Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
Bjorn
With her tucked against his side, he felt like he could do anything.
He felt like a god. Astrid was all snuggled up, tucked against his heart, and it didn’t matter that there was a distinct ache between his legs.
He’d been in pain for ten years. Suffering to have her in his arms was worth every moment.
Bjorn still couldn’t believe it. After all this time, he had found the person he was meant to be with. The perfect mate bond, someone who he was worthy of, and all it had taken was ten years of torture.
He almost snorted at his own thoughts. Astrid had come out of nowhere.
Fate had been laughing at him, most likely, when she had walked into that labyrinth and seen him tied up like that.
The gods had likely been teasing him, dangling what he could not have, while he’d swung from the chains that had reminded him of where he was.
But then she had laughed in the face of the gods, telling them that he was hers.
It felt like such a long time ago. He didn’t remember the faces of the people who had been in the room, but he remembered hers. He remembered her pearl dress, every single stitch on it, and the mask that had covered her pretty face.
Bjorn would have to ask her about that. He’d only seen a few women of her station before, and they all wore masks like she had.
The trolls would never cover up the features of someone so powerful, but he feared that was normal to humans.
Why? He did not know. But he wanted to. He wanted to know everything about her life and how she had come to this moment.
He tightened his arms around her, shifting just a bit closer. As if he could get any closer. One of his legs was between hers, an arm draped over her, the other she used as a pillow. She was as tight against him as possible, and it still didn’t feel like it was enough.
Hours passed. Bjorn didn’t move even when his muscles started to ache and his hand lost all feeling.
None of it mattered. He wanted to remember every detail of this moment.
How her breath rose and fell in her sleep, the dusting of her eyelashes on her cheeks, and the way her hair smelled like flowers even though he knew that had to be impossible.
He would have stayed here forever if he hadn’t heard the telltale signs of movement outside their tent.
At first he thought it was animals. Tiny scratching noises, then a few rocks that had been loosened and fell free. He knew most animals would see a tent like theirs and not be curious enough to risk their lives.
But then, a voice.
“Did someone survive you think?” Male. Obviously pitched low so no one would hear him, but that booming voice would have a hard time being quiet. It carried across the mountain peaks because there was nothing to dampen the sound.
Bjorn tensed. He could feel Astrid waking when she felt his body tense against hers. Carefully, he shifted his hand up from her waist to her mouth.
Clamping down around her jaw and nose, he muffled the sound she made as she woke. Though startled, she rolled to look at him.
Her wide blue eyes were full of fear. It made that rage, that beastly part of himself that he’d never been able to control, rise to the surface.
This night had been perfect, but neither of them was ever truly safe until they were in Trollveggen. Peeling his hand off of her face, finger by finger, he listened to what the men were saying.
“I don’t think anyone could have survived that carnage. You saw the remains of those men. Whatever did that was an animal.” The sound of movement as another man joined the first. “I think it’s more likely that we’re looking at hunting down some beast.”
“The king said to return quickly and report.”
“He also said to make our own judgments.” This man was harsher sounding, more aggressive in his tone and words. “My judgment is whoever is in that tent isn’t one of ours.”
That was more than enough for him to hear. Bjorn would not take risks on their journey. He knew damn well what men like this were like. They would fire arrows into the tent before they would even look at who was in it.
Carefully rolling away from Astrid, he reached for the bags he had left near the door. His weapons were in there, although he always kept a few out as well. The knives he would grab last.
Except his hand wouldn’t pick up the knife he’d left beside the bed. He’d forgotten that his right arm had been wedged underneath her, so of course he couldn’t hold anything with it yet. The blood hadn’t returned to his limbs after being pinned beneath her all night.
That would complicate things. He could wait until the feeling came back, but he wasn’t all that convinced the men would wait that long. Soon enough, there would be a battle, and he needed to make do with what he had now.
His non-dominant hand would have to be what he fought with.
