Chapter 13
With a soft grunt, Nordin drops his chin and stares down at the arrow that pierced through his fur cloak and—hopefully—through the rest of his layers to at least graze his skin.
He says nothing as he plucks it out and reduces it to kindling. I squint at the silver-dipped head to check for blood. I think I detect some, but before I can be a hundred percent certain, Nordin tears the longbow from my hands and chucks it. And then he’s hauling me over his shoulder.
That’s when I spot my dagger, nestled in the middle of a large boot print, the opal blazing like some unearthly eye from the pommel.
The bastard had been standing on it!
A handful of arrows escapes my quiver and whizzes past my ears, joining my forsaken blade.
“Set me down immediately!” I yell.
He doesn’t.
One of my canteens bites the back of my skull, threatening to slip past the flap and follow the direction of my weapons.
“I was going to let you ride me home, but I guess you’ll have to settle for my shoulder,” Nordin says as he starts down the mountain.
I smack my fists into his spine, wishing his furs and muscles weren’t so thick. “Put me down!” When he doesn’t, I flutter my legs, but that only makes his arm band more snugly against the backs of my thighs.
“Can’t believe you shot me.” Is it me, or does he sound tickled?
“I warned you I would. Warned Havrik and his shifters too.” I try to reach over my shoulder for another arrow.
“Who knew how much you had in common with the Ravine Jarl?” When he doesn’t respond to my taunt, I add, “I guess male shifters in positions of power are all just as arrogant. Now fucking set me down.”
“No.”
I jam the arrow into his back, right between his shoulder blades.
Nordin’s muscles bunch, and he stops walking.
“Down,” I snarl. “Now.”
I’m almost surprised when he sets me on my feet, and gently at that. Perhaps he’s finally remembering the adage about the wrath of a woman scorned?
Quickly, my surprise warps to anger, because he snaps the straps of my rucksack with his hands. It hits the icy ground and skids.
“How am I supposed to carry it now?” I growl, going after it.
My fingers skim the severed strap right as Nordin seizes my waist and dumps me over his shoulder again.
My rage burns so hot it chars my vision. “I’m not going back! I’m. Not. Going. Back!”
He picks up the pace.
My eyes gloss with fury as he erases all the steps I took. “I hate you, Nordin Stormsson.”
He just walks.
“Why can’t you fucking let me go?” I resume assaulting his back with my fists. “Why? Why?” I scream, hating how thick my voice has become.
Even though my arrowheads didn’t atrophy his tongue, he fails to use it.
“I will never talk to you again, Nordin. I mean it. Never.”
His silence crawls underneath my skin and festers.
I seal my lips. As I look at the snowflakes gathering in his footprints, I contemplate new ways to reach Ljosam?r. I come up with two options: bartering with a vampyr and…
I dismiss the second before it’s fully fleshed. I could never marry Havrik to escape the Vales. Not only does the mere thought of seeing him again sour my stomach, but also, I doubt becoming a Jarl’s wife will win me more freedom than remaining unattached.
When we reach the fjord I tiptoed across earlier, Nordin slows, then stops on the embankment as though loath to trudge across the ice. He should be. It’s not thick; he is. I bet he regrets not having listened to me earlier. If he had, he could’ve shifted and cleared it with a single leap.
“I’m going to set you down now.” He doesn’t add don’t try anything, but the warning simmers in his wary stare.
He stands me upright with astounding placidity. Was I expecting him to hurl me across? Yes.
The full force of the snowstorm hits me once I’m no longer pressed against him. My body is so cold from inertia that my bones feel brittle. Only my eyes are hot, thanks to the burn of indignation.
“Try running, love.” That is all the infuriating male says, his irises sparking with the thrill of the chase.
So much for being noble; the male, like the rest of his brethren, is a predator through and through. Without a word, I turn toward the ice.
“After you.” He gestures to the opposite shore.
Clearly, he thinks I plan on scrambling back up the mountain. It rankles that he believes me stupid enough to try to outrun him.
I hop down. I don’t miss the hiss that barrels through his teeth and turns into a low snarl when I stomp forward.
“Lighten your footfalls!” he calls out.
I smirk, then raise a hand over my head to flip him off and stamp the frosted layer once more.
“I swear to Fenrir that if you fall in, I won’t retrieve you.”
I stop walking right before I reach the opposite shore and turn, head tipped to the side. If he isn’t bluffing, then that could solve the conundrum of how to break away.
Keeping my eyes on his, I soften my knees and jump. Oh, the rage that fires across his face. I do it again. His complexion deepens, and my name rumbles from his chest.
The third time I jump, the ice crunches, splits, and I fall in. The water is so frigid that it burns my skin. I pop my head out, take a breath. Though the current is strong and tries to push me forward, I plant my feet in the silty trough and hold on to the thick sheets of ice surrounding me.
My body is so chilled, it doesn’t even shake. In truth, I feel like I’m sitting in the steam hut instead of a frozen fjord. I know the illusion will vanish the instant I climb out. I’ll rue my stubbornness, but if it wins me freedom…
Nordin’s fingers ball into fists at his sides.
Come on. Honor your promise of leaving.
Jaw ticking, his eyes squeeze on me one last time before he pivots and storms away, melting into the storm.
Gummy lids pitched wide, I raise my face toward the heavens, welcoming the cool kiss of the snow. Please keep me safe, Fen—I stop myself and replace the shifters’ divinity with mine: Freyja.
I pivot toward the shore and am about to climb out when a shadow burns through the white. One that grows in color and lethality.
Nordin squats and yanks me up by the pits.
I scowl. “You swore you wouldn’t retrieve me!”
“And you swore you wouldn’t talk to me again. Guess we’re both liars.” He glowers at my soaked clothes that have already begun to harden, then at my lashes, which are wedged with ice, and finally at my lips, which have started to tremble.
Goose bumps scatter across my skin, and my body gives a violent jerk that turns into irrepressible tremors. “L-l-leave.”
He shakes his head, and then he’s slinging me over his shoulder again. I don’t even fight him this time. Mostly because I’m physically destroyed. My joints are unbending, and my muscles so stiff I can barely move my limbs.
After a mile, the warmth of his skin seeps into my front, transforming ice to slush. Unfortunately, the rest of me remains covered in hoarfrost. Though the weight of ice on my lashes keeps them from sealing, it doesn’t prevent exhaustion from darkening my vision and sweeping me into oblivion.
When I wake next, it’s in front of a roaring fire, tucked against a wall of heat. Gray fur tickles my bare skin. I sink my scarred fingers into it, wondering where it came from…where this place came from.
Did Nordin walk me all the way home to the valley? Wouldn’t I be lying in my cot instead of inside this strange, tawny log cabin if he had?
I twist my head to take in more of my surroundings, going deathly still when I discover that the wall against which I laze is made of flesh.
Bare flesh.
I must’ve passed on to the next realm, for there’s no version of reality in which Nordin Stormsson would ever lie naked with me.
Except…except there are boots along the wall—two pairs. And my cloak dangles from a peg. My stockings, as well.
Holy fathers and mothers of supernaturals, is this real?
Even though I can feel Nordin, I slide my hand off the fur and reach around me.
When my fingertips graze his bicep, the muscle beneath twitches.
All of him twitches.
Holy Helheim, this is real.
I’m alive.
Alive and naked.
And alone with Nordin.
His chest suddenly rumbles with a hoarse rush of words that speeds my heart and tightens my skin. “Can you stop fucking jumping into frozen bodies of water, love?”