Page 18 of Wulver's Flame

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.

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

His teeth felt so good.