Page 5

FIVE

THE NIGHT BEFORE

H ekla’s blood pumped hot with vigor as she squared off against the mysterious warrior.

An hour they’d been at this. He was as adept as any warrior in the Bloodaxe Crew—quick and lithe, yet unpredictable.

It was thrilling to find her own skill matched—to lose herself in the movements.

And it was clear the warrior was enjoying himself, too; a white smile gleamed from within his beard, hazel eyes catching the glow of the sister moons.

The warrior lunged, kicking out, and Hekla danced back just in time.

“You tried that once before,” she teased.

“Mmm?” His smile broadened. “And this?” He dove at her, and this time, Hekla was too slow. He swept her feet out from beneath her, and she toppled backward onto the ground.

As her senses returned, the warrior straddled her, pinning her hips and shoulders down. Black braids spilled across his sweat-dampened brow, those hazel eyes glinting with mischief.

“Get off me, you lout!” Hekla bucked up, trying to dislodge the man, but all it did was create maddening friction where their bodies touched.

The warrior’s fingers dug into her shoulders as something in his gaze shifted.

It was confusion and discovery, like she was a mystery he was trying to untangle.

For a moment, they stared at one another, the air between them growing charged.

But then, the irritating man’s face broke into a grin which was far too victorious for Hekla’s liking.

“Do you yield?”

Behind him, the river water rushed, and an idea formed in her mind. “Aye.”

He lingered for a moment, then pushed to his feet and extended a large hand.

Hekla slid her metal hand into his, eyes twinkling.

With a deft twist, she unhooked her prosthesis from the metal joint anchored into her residual limb, and gave it a shove.

Surprise etched into the man’s features, his mouth a wide “O” as he stumbled backward, clutching her detached arm.

And then he vanished over the riverbank.

Hekla leapt to her feet and ran to the embankment, cackling with glee at what she saw below.

The warrior floundered in the shallows. After regaining his balance, he stood, rivulets of water running down his face and plastering his tunic to his well-honed body. He shook his head like a dog, water flying from his black hair, and she couldn’t keep her smile at bay.

“I see now,” he said, shaking her metal arm. “You’ve many tricks...up your sleeve.”

“I take my advantages where I can.”

Hekla wiped the tears from her eyes as he strode from the water. When had she last laughed like this? Weeks, at least. Not since Ilías’s death.

The warrior placed her metal arm onto the grassy top of the riverbank, then climbed over it with a look of feral intensity.

Hekla’s stomach swooped low. And as he lunged at her, perhaps she was intentionally slow to respond.

Perhaps she didn’t fight as he hauled her over his shoulder.

The warrior bounded into the river, plunging them both into the cold depths.

As Hekla broke the surface, she was still laughing.

She pulled the tie securing her braid and used her fingers to loosen the strands.

The warrior watched her with keen interest. “You know,” he drawled, “you’re the first true challenge I’ve had tonight.”

Hekla rolled her eyes. “Flattery will get you nowhere with me.”

“And what will?”

Her gaze snapped to his, and she realized how near he stood. She watched a droplet of water run down his temple, disappearing into his beard.

“Get me somewhere.” He stepped closer. “With you.”

Hekla’s stomach whirled and looped, but she forced her mind to the lesson she’d learned long ago—a pretty face was not to be trusted.

Reaching for the bravado she’d sculpted over the years, Hekla arched a brow. “You looking for a fight, or a roll in the furs, warrior?”

“Why not both?” He smirked and dipped beneath the water’s surface, leaving Hekla to stare at the rippling waters.

Heat pooled between her thighs, and she hated how much she wanted this man.

And she could not help but recall the last time she’d brought Gunnar to her bed.

His kisses had been eager, but as Hekla undressed, he broke down in tears.

Suffice it to say, her lust was instantly extinguished.

Instead of crying out in pleasure, she’d held him as he cried on her shoulder.

For weeks, Hekla had been trying to hold the pieces of the Bloodaxe Crew together in the aftermath of Ilías’s death, and gods, it had been exhausting. Why shouldn’t she take something for herself? Live for herself tonight? Perhaps a few mind-bending orgasms would put her back to rights.

The man emerged from the water, startlingly close. “Well?” he asked, scraping his hair back and watching her expectantly. Water droplets caught in his unfairly thick lashes and cut paths down his sculpted chest.

Hekla stepped nearer. She reached for the hem of his tunic, but the man’s hand wrapped around her left wrist. He yanked her forward and her chest collided with the solid expanse of his.

Her body tingled with anticipation as a large hand slid up her spine and came to rest on her nape.

Slowly, almost cautiously, the warrior leaned down.

His lips brushed against hers, and heat danced through her.