It wouldn’t be the first time. There’d been a battle in the labyrinth where one of the men had stabbed him through the right shoulder.
His hand had gone numb then as well, and he’d had to fight with his left.
He’d still won, although it had been a little more difficult.
He doubted it would be an issue here. Palming a few more knives, he strapped them onto his legs before turning to Astrid. Pressing a finger to his lips, he made it very clear that he wanted her to stay quiet. She nodded.
The last thing he wanted to do was damage their tent. But those men were clearly watching the front and would yell for reinforcements if they saw him. He cut through the back of the tent with his knife, sharp, silent, and slipped through the small opening so he could get around without being seen.
Crouching to hide behind rocks, he headed toward the sound of the two human men who were still murmuring quietly. They thought they were well hidden.
They were wrong.
He caught the first man by the neck, slicing through his skin with claws that were just as sharp as his knives. Bjorn would have preferred a larger weapon, but he’d already been carrying so much on the journey up here. The last thing he needed was a heavy axe, as he preferred.
The second man whirled, already drawing his sword.
But they were too close to each other, and he couldn’t pull out a sword without his arm getting caught against Bjorn first. With a swift movement, Bjorn plunged his own blade into the man’s gut.
It wasn’t precisely where he wanted to hit him, but it would have to do.
The man opened his mouth, clearly attempting to scream.
“Don’t,” Bjorn growled, angling his knife upward toward the man’s lung and sinking it even deeper.
He wasn’t fast enough. The sound that came out of the man was a dying rattle, but it was loud enough that shouts echoed up the mountainside in response. The damned man. Now they were going to have a fight on their hands, and there was nothing he could do about it.
“Astrid!” Bjorn yelled as he leapt down in front of their tent. “Run!”
It was the only thing he could have her do. Already there were ten more men running toward him, each of them armed to the teeth. And even more behind those.
He ran into the group, enraged and far more dangerous than they were expecting. Or perhaps he was exactly who they’d thought they would meet, because they all seemed far more prepared than they should have been.
Bjorn sliced through sinew and bone, hacking through the men who got close enough to him.
Screams echoed throughout the mountain, blistering the air with the sound of pain and torment.
This was the symphony he had created over many years.
He had listened to the sound of dying men and turned it into an instrument only he knew how to play, but there were many of them, and there was only one of him.
He’d fought ten, fifteen men before. Bjorn would put his own life at risk to fight. Easily. He had for many years.
But everything in him froze when he heard her scream.
Astrid. Four men hauled her in the moonlight toward the rest of their group. She was kicking and screaming, trying her best to get their hands off her when they never should have touched her.
And then he made his mistake. Bjorn should have kept fighting. Every dead man was one less they had to worry about here. Unfortunately, that wasn’t what he did. He stepped toward her, forgetting that he was surrounded by people who wanted him dead.
The men took advantage of his confusion.
They leapt at him, suddenly not with swords, but with ropes.
They tied him up, binding his arms behind him.
But he didn’t need his arms to fight. He’d always figured out a way to kill people with his horns or his legs.
Then his legs were bound, and they forced him onto his knees.
He watched them dragging her away, and something in him broke. For the first time, he wasn’t able to save her. This was what he had been made to do. To fight, to destroy, to kill. Now he wasn’t even able to do that.
But Astrid’s gaze found his, and he felt something blooming inside of him. A connection that he hadn’t realized had developed between them. He could feel it. A cord that bound their souls together, twining around him and around her magic until he could feel her tugging on it.
He let her and watched as words fell from her lips. Words that were said in the black tongue, a language she still did not know. They came from him. From deep inside his soul, because he had heard them said so many times when he’d been a child, even if he hadn’t spoken them himself.
Their combined magic ripped at the men who held on to her arms. Each of them yelled in response, dropping their hold on her and clutching their chests.
Astrid wasn’t just peering into the weight of their souls as many blood witches did.
She was doing exactly what his mother, and the others had said she would do.