Chapter 9
Entwined by Water and Flame
Skjold was restless.
He tossed in his furs, his body throbbing with need. Yet his longing for Skadi was more than mere lust, for his magic surged, the inked runes on his forearms flooding his veins like ocean waves inundating the fjord. And frostfire flames licked at his soul.
Her soft whisper caressed his wandering mind. “Skjold…”
A pulse of magic tugged at his spirit, drawing him inexorably to her.
Skjold raised his head and glanced at Haldor, asleep in his furs. Unable to resist Skadi’s call, Skjold rose from his bed and slipped silently across the hearth room.
At the end of the dark hall—where violet and green northern lights swirled through the narrow windows of the cave—Skadi stood in a sheer white gown which clung to her alluring curves.
Luminous with inner Ljósálfar light, her long blonde hair flowing in waves to her narrow waist, she appeared like a water goddess, haloed in violet ice.
Gossamer sleeves cascading to the cold cave floor, arms outstretched to welcome him, she invited Skjold to share the starlit night.
Limbs shaking with longing, he staggered down the hall, his breath caught between need and disbelief, until she drew him into her arms like a prayer answered. And ushered him through the door, into her moonlit room.
Her graceful fingers stroked his bearded cheek, her sizzling touch sending sparks up his spine and a current coursing through his veins. On the tips of her toes, she rose like a flame, engulfing him with desire as she brushed her lips against his.
Although Skjold had been with several women—the Blóesmier had insisted on making him a man at various Viking ports whenever they stopped to trade—he had never experienced the overwhelming sensations that flooded him as he lost himself in Skadi’s enticing embrace.
He savored her taste as he plundered her lips, sweeping his tongue to probe and explore.
Her scent inundated his senses, her essence calling to his, her spirit entwining with his own.
As if caught in a maelstrom, he spiraled into her, in complete surrender. Unanchored, unthinking, and undone.
His hands gripped the curve of her hips, pulling her firmly against him.
When he pressed his hardened length into her flat belly, a soft moan escaped her parted lips.
He sampled the tender skin of her delicate throat, the slender curve of her shoulder as he slipped the gown to the floor.
The pale globes of her breasts glowed in the moonlight, irresistible to Skjold’s eager lips.
When Skadi’s legs buckled beneath her, he laid her gently atop the pile of furs on the wooden bed shaped like a sleigh.
And worshipped every inch of his luminous goddess with reverent lips, fingers, and tongue.
She tasted like honey with a slight tang of salt, an intoxicating blend of the sea and golden mead. Her enticing flavor and alluring magic enflamed and enchanted him, his need for her overwhelming and otherworldly.
Shaking with desire, Skjold positioned himself between her lithe legs, sliding calloused hands under her trembling hips.
He tilted her up and sank into her welcoming depths, her slick grip sending shivers of indescribable pleasure which seared his very soul.
When Skadi encircled his thrusting body with taut limbs, tendrils of her magic entwining with his own, a sizzling jolt of power shot through him as he arrowed into her.
And spilled his seed deep into her warm, willing womb.
“Mmm,” she hummed beneath him, kissing his shoulder where the inked dragon coiled up the side of his neck. “Our bodies have joined, and our magic has merged, forming an immutable bond which can never be broken. We are destined to be together, Skjold. Our fates have been interwoven by the Norns.”
Skjold lowered himself to her side and cradled Skadi over his pounding heart.
As she stroked the dark blond hair across his chest, her otherworldly scent—like moss kissed by early morning frost, or starlit mist swept over the fjord—stirred his soul.
He murmured in her ear, caressing her long blonde hair.
“When I first met you, the Laguz runes on my forearms glowed in your presence. And liquid magic flowed like waves up my limbs. Flames sparked up my spine, igniting me with frostfire. I was unable to resist you, Skadi. Our mating was otherworldly and inevitable. We are indeed bound by fate.”
As he wrapped his arms around her, Skjold was stunned at the sight of his left palm. He sat up abruptly and showed it to Skadi. “Look at my hand!”
A water droplet edged in shimmery silver—with flowing waves of deep blue and a heart of violet fire—curled like a flame inside his left palm.
Unlike the dragon which swirled up his neck, or the runes which rippled up his arms, it was not inked in woad, but ablaze with blue fire and violet frost, like the Hrímsúl gem in his Dwarven shield.
