Chapter 33 Freya
I kept my magic on my shield and my eyes on our surroundings, no part of me putting it past Harald to sneak around through the trees and have Tora hit me in the back with a bolt of lightning. Or worse, waiting until I had to sleep and then coming at us again.
“Bjorn,” I whispered, taking hold of his hand. “We need to find a way past these wards. We need to escape.”
He didn’t answer, and I tore my gaze from the trees to look at him, my heart breaking as I realized he was staring at the bloodstains left by Snorri’s body. My lips parted to offer some comfort. To tell him it wasn’t his fault. That Harald had tricked not just him but everyone. But nothing came out. What comfort would my words be, given that Bjorn had spent the better part of his life serving a man who used him only to damn him in the end? Not just serving, but loving Harald as a father. Through accident, Bjorn had caused the death of his mother, and through manipulation, his father. Had been tricked into fighting against his own people, his own family, every choice he’d made on the basis of endless layers of lies. “I know,” I whispered. “I know this—”
“You don’t know.”
Bjorn pulled away from me, and I grimaced. “Stay close. They might come back.”
“They aren’t coming back. They don’t need to.” He crouched down. “Leaving us here to starve means long days of me coming to terms with being the cause of your death, Born-in-Fire. Which is the worst part of all of this.”
My chest tightened, because I could only begin to imagine this sort of hurt. To have one’s whole life unravel in a moment. I reached for him, but Bjorn held up his hand.
“Don’t,” he said. “I can’t stand the thought of you touching me right now. You are going to die because of me, and I deserve nothing from you but hate.”
“I don’t hate you.” His grief hollowed my own core. “I love—”
“Don’t!” he shouted, then pressed the heels of his hands to his face. “Do not say it, Freya. Do not let this nightmare be what gives me absolution from your anger. Pity is not the same thing as forgiveness, and right now, I do not want either.”
I slowly lowered my hand to my side, my heart understanding what a terrible taste receiving forgiveness in this moment would be. Every part of me wanted to press my forehead to the ground and weep, for I had never felt more defeated, outwitted, and hopeless in all my life. But I refused to do that. Refused to let Harald win while I still drew breath. “If you wish my forgiveness, Bjorn, then find us a way out of this predicament rather than sitting on your arse feeling sorry for yourself.”
His gaze shot to mine, the outrage in his eyes infinitely better than the glassy stare from a heartbeat before. “I have destroyed everything that matters to me and everything that should have mattered to me. How else should I feel?”
Climbing to my feet, I straightened my clothing while assessing our surroundings. “As though you should do something about it.”
“What should I do?” His axe appeared in his hand, and he flung it. Flames flew end over end, but rather than rebounding off the barrier, it flew through to strike a distant tree. “There is nothing I can do!”
“I think that is not the case.” I stared at the smoldering bark of the tree. “Your tantrum has yielded results.”
Bjorn glared at me. “It was not a tantrum. Children throw tantrums.”
“So do men.” I crossed my arms. “But I will forgive your outburst, for you have unwittingly found us a solution.”
“You drive me to madness, woman.”
Shrugging, I said, “With any luck, that will be the case for many years to come. Now hit that tree again and let it burn. It won’t be long until a fisherman sees the signal, investigates, then wipes away the runes binding us. Then we will be free to chase Harald down for vengeance.” Glancing sideways at him, I added, “Unless you can’t hit the tree again. It is quite a distance away.”
“I hit it once, didn’tI?”
“The tree merely had the misfortune of being in the way of your tantrum. I don’t think you can do it on purpose.”
He huffed out an irritated breath, axe appearing in his hand. Staring at the tree, he took two quick steps and then threw. The axe flipped end over end, a blur of crimson fire.
And streaked right past the tree to smash against a boulder with a bang.
I laughed and slapped my knee. “Missed.”
“Born-in-Fire, for someone whose longevity depends very much on my ability to hit that tree, you seem oddly delighted by my failure.”
“You are possessed of too much arrogance and it is unattractive,” I replied. “Failure gives you some small measure of humility, which is more appealing. If I am to spend my final hours stuck on a barren island, I would rather it be with a handsome man.”
“I see.” Shaking his head, Bjorn lifted his axe, which had reappeared in his hand. Exhaling slowly, he took quick steps and threw it again.
