Page 24 of Wulver’s Flame (Knotty #2)

Liùsaidh

Ilay sprawled on the pillows, rubbing my bulging belly. All that talk of pups had wormed its way into my skull—I almost believed I carried one. The hunger had struck out of nowhere, and the moment my belly growled, he vanished to the kitchen like a bloodhound.

I wondered what Brynhild was doing without me.

The thralls were kind enough, but I kept my distance from his warriors.

They often trained near the longhouse, and I sometimes glimpsed them while tending the herbs in the garden, kneeling low, hoping not to be noticed.

I was bitter enough without catching glances from the toothless brute with shoulders the size of oxen.

Vargr lifted the empty platter and tankard. “You might want to put on a dress,” he said.

I groaned. “Why? Brynhild’s probably finished the chores by now.”

He didn’t look at me. Just dropped the words with all the weight of the gods.

“Your father is on his way here.”

I froze.

My

da was coming here?

I glanced up at Vargr and winced.

I’d let him knot me all night—and most of the day.

He wasn’t entirely human.

Shame flooded my chest like a cold tide, and I turned away from him.

“Yes. I shall—oh, where is my lavender dress?” I rambled, flustered at the thought of my da somehow finding out about his beast.

I barely got to my feet before the beast inside him rumbled a warning growl.

The centre of my chest burned from the weight of his anger.

“You are ashamed of me.” He accused me with barely restrained anger.

“No—Gods, no! It’s just…he’s my father. And I’m still…full of…you know what.”

My voice cracked. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him.

My chest, neck, and face would be bright crimson by now.

Why did I have to be born so fair-skinned?

The door slammed shut, and I flinched.

I didn’t know whose heart I’d just wounded—his, or his beast’s.

I shook it off and scrambled to clean myself up as best I could.

Praying the Gods had sent Naillan with my Da. After our mother didn’t survive his birthing, I stepped into her place. He was more than a brother. He was the only soul I longed to protect. As angry as I was with my Da, I needed to see someone who knew me before all this.

?

?

?

Once I had donned my best dress, belt, and cloak, I fastened it with my mother’s pin.

I got my da’s flaming hair and his temper to go with it, but it was her I missed now.

I wondered what advice she might have given me, had she lived.

No one could change my da’s mind once it was set, but she’d had a gentler way.

I checked my braids and winced when my fingers brushed through something stiff—some of his seed-surge still clung to me. This was how I would meet my kin with a cloth tucked between my thighs and my hair caked in the beast’s release.

The door opened, and Vargr stood in the frame. His face was stone. He wore a blue tunic belted at the waist, sword strapped at his hip. I chewed my lip at the sight of his blade, not just because of what it could do, but because he wouldn’t meet my eye.

“Are you ready?” he asked flatly, striding past me to collect his fur mantle from the peg.

“Yes,” I said, quieter than I meant to.

I had half hoped that he might look at me and approve of my dress.

Why did I care if he noticed? Why did I want him to?

“Good. They are nearly here.”

He was out the door before I could say anything else.

I stepped out of the longhouse and moved quietly to Vargr’s side. I didn’t say a word, just stood close enough that our arms nearly touched.

His warriors stood further back. Some watched from the shade, and some were sparring in the open clearing.

Their grunts and the soft thud of fists filled the air.

Brynhild rushed past behind us, carrying a basket, shouting at one of the thralls to fetch more water for the stew.

She was preparing food and drink for our unexpected guests.

I looked ahead.

They were coming on foot—my kin. My heart twisted as I saw my father, a giant red-headed man with a braided beard streaked with grey. He looked older. Worn. But still stood tall.

Naillan was the only one not walking. He sat atop a shaggy pony, trying to look like a warrior with his chin lifted and back straight.

I smiled.

My brother was growing up. Any day now, he would be sent off to train in the household of one of our allies, just like I was meant to be sent off in marriage. Except I ended up here. Claimed by a beast.

Naillan spotted me and slid from the pony’s back, feet barely hitting the ground before he broke into a run, but halfway, he slowed to a walk, remembering he was meant to be a man now.

It didn’t matter.

I lifted my skirts and ran for him.

He dropped all pretence when I met him halfway, arms thrown around my neck. I swung him off the ground, holding him tightly as he laughed into my shoulder.

“You’re still too little to be a man,” I said into his hair.

“I miss yae, Liù,” he whispered. “So much.”

My throat clenched. A lump swelled there, and tears burned my eyes. I held him for a moment longer, then forced myself to set him down.

He didn’t move far. Just stepped to my side and clutched my dress, staring at the Norsemen with wide eyes.

Across the field, the Dunraith warriors eyed Vargr’s men. The Vikings did the same, one or two reaching for weapons at their belts—but none were drawn. Not yet.

I spotted Fergus among them.

Odd. I felt nothing. Not even a flicker.

Then I saw my father approaching.

He walked straight toward me, his heavy steps firm. No hesitation.

I froze.

Before I could speak, Vargr moved behind me, silent and steady. His presence pressed against my back like a wall.

I didn’t need to look at him to know what it meant.

Solidarity, protection and possession, and I wasn’t sure which one scared me more.