Page 13 of Wulver's Flame

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.