Skadi traced the outline with a reverent fingertip.
“A flame encircled by water. My frostfire magic encased within yours.” Ice blue eyes aglow in the moonlight, Skadi whispered with wonder as she revealed an identical sigil inside her left palm.
“I have the same mark. A fjorún—the soulbound rune, binding us together across all realms. We are fated mates with interwoven wyrds. Entwined by water and flame.”
She brushed soft lips against his, kissing his bristled cheek, neck, and shoulder, tracing the runes of the tattooed dragon with the tip of her tongue.
“I love your taste,” she purred, nuzzling the dense hair across his chest. “And your scent sings to my soul.” Delighted to find his ardent response to her scintillating touch, she straddled him with long, lithe limbs and impaled herself on his hardened body.
Her long hair flowed over his shoulders in a cascade of silvery gold, surrounding him in ethereal light.
As she rose and fell upon him with relentless rhythm, gripping him in her tight, intimate embrace, his passion crested and burst forth in tremendous waves, like the ocean crashing against the cliff.
She shuddered as pleasure rippled through her, like ice melting in flames, then collapsed upon his chest with a deep moan. After a few moments, she withdrew her legs and laid down at his side, curling against him as he wrapped them both in soft furs.
“I must leave in the morning,” she murmured, twirling the curls of his chest hair into soft peaks and rubbing them with a flattened palm.
“And you will sail to the distant Land of the White Chalk Cliffs.” She rose onto an elbow and gazed down at him, her eyes alit like frozen stars.
“But you must come to me on the night of the winter solstice —through the Mermaid Cove of the waterfall cave. It is one of the three portals to álfheim, which you may cross because of the Ljósálfar gift of sight through water that you inherited from your mother.” Long, luminous fingers traced the trio of droplets—the Veil of Vision—beneath his left eye.
She kissed each one tenderly, then whispered, evoking his sacred oath.
“Promise me, Skjold, that you will meet me in álfheim, on the night of the winter solstice. On the eastern bank of Lyrian Lake, where the trees will be filled with frosted starfruit. We’ll spend Jól together…
and make love under stars that do not shine in this mortal realm.
” With urgent demand, she claimed his lips. “Promise me.”
“I swear, Skadi. I will come to you on the night of the winter solstice.” He cradled the back of her head and pulled her to him, returning her soul-searing kiss.
“We are bound by the fjorún,” he vowed, his breath raspy and raw.
In the sliver of moonlight which streamed through the narrow window, he opened his left hand.
The droplet-shaped frostfire sigil—the mark of their otherworldly mating—glowed inside his palm. “Entwined by water and flame.”
They made love a third time, merging bodies, magic, and souls. Skadi slept in his arms, limbs entwined amidst furs, moonglow, and starlight.
At dawn, Skjold slipped back to the hearth, where Haldor lay awake, a knowing smirk stretched across his bearded face. “An irresistible urge to mate. Her magic called to yours.”
Skjold knelt on the pile of furs and displayed the fjorún mark inside his left palm.
“We are soulbound, she and I. Entwined by water and flame.” He plopped down at Haldor’s side, shaking his head in disbelief.
“I have coupled with other women, but nothing compares to this. My mating with Skadi was otherworldly—a merging of bodies, spirits, and magic. We are both marked with this droplet of frostfire, branded inside our left palms.”
Falcon eyes aflame, Haldor sat up abruptly and removed his woolen tunic.
The shimmer of feathers etched across his scarred chest—evidence of the magical gift bestowed by Freyja which enabled him to transform into a falcon—glimmered in the glowing embers of the stone hearth.
Haldor indicated a radiant mark just above his heart, nestled among the intricate pattern of plumes and dark hair.
At the heart of a falcon feather etched in silver and blue, an eye of golden amber glowed, with a spiral of deep violet at its center.
“Seierfjáer. The fjorún which binds me to úlvhild.” One side of his bearded lips curled up in a proud but private grin.
“The spiral of seier magic, inside her eye of golden amber. Encased within a falcon feather. Her essence infused within mine.”
Skjold was momentarily too stunned to speak. He knew that Haldor and úlvhild were lovers. But they were much more than that. They were soulbound spirits, magically joined across all realms.
Just like Skadi and Skjold.