Page 11
ELEVEN
DAYS BEFORE
H ekla moaned so loudly she was certain they could hear her in the stars high above.
Yet she couldn’t bring herself to care—not when she straddled the Fox’s face.
Not when he gripped her trembling thighs, holding her to his mouth as he worked her sensitive flesh.
And as the pleasure that had been coiling ever tighter in her belly burst at last, nothing else mattered.
Magenta and saffron bloomed in her vision, a kaleidoscope of spinning, melting shapes, as her palate was coated with the taste of sweet angelica and honey.
Utterly wrung out, Hekla half rolled, half tumbled off the Fox. They’d started end to end, yet at some point, she’d abandoned his cock entirely. Panting on the blanket, the world seemed to swell around her. But as a stinging slap landed on her arse, she was yanked back into reality.
Hekla scowled up at the Fox. Propped on an elbow, he grinned back at her with pure male arrogance.
But as his gaze roamed over the curves of her body, it shifted to something intense and unreadable.
As it skimmed over her residual limb, she braced herself for the questions.
But he only said, “You look beautiful like this. ”
She frowned. “You’re mocking me.”
The Fox’s brows dipped low. “I’m not.”
Hekla searched his face for amusement or mockery but was startled to find genuine confusion.
“Let us try this again,” he said, sliding a finger along her lower lip.
“I’ll tell you you’re beautiful like this, bathed in moonlight with your cheeks flushed, and you’ll accept the compliment.
” The Fox leaned down and pressed his lips against hers, the kiss quickly devolving into a deep, lush thing.
Much to her chagrin, Hekla found her left hand hooking around the Fox’s nape, pulling him closer.
She was dimly aware that this man had far too much power over her—that he was the kind of danger she’d worked so hard to avoid.
But the needy sound from deep in his throat wiped all such thoughts aside. His desire for her was clear as daylight. And as he drew back, he rested his forehead against hers, his eyes filled with that same intensity.
“You understand now, don’t you?” The Fox’s breaths were ragged, a sharp edge to his words. “I would never jest about such a thing.”
And with that, he rolled away, leaving Hekla blinking up at the star-filled skies. Who in the gods’ sacred ashes was this man?
She struggled to a sitting position, glad to see that all intensity had faded from the Fox’s eyes.
He puffed his chest out and loudly proclaimed, “Another round to the fox!” His smile only widened as he took in Hekla’s expression.
“Oh, don’t be so grim. It’s not as though you, too, didn’t win a prize. ”
“Gods. How did I find the largest of all man-babies in the realm?”
He snorted. “Do not lament the fact that you are so sensitive to my touch, Lynx. I like this about you. A weakness in your tough armor.”
Hekla looked away to conceal her discomfort, but the Fox did not miss the shiver that rolled down her spine.
“You’re cold.” He found the spare blanket and bundled it around their shoulders.
He arranged himself beside her, and they sat side by side, staring at the rushing river.
It was impossible to miss that the warrior had not found his own release, but when he caught her looking, he smirked. “You can try again when you’re warmed.”
She fought the urge to elbow him in the ribs, but instead leaned into his heat. The Fox took her cold left hand between his, rubbing warmth back into it. Hekla’s insides warred; one part cringed away from such overt affection, while another reveled in the comfort that came from his ministrations.
As they sat in silence and the Fox readjusted the blanket to cover her thighs, Hekla’s thoughts drifted maddeningly to Loftur.
Gods. How could she be thinking of him at a time such as this?
But more infuriating, how could the witless man still refuse her entry to the woods?
Did he truly think they could defeat the mist without identifying its origins?
The Fox had folded her right leg over his lap and was now massaging her foot. “What consumes your thoughts?” he asked, thumbs digging into the arch of her foot. It felt so good she nearly groaned.
“The cod-brained man I work for?—”
The Fox’s thumb dug in sharply, causing Hekla to break off with a yelp. Her glare was met with a look of amusement. “’Tis a waste of a beautiful night to have your mind in a different place.”
As his fingers resumed their gentle ministrations, Hekla realized he was right. When she was thinking of the job, she missed the beauty surrounding her—moonlight gleaming off the river waters, the trill of a winterwing from somewhere nearby.
“I wasn’t always like this,” she murmured, more to herself than to the man beside her.
“What do you mean?”
She hummed softly. “I used to...take joy in the small things. Dream about the future.”
“And now? ”
“Now I...” Hekla sighed. “My thoughts often drift to things that have come to pass.”
“Good things, I hope?” said the Fox. The innuendo in his voice was impossible to miss.
Hekla allowed her gaze to roam along the warrior’s long limbs and became acutely aware of each place they touched.
“ Now what is going through that beautiful mind of yours, Lynx?” asked the Fox with a chuckle.