His fingers tightened on her neck, a low sound breaking in the back of his throat.

Whatever he felt, she felt it, too. Like every quiet corner of her body had suddenly awakened.

Colors bloomed on the back of her eyelids as his fingers slid into her hair, and he tilted her jaw so he could deepen the kiss.

As his tongue delved into her mouth, Hekla matched his movements with her own.

Lust settled low and heavy inside her, and Hekla reached again for his tunic.

This time, the warrior didn’t stop her. She peeled it over his head, revealing an expanse of olive skin and a ruthlessly toned body.

She ran her fingers appreciatively over his skin and braced as his mouth crashed down on hers.

The man kissed with unexpected passion, like he was facing death, and she was his last meal.

And gods, but Hekla longed to be consumed.

Time grew slippery as she lost herself in the warrior’s kiss and the feel of his hands exploring her body.

Eventually, the man drew back with a question in his eyes.

“More,” she whispered, tugging him to her.

The warrior’s fingers slid down her spine and reached for the hem of her tunic. He shucked it off with startling speed, and it landed on the riverbank with a loud slap.

“I don’t even know your name,” muttered the man, mouth sliding down the column of her throat.

“Nor I yours,” she breathed, tilting her head back. “Let us keep it that way. No names; only us.”

He pulled back, hazel eyes searching her face. The warrior looked uncertain, as though he meant to say something, but as Hekla’s hand delved into his breeches, only a groan escaped him .

“Or,” she whispered, her hand encircling his hardened shaft, “I will call you Fox, and you can call me Lynx.”

“Fox?” The man groaned as her hand moved.

“Your sparring proves you’ve a cunning streak.” Hekla watched the man’s beautiful face contort as she began to stroke him in earnest.

“And Lynx?” asked the man through heavy-lidded eyes.

Hekla chucked softly. “Armed with deadly sharp parts.”

“The lynx is predator to the fox.”

“Mmm. Best not to turn your back on me.”

“You’re astonishing.” The man chuckled, but his gaze grew weighted. He reached for her breeches, pausing at the clasp.

“Magnetic,” breathed Hekla.

“Clever.” The Fox flicked the clasp open. One hand slid down, and then it was Hekla’s turn to moan as the warrior stroked her softly.

The water was cool, yet her body steamed beneath the Fox’s touch. Already it seemed he could read her every response, and she had the inkling that they were locked in a new sort of challenge: Who would drive the other to pleasure first?

As the heel of the Fox’s palm rubbed against her most sensitive part, Hekla was helpless against the moan rising in her throat.

Her thumb rubbed along the tip of his cock, satisfaction welling as his whole body shuddered.

Their faces were bare inches apart, breaths mingling together.

He looked at her with such directness, the weight of his gaze so intimate.

It should make Hekla squirm, but instead it made heat unfurl within her.

The Fox found that sensitive spot deep inside her, and Hekla gasped as pleasure began to spool tightly.

She pumped harder, stroking him faster. She just needed another minute . Another full-body tremble rolled through the Fox, but Hekla’s glee was short-lived.

“Come for me, Lynx,” he whispered.

And Hekla fell apart.

Her insides contracted; all thoughts obliterated as warm, pulsing heat rushed through her body. Her eyes fell shut as her senses unraveled with ecstasy. She could feel colors—bright pulsing rings of violet that suffused through her veins, the taste of sweet strawberries bursting on her tongue.

For those mindless moments after she found pleasure, everything was hazy. Hekla was that young woman once more—the one who read romantic tales of knights and princesses and true love. Her head was filled with dreams, her heart open to love. She was soft and vulnerable and so completely open.

But slowly, Hekla’s vision swam back into focus to find eyes filled with delight and discovery.

“You’re rather sensitive, aren’t you, Lynx?” whispered the Fox, fingers moving higher to stroke the smooth skin of her stomach.

“Am I?” Dazed, Hekla remained in his arms, relenting to his gentle touch.

“Aye. And it makes me wonder”—the green in his hazel eyes seemed to brighten—“how many times can I make you moan like that?” His hand moved from her stomach to smooth a wet tendril of hair from her brow.

Hekla tensed, the tenderness pulling her firmly back in the moment. But she concealed her reaction with a mischievous smile. “You win this round, Foxie,” she said, eyes gleaming as her hand moved back to his shaft. “But I assure you, you shall not win the next.”

“Is that a challenge, Lynx?” It sounded as though he had gravel in his throat.

Good. She bit down on her smile. “It’s a promise, Fox.”

And as an agonized look crossed the man’s beautiful face—as he bucked into her hold with a low, guttural moan—Hekla knew they weren’t nearly done sparring.