting his head on her belly.

Weakly, Brielle reached out, her hands nearly numb from the lack of blood. She cradled his head to her stomach, willing their baby to kick, hoping to give Leif a moment of joy.

One side of her mouth lifted when their sweet baby did just that, making a single tear leak from his eye.

“We’re alright, úlfr. See, our baby is strong,” she said, kissing the top of his head, wiping the lone tear from his face.

“Like her mother.” His gaze drifted to the cut on her face before eyeing the more worrisome one on her arm. “Too pure for scars, hjartae mitt,” he said, gingerly rubbing his thumb over the bloody marks etched into her skin. “Not your burden.”

Featherlight kisses trailed over the tender flesh, the firelight reflecting the scarlet stain on his beard.

“This one is for you. I wear it proudly,” she murmured, leaning into his chest and echoing the words he once told her.

Shaking his head, he ripped sheets of fabric from his tunic, wrapping her wound.

“Come,” he said, the familiar command returning to his voice. Leif stood, effortlessly lifting Brielle to his chest. “Time for us to go home.”