Page 26 of Wulver’s Flame (Knotty #2)

Liùsaidh

They were ready to leave by night-watching.

The visit was too short and my Da chose to camp near the village, refusing to stay the night in his daughter’s marital home.

I was packing food for them with Brynhild in the kitchen when Fergus came in.

Brynhild eyed him warily before staring at me. I nodded to her, and she left.

“What dae yae want, Fergus?” I said coldly as he stood in front of me.

“Ah’v heard things about him. That he kept yae chained up an’—”

“Yae’ve got nae right tae talk about my husbondi like that,” I hissed at him.

His jaw dropped at me using the Viking word for husband.

“Yae all led me on ma path here, so yae cun leave me be now. As yae can see, am fine.”

Before he could reply, Vargr’s shadow loomed over us. I blinked, and his sword was beneath Fergus’s beard.

“You dare to be alone with my husfreyja? You are not of her blood, not of her kin, and I will gladly slice your throat open if you move,” he growled, and I heard his beast rumble in his chest.

Fergus’s eyes widened at the sound.

I thought of all the blood staining the kitchen floor and Brynhild’s never-ending nagging.

“If you are going to make one another bleed, take it outside,” I snapped at the pair of them.

Vargr’s eyes flashed golden, and I touched my chest. All of his mind poured into the bond. The feral need to protect me and our child. He couldn't bear the thought of another looking at me, let alone touching me. Beneath the fury and the instinct, there it was.

Fear. Cold and raw. Fear of losing me.

“Vargr,” I softly breathed his name.

I felt the warmth in my chest and pushed it toward him, weaving it through the bond. He blinked and his eyes returned to the deep blue colour.

Fergus reached for his dagger, and Vargr couldn't see. Without thinking, I picked up the clay pot beside me and smashed it over his head. He crumbled and dropped to the floor.

Vargr kicked the dagger away from him before sliding his sword into the scabbard. He lunged for me and yanked my head back. His lips—

“Who made all this mess?” Brynhild screeched.

I grinned and pushed Vargr’s chest until he reluctantly released me.

?

?

?

The day had taken its toll on me, and I was asleep on my feet. My bitter anger toward my da diminished, but it was not forgotten.

My sweet Naillan, so vibrant and inquisitive throughout his visit, grew quiet as they prepared to leave. He clung to me, arms tight around my waist, while I bent to whisper soft comforts into his ear.

Much to my surprise, Vargr offered to take him in—to raise him among his warriors, to teach him the ways of his people. But my da was stubborn, and Vargr had threatened Dunraith. As for Fergus, my da had slapped him across his sore head and apologised to Vargr.

“My sweet, you look tired. Let’s get you to bed,” Vargr murmured, wrapping his body around my back and sniffing my hair.

“No cock trickery,” I mumbled, stifling a yawn.

He chuckled low in my ear. “I’ll wait until the sun is rising.”

?

?

?

The days were as calm as the violent nights. Since my da’s visit, a quiet understanding had taken root between us. No words were spoken, but there was a gentleness in the way he touched my back as he passed, or how he kept the hearth warm before I rose.

It wasn’t until a full moon had waxed and waned without a drop of blood that the truth settled in my belly like a stone. What had once been feared had now come to pass. I was with child.

“What’s ailing you?” Brynhild asked, her brow furrowed with concern.

“Nothing,” I said, offering a faint smile. “Just missing home.”

“You are probably missing smashing heads,” she snorted. “Did you see what that oaf Bjorn did? His axe landed in the garden and ruined my best crop.”

She carried on talking as we washed the silverweed, her voice a steady hum that anchored me in the present, even as my thoughts drifted to what grew, quiet and unseen, inside me.

I thought of my mother—how fragile she was when Naillan was born. Would this child be a beast? Would it tear me apart from the inside? Would I die like she did, blood-soaked and broken in the birthing bed?

There were too many questions and no answers.

Vargr would be happy about that, I was sure. But—

“I’m here to whisk my husfreyja away,” Vargr said, stepping into the kitchen.

Brynhild giggled and shoved me toward him.

I dried my hands on the rag and tossed it at her head. She caught it in one hand, shaking her head.

“I’ll need to keep both eyes on you, mistress.”

When Vargr led me towards the bedchamber, I tried to resist, but I felt a different kind of excitement from the bond. He opened the door and nudged me inside.

“It occurred to me that I did not honour you when you came to my home,” he murmured, leading me to the bed.

I gasped at the rolls of silk and linen. There were yarns of dyed wool, ready to be woven, and despite myself, I smiled at the bone-hilted small dagger with jewels embedded within the wire craftsmanship.

“Are you not afraid that I shall succumb to temptation and slice you open as you sleep?” I asked, wryly picking up the dagger to pull it out of the sheath.

“You can try,” he said with a shrug.

My smile widened as I admired the blade. Although the dagger was smaller than my other two, it was much sharper.

“Thank you for my gifts,” I said, turning toward him.

My smile faltered when his eyes turned golden.

It wasn't just a flash.

They glowed.

They glowed like the night-watching he said he received the prophecy from the Gods.

Bound by blood and by fate. Every life. The wolf and the flame.

The eerie whisper echoed inside me.

Before I could decipher the words, Vargr pushed me flat on the bed.

“I can scent it,” he growled, yanking up my skirt.

I considered using the dagger on him, but tossed it to the side to pull the hard balls of yarn out from beneath my back. His face was between my legs, and he took several loud inhalations of me before he lifted his head.

“You are carrying our pup,” he declared with a grin.

I swallowed. The words settled in my chest like a weight.

Bound by blood and by fate. Every life. The wolf and the flame.

The line echoed in my mind—not a whisper, not magic—just memory.

His prophecy. His claim about us.

And now this…child.

In every life? Was that possible?

The child was part of it. Part of this bond. Part of whatever…this was between us.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, brow furrowing.

The wolf and the flame.

I was the flame.

Something inside me had just been lit.

Awakened.