And missed again.
Casting a sideways glance at him, I whistled between my teeth and then winked.
“You are the most irritating woman to ever breathe,” he growled, then hurled the axe yet again, flames crackling as it soared through the air.
To embed with a thunk in the tree’s trunk.
Neither of us spoke, and for my part it was because I was holding my breath, but then Tyr’s fire ignited the tree. Crimson flame turned to the oranges and yellows and blues of natural fire, and it spread upward until the entire tree was engulfed.
“Well done,” I breathed. “But don’t let it go to your head or it will be like a bucket of ice water on the flames of my desire for you.”
Bjorn laughed softly. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
We stood in silence, watching the tree burn down to ash.
But no one came.
“I’ll hit another,” Bjorn muttered, pacing the perimeter of the square until he decided on a tree a similar distance away.
I said nothing as he took aim. The wind had risen and I was painfully cold, my clothes intended for fighting, not spending hours on an island so small it didn’t deserve a name. Bjorn mercifully hit the tree on the first try, the wood igniting, but when he looked at me, he frowned.
“Take off your mail,” he said. “It’s only making you colder.”
Unbuckling my belt, I lifted the heavy vest of metal links over my head, discarding it in a pile. While it was a relief to be free of the weight, it did little to ease the chill and I stuck my hands under my armpits.
“Here.” Bjorn set his axe on the ground in front of me. “Try to avoid picking it up.” He pulled off his own mail and tossed it next to mine.
I gave a soft smile and sat on my heels to keep my arse dry while I warmed my hands over the axe, slowly regaining feeling in them. Bjorn prowled the perimeter, seeming to be taking account of our stock of trees, their sizes, and the distance he’d have to throw. I noticed how he avoided the crimson stains where Snorri had fallen. But it was better than silence. Better than hopelessness. I had no notion of whether this would work, but it was something, and something was worth clinging to right now.
We would weave our own fates, and I refused to let that fate be death on this rock in the middle of nowhere.
Yet as the second tree burned low, still no one had come.
I ignored the growl of my empty stomach and sipped some water from snow I’d melted in my shield using the heat from his axe. “Which one is next?”
“That one.” Bjorn jerked his chin toward a distant tree as he walked past me, axe disappearing only to reappear in his hand. Coldness pressed around me, and I eyed the sun setting in the distance, knowing it was going to get worse. Rising to my feet, I walked the perimeter to get my blood flowing, my stomach clenching each time I heard Bjorn curse, unwilling to watch the process.
Thunk.
I exhaled a breath of relief, allowing myself to look toward the thick tree he’d hit, much farther than the others had been but large enough to burn longer.
Bjorn turned and eyed me. “You’re freezing.”
“I’m fine.” Not entirely true given that my clothes were sodden from melting snow and the wind felt like it was bringing all of winter down upon us, but I didn’t want him to worry. “But thank you for volunteering.”
“For what?” His eyes narrowed.
Not giving him a chance to step away, I unbuckled his belt and then lifted his tunic, shoving my frozen hands beneath it. He winced as I pressed them against the hard muscles of his stomach. “I would not have volunteered for this.”
Yet he belied his own words, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me close, my hands sliding around to his back, the feel of him doing more than the warmth to drive away the chill. I rested my head against his chest, feeling the heat of his axe against the back of my legs as it manifested on the ground near my feet. “I need to tell you something.”
“I’ve been told a few too many things today, Freya.”
I nodded my head in acknowledgment but still said, “When I was taken by the Nameless posing as Snorri’s men, they drugged me, but I was roused from my stupor by the specter. She said, ‘Your name was born in fire. Skaland will be united beneath the rule of the one who controls your fate.’?”
“ She .”
I bit the insides of my cheeks. “Her eyes are the same shade of green as yours, Bjorn. Snorri believed Saga was the specter, and I…I think he was right.”
“So not only did she die in my fire, she still burns in it.”
His whole body sang with tension, and while I wished my words had not hurt him, I had a point that needed to be made. “Your mother is trying to help me. The first foretelling about me was the only one she ever gave. All the stories of darkness and death were spun by Harald to manipulate you. And to manipulate me. False foretellings through and through. He doesn’t want Skaland united because that will make it strong where it is now weak, and weakness is easier to manipulate. He’s been trying to change my fate all my life to prevent anyone who might rival him from coming to power, and I think your mother remained between realms to fight against him. She’s suffering in order to keep Harald from winning, and for that reason alone, we can’t give up.”
