Page 9 of Wulver’s Flame (Knotty #2)

Liùsaidh

His Norse gods were strong. Too strong. Strong enough to give him mystical powers over me. He was a demon and a beast, rolled into one. The handsome exterior? A lie.

I chewed my lip.

How could I ward off his wicked powers of seduction?

Lost in thought, I didn’t hear him enter the bedchamber. My head snapped up—the chain rattled. A sharp reminder of my captivity. I stared at him, wary.

Had he made me deaf? What other vile powers did he hold?

He carried a platter larger than before. The aroma of roasted meat, herbs, and vegetables made my mouth water.

Two tankards rested beside the food.

Mead.

I’d refused to touch it when my Da brought home a barrel from the enemy.

Yes, Liù. He is the enemy. Don’t you forget it.

I moved back on the bed as he approached, creating space for him. It was best to think about my predicament on a full belly. He settled cross-legged on the bed.

“Eat. You will need your energy.” He smirked, grabbing the leg bone, ripping the meaty flesh away.

Juices dripped over his lips and trickled on his braided beard.

Panic bloomed in my belly.

He could read my mind.

Maybe could control it.

My eyes lingered on his lips.

Gods help me.

?

?

?

The food was the finest I had tasted. My belly was full to the brim.

And the mead?

Laced with honey.

It hit me fast with a heady warmth flooding through me. I was as drunk as a festival bull.

I giggled, then fell back onto the bed. The chain rattled against the beam.

The room spun around me.

The ceiling loomed high, and my chain mocked me, swinging above like a cruel reminder.

His face appeared—hair golden and loose, shimmering under the oil lamps. His beard was darker, wild.

The golden sun-demon.

“You can’t handle your mead,” he said with a slow smile.

“I can,” I slurred, reaching for the chain to pull myself up, only to miss.

He moved over me, hair brushing my face as he loomed above.

There was no weight. None of the crushing pressure I’d felt the day he first collared me.

I tilted my head, frowning up at him.

“What ahr yae doing, golden demon?”

“I didn’t understand your last word,” he murmured. “I’m a golden what?”

My pickled brain scrambled to switch tongues.

“Golden demon,” I whispered, as his face grew larger.

Then it vanished.

My eyes flew wide when his beard grazed my jaw, neck, and shoulder.

He was kissing me.

Not rushed or hungry like I’d seen at home behind the stables. His lips moved everywhere.

Soft, slow, maddening.

Tiny traces of heat left behind by his lips.

“Begone, demon,” I tried to ward him away, but my voice was weak.

It wasn’t a command. Not this time. It slipped out as a breathless whisper.

Hot. He was so hot.

No.

The heat was in me.

So hot, it burned, licking my insides like flickering flames.

“My husfreyja,” he whispered before his teeth nipped me between my jaw and the collar.

His teeth felt so good.

Why?

“Mine,” he growled, claiming my lips.

I gasped against his lips, but the fire between my legs made me part my lips. I tasted his mead-sweetened lips, flicking my tongue out until his chest rumbled. His lips crushed mine, and his tongue stabbed, toyed, devoured.

So warm, wet and sweet.

Then he slowed.

Panting against my slick lips.

When he pulled back, two golden eyes burned down at me.

Demon eyes, not human.

I tried to keep my eyes open, but my lids were too heavy and my breathing was too slow.

The world drifted.

I was right.

He was a demon.

The battle was lost.

Darkness followed.

?

?

?

My head was heavy. My eyes, heavier.

The second tankard had been a terrible idea.

His lips had been all over me.

I gasped.

The golden demon eyes.

I jerked upright. The chain rattled with me.

He wasn’t in the room.

And I still wore my dress.

Relief sighed out of me—until I felt it.

Wet.

Between my legs.

What in the name of the Morrígan was this?

The bare-chested demon returned before I could throw the covers off.

“What did you do to me?” I snapped, wincing as my head throbbed.

He rolled his eyes.

Then—of course—he distracted me with food.

“You are still a maiden,” he said, slow and condescending, as if I were the village simpleton. “Eat.”

I was ready to argue, to swing the platter at his smug head.

Then I saw the honeyed porridge.

With berries.

I snatched the bowl off the platter and let the first spoonful melt on my tongue.

I hummed in pleasure.

Gods help me.

He was a devious demon.