Page 18

Chapter 18

Lillian

F or once, I wake up before Erik, deliciously sore after our enthusiastic session the night before. A sheen of sweat covers my skin despite the early morning chill in the air– no doubt a side effect of Erik’s furnace-like warmth snuggling up beside me under our furs.

I long for a shower, but I linger beside him. Taking in the smooth lines of his face, the relaxed set of his shoulders against the soft pile of bedding. I wonder how often he sleeps on land. Is it easier to let the monster take over at night? Prowling the lake waters, drifting in his rocky underwater cave? Does he even truly let his body rest, or does he simply hand over consciousness while he clocks out for a few hours?

I stroke the stray locks of wild hair away from his face, careful not to brush against his skin lest I wake him. He’s such a beautiful man. Strong-featured and square-jawed, not to mention his arms are bigger than my calves—with the gentlest demeanor.

He’s had such a rough life. The loss of his family alone would have crushed a man with a stronger support system. But he had nothing. No one. Except a terrifying voice in his head attempting to control his every thought.

How much willpower does it take to keep a god like Phorkys at bay?

The image of his heated gaze boring into mine, desperation squeezing his eyebrows together like a vice, while he begged me not to let him fall into the abyss… fuck, the very thought of it makes my nipples hard. That was, without a doubt, the hottest fucking sex I’ve ever had in my life, and yet…

It was that edge of danger. Of destruction. Knowing that at any moment, it could all be taken away by a cruel twist of fate. But still, I trusted him.

He’s fought those urges for longer than I’ve been alive. Shit, for longer than my oldest ancestor was alive, and then some.

But I can’t help but wonder why.

What good does it do him to fight so hard? To cling so vehemently to some predefined moral compass that was formed without the slightest inkling of just how cruel the world could be to a man like him?

My hands wander a bit over his scalp, his chest, his arms. Super light touches—not nearly enough to wake him, but enough to appreciate his gorgeous body. I hold back a snicker as his morning wood tents the fur covering his body, rising a good five or six inches without even standing at full mast.

Wowza. And I had that inside me last night.

Not that that’s hard to believe, given the slight pinch and ache that zing up my crotch when I sit up, testing my ankle with a few rolls before I attempt to stand. It’s still pretty tender. It might be worth it to craft myself a pair of crutches today so I can get around without stressing the tendons anymore than I already have; two days walking on the sand between our shelter and the water’s edge is not the best therapy for a sprain.

I drain the last few sips from the water skin and crawl over my Viking, before quietly slipping out of the tent to freshen up.

“So what’s on the docket today?”

Erik tilts his head questioningly at me, eyes lifting from the speartip he’s sharpening. It’s a gorgeous, sunny day on Lake Superior. We spent the morning outside, roasting some fish on a small cooking fire he prepared in a circle of rocks custom-built for that very purpose. Our sleeping furs are drying flat in the sun, stretched out on some large boulders and a driftwood log. Cleaning them became imperative when I re-entered the shelter with a fresh nose and just about fainted from the sex stank all over them. Cleaning Erik was the task of penultimate importance, which he thankfully agreed to without much prodding, skipping off to wash in the lake while I gathered the bedding.

Our clothes are also drying in the midday sun, hanging from a makeshift clothesline I fashioned from birch branches. It’s oddly domestic.

My Viking, naked as the day is long, asks me: “Docket?”

“You know, the day’s agenda. I’m sure there’s plenty of prep to do to gear up for winter. What’s a typical day look like for you?”

“That is a curious question, seeing as today is anything but typical.” He smiles at me, then purses his lip thoughtfully, twisting the speartip and eyeing it while he comes up with an answer. “On a day like today, I would prepare to hunt at dusk. That is when the deer are most active and least likely to sense my presence.”

“Okay. How do we prepare for a hunt?”

He gestures to the pile of sharpened sticks and arrowheads beside him. I let out a sigh.

“Yeah, alright, caveman, I get it. Og hunt big game with pointy stick. But what about after you catch the thing? Do we chop it into steaks, dry it into jerky? It’s not like we have a cooler we can stick it in.”

“We skin it and hang it by the hide, slit its stomach to drain the entrails. The organs we leave for carrion. We can dry the rest.”

I wretch a little in my mouth. “Oooo-kay. Cool. Cool cool cool. So uh… what do we need for that, a drying rack?”

“We can smoke it over the fire. A net across the roof of the shelter will do.”

“Say what now?” The image of a bunch of rotting meat hanging over my head while I sleep at night makes my stomach turn. “Uh, no. We can build, like, a box for that or something, can’t we?”

The corner of his lip twitches. “Why would we do that?”

Is he laughing at me?

“Because it’s gross to sleep under a bunch of rotting meat??”

He’s absolutely laughing at me. I can tell because he honks out a hearty guffaw at my disgust. “It is not rotting meat, my treasure, it is drying meat. The same as the snack you enjoyed mere moments ago.”

Yeah, the same snack that’s threatening to come back up at the thought of carrion nomming on a bunch of deer entrails.

He notices the blush that colors my cheeks–the source of which is definitely the nausea I’m fighting and not my reaction to him calling me his ‘treasure’. It’s a nickname he’s used a few times already today, and it totally doesn’t twist my stomach into butterflies and knots every time it comes out of his mouth.

“Why do you ask?”

I hobble over to his spot by the cooking fire, leaning on the cane I discovered during my morning potty break. Okay, it’s just a big-ass branch that hasn’t started rotting yet, but it’s strong enough to support my weight and thick enough that it doesn’t sink completely into the sandy shore.

I plop down beside him on the driftwood branch, letting out a small “eep!” as the cold, damp wood makes contact with the bare skin of my ass.

