Page 7 of Wulver’s Flame (Knotty #2)

Liùsiadh

For a beast, he kept a civilised home. Better built than our own hall or storeroom. He had iron, bronze, and carved wood—sturdy, well-joined, no gaps in the walls. Even the metal wasn’t just for show—it braced the beams, reinforced the door. Whoever made this place knew their craft.

I wrapped a pelt around me.

The chain rattled.

I tugged hard. It didn’t budge from the ceiling beam.

That black bull’s arse. He’d chained me like livestock.

He returned with a wooden platter.

Cured meats. Smoked salmon. Blood sausage. Porridge. My belly growled loudly.

I hadn’t eaten properly in days. I’d meant to shame Da with my silence and hunger strike, but now guilt gnawed at me.

He placed the food on the bed and sat nearby, eating quietly.

I reached for the porridge first.

His eyes burned into me, silent and scorching.

The first spoonful hit my tongue.

Honey.

I froze.

Honey was sacred and very costly. A rare delight we saved for festivals or new moons. I could count the times I’d tasted it.

I said nothing but scraped every last grain from the bowl.

He nudged the wooden platter toward me.

“Eat,” he rasped.

The sound made my belly clench—not from hunger this time, but something darker. Deeper.

I scowled and picked up a slice of fish, slipping it into my mouth without breaking eye contact. The salt hit first, then the smoky depth of it. The smoke tasted different from our ways — earthier, wilder. I chewed slower than I meant to.

His eyes burned hotter.

“More,” he growled.

I was too hungry to challenge him. A maiden needed her strength to wield a blade against a beast. I snatched a piece of meat.

Mutton.

Soft, gamey and perfectly seasoned.

I snatched two more slices before I could stop myself.

A low growl rumbled from his chest.

The whispers spoke of a beast that battled for Wulverson. I thought these stories were exaggerated, but I could hear the beast inside his chest.

His eyes dropped to my neck.

The collar.

My chain.

“How long are you going to keep me chained like an animal?” I snapped, tearing off a piece of blood sausage.

A Norse dish. His. I was being forced to endure it.

“When are you going to stop trying to kill me?” he said, blinking slowly, deliberately like a cat toying with a bird.

Never.

But I wasn’t bold or foolish enough to spit the word out at him the way I wanted to. He’d gone still. Guarded.

I dropped my gaze, but it was too late. The heat had already crept from my chest to my neck. I felt it. Felt him watching.

What was wrong with me?

What dark, insidious magic had he laced into my food? Into the iron chain? Into the heat of his stare?

This beast—this creature—had threatened my kin. Crossed the sea. Claimed our land as his.

“You’ve no shame,” I hissed. “Stealing what doesn’t belong to you.”

“I didn’t steal you. Did I?”

His voice was low, almost amused.

He reached out, fingers brushing the inside of my knee. A gentle touch. A claiming one.

I flinched back like I’d been burned.

“Don’t touch me. You—You beast.”

Words faltered on my tongue as I felt thick heat.

Because deep beneath my belly, something stirred.

A slow warmth, curling and spreading.

Then the ache.

Low. Heavy. Shameful.

“What are you? A fuath? A demon from the waters?”

I jabbed a finger at him. “Stop it.”

He was seducing me. Luring me into—

A bark of laughter cut through my panic, raw and mocking.

It burned hotter than the blush on my cheeks.

I grabbed the wooden platter, seriously considering smashing it over his smug face.

He stood before I could swing.

“Such a vivid imagination,” he said, voice low with amusement. “Eat. Rest. I’ll be back later.”

I glared at his retreating back, but set the wooden dish in my lap instead.

It would be a shame to waste such good food.

As I nibbled what was left, I heard his voice bark commands outside—sharp, clipped, merciless.

The memory of the beast returned with every word. I shivered.

A timely reminder of who and what he truly was.