“What if he has won?”
His gaze was fixed on the burning tree, though I didn’t think he saw it. “We’re still alive. He wanted us dead but couldn’t see it through, and we need to take advantage of that. Escape and stop him. Make all of Nordeland and Skaland know who and what he really is.”
“He’s beloved, Freya. It’s not so simple.”
“I know, but how much of that love is built on lies?” When Bjorn didn’t answer, I added, “Tora is not serving him of her own free will, that much is clear. My guess is that she discovered what he was and he bound her to keep the secret. What if he has bound others in a similar fashion?”
“Even if we escape, how do we prove it? It is our word against his, and he has an entire army and dozens of Unfated in his service.”
I huffed out a breath. “Obviously I have not thought that far ahead, so quit asking questions about what we will do when we are free when the priority is escape.”
“Your plans always have great beginnings, Born-in-Fire, but having barely survived the middles and endings of said plans, it is difficult not to ask questions.”
“The question you should ask yourself is why you aren’t being more helpful by offering suggestions rather than criticisms. I have a plan. You have no plan. That makes my plan better than yours.”
His chest shook beneath my cheek with silent laughter. “Is that a challenge?”
“Yes.” I smiled. “Let me know when you come up with an idea, as I will deeply enjoy picking it apart as you do mine.”
“Then I should give it some thought.” His hand slid down my back, scooping me up into his arms. Then he sat, settling me on the ground between his knees. I leaned against his chest, soaking in the heat of his body.
Wishing it didn’t feel as though an obstacle still stood between us, but there was no denying that it did. Because there was still one thing I needed from him.
Silence stretched between us for a long time, broken only when Bjorn said, “I’m sorry, Freya. I should have trusted you with the truth, but I was afraid. Not just of what you’d do with the truth, but of losing you.”
With his admission, the last vestiges of my anger crumbled and took the wall between us with it because he’d finally given me the reason for his lies. The real reason. “You are forgiven.”
Bjorn was quiet. “Why?”
“Because you are very good-looking.” Lifting my head from his shoulder, I met his gaze in the darkness, then traced my fingertips down the side of his stubbled cheek. “Are you quite certain that Baldur did not give you some of his blood?”
“It would explain a great deal.” He smiled, then turned his face to kiss my scarred palm. Though my skin had little sensation, I felt it all the way down to my core.
“Most especially your arrogance,” I murmured, turning my body so that I sat between his legs, wrapping my own around his waist. “I lied before. The arrogance only ever makes me want you more.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
I rolled my eyes. “Already I regret my words.”
His hands closed around my waist, running up and down my back, sending shivers of sensation through me that had nothing to do with the cold. He leaned forward, and my lips parted, certain he’d kiss me, but Bjorn only said, “You still haven’t answered my question.”
It was hard to think with his hands on me. Hard to put my mind to anything other than how badly I wanted to be close to him. To be one with him again, because in his absence, I’d felt so empty. “You promised that I was yours. That you were mine. That you’d be at my back until the gates of Valhalla, and though you broke me in other ways, you never broke those promises.” I curved my hand behind his head, feeling the silken length of his hair brush my skin. “You hurt me but earned my forgiveness, and to deny it only makes the pain worse. Forgiving you frees me to feel things other than pain. I’m forgiving you for myself.”
“I love you, Born-in-Fire,” he whispered, pulling me onto his lap, the apex of my thighs pressed against the hard plains of his stomach. “From the moment I met you, I have fought for you. And I’ll fight for you every day until I enter Valhalla.”
“You have me.” I lifted my head to kiss him. “No matter where fate takes me, I will be yours.”
His mouth claimed mine, and there were no more words. Onlythe taste of him on my tongue, the feel of his skin against mine, and the raging heat of his fire that seemed to burn hotter with the fuel of the desire betweenus.
His tongue stroked over mine, our teeth clicking together, and I didn’t care that my head went light from lack of breath because all I wanted was him. All I wanted was to destroy any distance between us, to have him touch me, kiss me, claim me, and oh gods, for him to be in me again.