He watches me sink down with heated eyes, paying particular attention to the way my boobs bounce as my ass hits the log.

“I can help, you know. There’s plenty I can do without my ankle. Not everything requires the ability to run away from coyotes.”

He lowers the spear to the pile and rubs his rough palm against my thigh. The contact sends a zing up my spine, and I bite the inside of my cheek as he turns his full gaze on me.

“You have helped me more than you will ever know, sweet Lillian. Please, rest. You have already helped enough for the day.” He gestures to the clothesline and the drying furs. “I can hunt for dinner. Perhaps you can read more books.”

He presses a kiss to my cheek, then bends down, plucking a dull stick from the ground and setting back to work with his hunting knife.

“I’m not going to sit around all week and read while you do all the hard stuff,” I argue. He may have set the topic down, but I’m gonna pick it right back up.

Lillian Desmond doesn’t just let someone take care of her, even if he is a strong, capable warrior like Erik. I may have been weak in the past, but I can’t afford to let my guard down now that I live in the wilderness with coyotes and lake monsters. I need to learn how to take care of myself without modern-day conveniences like Walmart and microwaves.

It’s great that Erik’s pussy-drunk and thinks he can take care of the “man’s work” while I just sit around reading smut and fantasizing about dick all day, but I’m not about to let myself be vulnerable again. I almost died: first when I drowned in the lake, and then again when I tried to hunt my own dinner.

If I’m cursed to be some urban-legend Yooper Cryptid with gills and a Kraken shifter boyfriend, then you better believe I’m gonna learn how to hunt for myself, sprained ankle or no. Starting today, Lillian Desmond earns her keep.

He tilts his head at me. Again.

This is something I’m noticing about Erik. He doesn’t just leap into arguments willy-nilly. He thinks before he speaks. And fuck, if that isn’t almost as sexy as the way he eats me out.

Almost.

Ladies, find yourself a man that goes down on you with the enthusiasm of Naruto sucking down a bowl of ramen noodles.

“You do not want me to take care of you.”

The sadness in his voice knocks me out of my lurid daydream, and I refocus on his face. Confusion furrows into the ridges in his forehead, and my heart squeezes.

Ah, fuck, I didn’t mean to offend the big guy.

“Hey, I love the way you take care of me,” I assure him, leaning into his hard, sexy arm. “You spoil me. And that’s amazing! But…”

I blow a hair out of my face, brushing it away and wishing for the twelve-thousandth time today that I had an elastic hair tie. Erik watches me, more curious than hurt now, as I struggle to find the right words.

“Look, you aren’t the only one stuck on this island anymore. I’m cursed too, remember? So I need to start learning this stuff. How to hunt, how to skin a deer, how to–” I suppress a gag– “leave entrails for carrion. I wasn’t raised by Vikings like you.”

“Lillian,” he cups his hand to my face, and he’s so big that his palm spans the entire width of my cheek from nose to ear. He pushes his fingers back into my scalp, tilting my head back a little so our eyes connect. “You will not be trapped here like me.”

“Huh?” I blink at him. What is he talking about? “Uh, I have gills now, dude.”

He shakes his head and touches his forehead to mine. “You must not stay here any longer than you have to. I believe, if we can nurse you back to health and return you to the mainland before Keto’s influence is too great, we can spare you my fate. My treasure, I will not let you suffer here.”

I breathe in his sun-kissed, musky scent, wanting to nuzzle into him and the rumble of his voice, but I break away. “It’s not that simple. I can’t just go back. I have gills, ” I repeat the sentence slowly for emphasis. “What aren’t you getting about that? Chicago is cold, sure, but I can’t wear turtlenecks year-round. I’m just as cursed as you are!”

The image of Erik in a turtleneck springs to mind. Mm. It is a curse that I’ll never see this hunky Viking wrapped up in a sweater.

“You aren’t yet hearing Her voice in your mind, Lillian. She may have saved you, but she is not inside you. You are free of Her influence for now. But it will not be that way forever. We must get you back to the mainland before She digs Herself into your mind.”

My heart skips a beat. “What?”

“We need to get your strength up so we can swim back. And then you can go back to your other life.”

“But–”

“I cannot linger on the mainland, but I am sure you still can. Long enough to sever the ties that bind you to Her. Once you are free of Her influence, your powers will surely fade. They must.” He kisses my forehead, then turns back to his whittling.

“Erik…” I hesitate, warring with myself. There’s so much hope in his voice when he talks about sparing me his fate. The way he talks about it, it almost makes me believe it. “Ke–”

“Do not speak Her name!” He snaps, thrusting his arm out in front of me like a mother would her child when she slams on the breaks of her car. “I have been blissfully free of His voice for a day, my treasure. Do not summon Them here. Our sacred space.”

He softens, bending his arm and drawing me to him, cradling my head into his warm, muscled chest. He breathes deeply, burrowing his face and his fingers in my hair as he does, combing through the tangles as he scratches at my scalp.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe that voice I heard earlier was just a symptom of my shock. Still me trying to process it all. I was so lonely then, before Erik and I connected and?—

“But wait,” I murmur into his skin, and he allows me to lift my head. “Erik, if I go back to the mainland, what will happen to you?”

And that’s the moment I know that Erik is the strongest man I ever met. Because there’s something that takes way more strength than carrying firewood or splitting logs or killing coyotes.

Facing a future alone.

It’s so quick. I could almost convince myself I didn’t see it: the flicker of all-consuming despair that flitted past his vulnerable, human eyes. Because it’s immediately replaced by so much gratitude and love, that my heart catches in my throat.

“I will be forgotten, Lillian. And you will be free.”