“I’m wondering,” she said, sliding a finger along the jagged red scar on his shoulder, “what kind of weapon did this to you?”
The Fox craned his neck to examine the scar, and when his eyes met hers, they were filled with mischief. “I had a run in with a tree.”
“A tree?”
“Aye. It had the nerve to grow from the side of a cliff.”
Hekla’s brows drew together.
The man chuckled, smoothing a thumb along the scar. “There is a cliff overlooking my favorite swimming hole. A friend of mine dared me to jump off it, and well, as I’ve said, I never lose?—”
“So, this wound is wrought of male pride.” Hekla scoffed. To her own surprise, she leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to it.
The Fox looked delighted, and there was something so...pure about his smile. “The tree doggedly tried to thwart my fall, but I am pleased to say I prevailed.”
Hekla shook her head with silent laughter.
“And this one,” the Fox said eagerly, showing her the scar on his inner wrist, “was acquired after drinking too much ale at my brother’s birthday feast and tumbling down the privy stairs.”
Hekla took his wrist in her hand and kissed the scar in question.
“And this one”—the Fox threw the blanket back and twisted to reveal a mark etched into the side of his torso—“was also acquired after drinking too much at a feast.”
Hekla leaned closer, letting the scent of him permeate her senses. “That’s no scar,” she teased. “’Tis a tattoo. And a terrible one at that. What is it meant to be? ”
“A dragon. Can you not tell?”
Hekla truly could not. Chuckling, she kissed the tattoo all the same. “I see you have a rather reckless streak to you.”
“You see reckless, I see living .”
Hekla straightened and peered into his eyes. “Do you never regret your choices? Wish you could go back and be smarter?”
He shook his head.
“If I’m to understand,” said Hekla slowly, “you’re a man who lives in the present, perhaps without considering the future. And I’m a woman whose mind dwells on the past.”
The Fox’s gaze grew thoughtful. “It would seem that way.”
An incredulous laugh fell from her lips. “I want to be more like you tonight,” said Hekla impulsively.
A hint of a frown marred his beautiful face. “Are you?—”
“Teach me.”
The Fox contemplated silently for a moment. “You can start by...sharing a secret with me.”
It was not what she’d been expecting. “A secret?” Hekla scowled. “And how do I know you’re not digging for information?”
He shrugged. “I suppose you’ll have to trust me, Lynx.”
Hekla’s old instincts urged caution, urged her not to trust this man, but as she stole a glance at him, she found herself saying, “I taste colors.”
The Fox laughed, then stilled. “You taste?—”
“Colors. When I find pleasure.”
The Fox’s pupils spread like ink through water. When he spoke, his voice was rough as sand. “Explain.”
Hekla wanted to retreat inside herself—to erect her sharp defenses meant to keep others out. But there was something special about this night, this riverbank, this man. And strangely enough, her revelation made her feel momentarily free from both the past and the future.
“Violet tastes like strawberries,” she said. “Gold is a bitter, aged mead. And magenta...magenta tastes like honey.” Hekla buzzed in the wake of this confession—a secret she’d not even told Rothna when she was madly in love with him.
Hazel eyes watched her from beneath sweeping black lashes. “What color did you see just now?”
“Magenta.”
“Magenta,” repeated the Fox, in a low, deep voice. He cleared his throat. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.” He rubbed his beard, deep in thought. “I need something good to match your truth.” He was silent for a long moment, before saying, “I hope that second chances are a very real thing.”
“Ah,” said Hekla, watching him carefully. “So, you do have regrets after all.”
The Fox’s sigh was heavy. “Only this one thing.”
His words held a melancholy that Hekla did not care for. “Second chances are a real thing,” she found herself saying. “I’m living proof of it.” She did not have to show him her prosthetic arm for the Fox to glean her meaning.
Hekla braced for the inevitable slew of questions that would follow and mentally flipped through the false answers she usually gave her paramours. She’d learned long ago that nothing dampened the mood like discovering that her former husband had chopped off her arm and left her for dead.
But the Fox only threw her a grateful smile. “Let me try a better truth,” he said, his face contorting in mock contemplation. “I only pretend to like ale.”
Hekla could not help but smile at that. “Pretend?”
“Why a warrior is expected to drink something that, quite frankly, tastes like urine, I do not know.”
The corners of Hekla’s lips tipped up. “And what of brennsa?”
The Fox’s eyes widened in false alarm. “Never again. One home set alight is enough?—”
Hekla’s head fell back as laughter burst free. “There’s a story here, I’m certain. ”
“Aye, there is,” said the Fox. He turned toward her, eyes so dark only a thin strip of hazel remained. “But I’d rather discover what the color green tastes like.”
Hekla’s lips met the Fox’s. And as his hand skimmed along her waist, she knew she was going to lose yet another match.