I tore at my belt, casting it aside, then caught the hem of my tunic and lifted it over my head.
“You’ll freeze,” he growled into my throat, kissing lines of fire down to my collarbone.
“Keep me warm,” I breathed, lifting onto my knees and moaning as he kissed my left breast, drawing my nipple into his mouth and sending a jolt through to my core. My head fell back, my eyes fixed on the stars in the midnight sky, specks of silver light beyond counting, and let all the world fall away but for the feel of his mouth on my breasts. Licking and sucking and biting until I felt swollen and aching and desperate to be sated.
Needing to be filled.
I lowered myself onto his lap, feeling the hard ridge of his cock press against me, and my need for him felt like it was burning me up from the inside. With feral fingers, I tore off his tunic, kissing and biting at his throat, my hands roving over his back and shoulders. Every muscle was hard, his skin like fire beneath my touch, and though I could feel his hands on my naked body, my focus was on touching all of him. Reclaiming that which had always been mine and always would be, because I’d kill anyone who tried to come betweenus.
Then Bjorn caught hold of both sides of my face. He kissed me, tongue chasing over mine before he pulled back to look me in the eyes. His axe cast dancing shadows over his features, feral and fierce, and he said, “You are so beautiful, Born-in-Fire. You put the goddesses whose blood runs in your veins to shame.”
The ground beneath us trembled, and Bjorn gave a dark laugh, one hand sliding from my cheek to my throat, holding me in place while the other unfastened the ties on my war braids. I moaned softly as his fingers unraveled the braids, grinding myself against him. The wind howled over me, but I barely felt it, my body all liquid heat as I traced the tattoos on his muscled arms, wanting to reach down to free him from the rest of the clothes but bound in place by his grip on my throat.
“I want you to fuck me,” I breathed, shivering as the loosened lengths of my hair fell across my breasts. “I want you to have all of me.”
“I intend to,” he murmured, finishing with the last of my braids. “In every possible way.”
He released my throat, but before I could reach for him, he caught me by the hips and lifted me to my feet. I looked down at him, all taut skin and tattoos as he unlaced the front of my trousers, catching my bottom lip in between my teeth as he eased the fabric over my hips and slid it slowly down my legs.
I kicked off my shoes, and he discarded my clothes, leaving me naked before him. He kissed my navel once, then leaned back on one elbow, looking up at me while he freed his cock, stroking it as he looked me up and down. I could only imagine how I looked, naked with my hair loose and blowing in the wind, my face still painted for war and my body illuminated by a god’s fire.
“I am glad no one has come,” he said, his eyes darkening in a way that made my toes curl against the cold ground. “Seeing you like this is worth dying for.”
Then he let go of his cock and crooked a finger at me. “Let me have you, Freya.”
I dropped to my hands and knees, running my tongue up his length and relishing the groan of pleasure that tore from his lips. But then he caught hold of me and lifted, falling backward until his head rested against the ground with my knees to either side of his face. I gasped as he elbowed my thighs wider, his breath hot against my slick sex.
I trembled, my body all contrasts of hot and cold, but every part of me heavy with anticipation as he pushed my thighs wider still, lowering me farther still. Each breath I took was ragged, because each breath he took seared against the most intimate part of me. His fingers traced up and down my bare legs, driving me so wild that I fought the urge to scream because if I did not have release, I would surely burn to ash from the inside out.
Then his tongue stroked up my sex, lingering on the most sensitive part before he whispered, “Come for me, Born-in-Fire. I want to taste you while you scream my name at the stars.”
He pushed my knees apart until my thighs ached, and then he consumedme.
The wind caught my sob of pleasure and tore it away to the wilds of the sea as he laid claim to my body, his tongue inside me before laying siege to my clit, each suck, each stroke, driving me closer to climax.
I dug my nails into my own thighs, my breasts, desperate to hold on to something while I rode him, the ache between my thighs so fierce my body shook.
The wave of my desire crested with such violence that I screamed, howled his name, overcome with sensation as though I knelt at the brink between life and death. Which perhaps I did. Over and over the waves surged through me until I could scarcely breathe.
I slid my hips back and collapsed against him, my skin icy where the wind had kissed it, the heat of him almost painful. His heart hammered beneath my ear, arms warm as they wrapped around me, but the feel of his cock pressing against my liquid heat was fuel for the desire that still raged inside ofme.
Lifting my body, I gave him a feral smile, then began to kiss my way down his chest. Down the hard ridges of his abdomen, each intake of breath filling me with wicked delight as my mouth found his cock. I circled it with my tongue, smiling when he groaned, then took him into my mouth. He was long and thick, but I took him as deep as I could, tasting the salt of him as my hands explored his body.
“Freya,” he groaned. “You have a wicked little mouth.”
I only rolled my eyes up to look at him, then scraped my teeth gently over his tip, his back bowing as I whispered, “What are you going to do about that?”
“Nothing.” His fingers tangled in my hair. “There is nothing about you I would change.”
A warmth different from desire filled me, because I knew that I was a flawed woman. That there were parts of me that were not good. Yet Bjorn loved me as I was, wanted me to be who I was rather than to shape me into something else, the way so many other people had tried.
I wanted him to know that I felt the same way about him. That despite everything, good and bad, I loved him as he was. Wanted him as he was.
So I showed him.
Took him deep in my mouth again, tasting and relishing him, my fingers exploring the hard lines of his body. Traced the scars and tattoos, reaffirming that he was mine and that I’d never be parted from him again. We’d be together now until we walked into Valhalla, then together for whatever came next.
“Freya,” he groaned, and I knew he was close. Could feel the tension in him. But rather than allowing himself release, Bjorn pulled me into his arms and kissed me deeply, his tongue stroking over mine. “You are mine, Born-in-Fire,” he growled, “and I will have all of you.”
He rolled, and I found myself on my hands and knees, Bjorn behind me. My whole body quivered as he drew my hair over my back, the wind gusting over my hardened nipples and my fingers digging into the ground.
“So fucking perfect,” he whispered, his large hands gripping my hips and his thumbs pressing into the muscle of my arse. He pulled me against him, his knees on either side of mine, his cock pressing against me. “Use your magic, Freya. I want to see you while I make you mine.”
“Hlin,” I whispered, “lend me your power.”
Magic surged into me and out through my hands, spilling across the ground in a silver glow. My body was liquid fire, knowing he could see the most intimate parts of me making my breath come in rapid gasps because I needed him in me. Needed to be joined with him in every possible way.
Bjorn’s fingers tightened on my hips, drawing me back, and a sob tore from my lips as he pressed into me. Inch by delicious inch, until my body could take no more of him.
“Mine,” he breathed, one hand moving around my hip, and I whimpered as his finger circled my clit.
My release was already rising, the snow melting and running down my body in rivulets, juxtaposed with the burning heat of him inside me. My magic seemed to pulse with my heart, silver light climbing the walls of our prison, reaching up to the sky.
He pulled out, then thrust into me again, and I whimpered as he found his rhythm. My arms shuddered with the strain of holding myself up against his strength, but gods, I wanted more. Wanted everything, and I pushed back against him, taking him deeper.
His fingers matched the intensity of his thrust, stroking against my clit, and the aching rise of my climax was a river against a dam on the verge of collapse. My heart was hammering, my eyes filled with nothing but silver light, and I felt like I was drowning and it wouldn’t matter if I never took another breath.
His thrusting intensified, and the desperate need in it shattered my control. A cry tore from me as I surrendered to the release. Bjorn screamed my name as he climaxed, arm wrapping around my hips and his cock driving so deeply into me that my back bowed.
I gasped for breath as pleasure claimed me, stealing away my strength, my body limp.
“Freya.” Bjorn’s arm moved up my torso, lifting me so that my back was pressed against his chest, the light of my magic winking out. He was still in me, still pulsing, and I shuddered against the overwhelming sensations as the darkness wrapped around us like velvet.
“I love you,” he said, and I turned my head, feeling my temple brush against the stubble of his chin as I whispered, “You have my heart.”
It felt as though time stood still. There was nothing but the gentle fall of snow around us, the wind in the distant trees, and the roar of the sea beyond. A moment that I might wish would last, for we were finally together.
Except as the chill grew, the wind no longer stroked my skin but cut like a knife, and reality came thundering back.
We were alone.
Trapped.
And the place that had brought our hearts back together might well be the place where they beat their last.