Chapter 19 #2
I snap my gaze to the fine sand trickling down the hourglass’s slender neck.
A heartbeat before the last white grains vanish, I shove one of my berserkers two spots forward.
And then I flip the hourglass before Nordin’s right hand has even come away from my body.
If he intends to play dirty, then so will I.
I idly fuss with the corset boning of my dress, propping my cleavage higher. And then I deliberately trace my buttressed swells with a finger, as though I were distracted and not on a mission to divert my opponent’s attention.
His eyes flash a blue so luminescent it lights up the very air, and the fingers wrapped around my knee all but bolt to the bone. I think I’ve succeeded in making him lose his turn when I drag my gaze to the board and see that he’s moved, and not just anywhere.
I glower at the Norn that took out my berserker, while he strokes my captured piece in his free hand. Half of me is jealous of the diminutive sculpture, the other half is tetchy that he succeeded at concentrating despite my best efforts.
“Why don’t you pick Odin’s first piece?” he suggests.
I flip over a stone on Odin’s portion of the board, then read the engraving, “Move the Norn six spaces.”
When I note that six spaces takes me to the square Nordin usurped, I smile widely and knock over his precious Norn. It might be Odin’s piece, yet it feels like my win.
With an amused tilt of his lips, Nordin resets the timer for my turn. I play quickly but smartly this time. I’m all the more proud when I accomplish this while his thumb drafts slow arcs over the side of my knee.
Nordin has undoubtedly guessed my answer. After all, if it had been a categorical no, his hand would be nowhere near my legs. Still, we play—Rafbo, but also the game of teasing one another. He bests me at both, which serves to remind me that he’s older, wiser, and more experienced.
I don’t know how I feel about this. On the one hand, it drives me to become a better version of myself. On the other, it shakes my fledgling confidence. He may be physically attracted to me, but he’s bound to find me lacking.
He knocks the hourglass onto its side as one does when the game has been won. Except the game is unfinished since our respective God statuettes remain uncaptured.
I look up to find his eyebrows slung low and his gaze rife with concern.
He shoves his bench back, prying his legs from mine. My entire chest tightens with a wash of uncertainty.
He pats his lap. “Come here.”
Shock keeps my ass pinned to the bench.
He tilts his head. “Zas?”
The sound of my name makes me jerk to my feet. And then I’m circling the table toward him. When I reach him, I just stand there like a fool, unsure of what to do next.
He snakes his arm around my waist and eases me onto his lap. “What’s going on in that beautiful head?”
Wringing my gloved hands in the folds of my skirt, I study the crackling fire. “What is it you even like about me, Nordin?”
Though I still don’t meet his stare, I can feel it glide over my profile, lingering on the firm set of my mouth.
He lifts his hand and tucks that stubborn tendril behind my ear to reveal more of my face. And then he cups my cheek and applies the slightest amount of pressure to force my attention away from the firepit.
“Every. Single. Fucking. Thing,” he rasps.
My pulse judders.
My nerves twitter.
“Your candor. Your focus. Your compassion. Your freckles.”
I cock an eyebrow. “My freckles?”
“Yes. Your freckles. I’m glad they didn’t fade with age, for I would’ve missed how they darken in the summer and reshuffle when you smile.”
My throat dips. I didn’t think anyone could find freckles attractive, much less a grown man.
“I love the way your mind works. The way your body moves. The velvety tenor of your voice. Your ability to turn something no one would’ve looked at twice into something of great beauty.” His thumb traces my teardrop opal. “Your steadfast determination.”
“You didn’t seem a fan of the latter last week,” I challenge him.
“I was fucking terrified to have lost you last week.” His chest moves over a few breaths before he finally asks, “Did I lose you, Zaskja?”
“Would I be sitting on your lap if you’d lost me?”
“I need words, not actions. I need to hear you tell me what you want. I need to know how you’re feeling about all of this. About me.”
“I can’t seem to stop wanting you, my Wolf.”
The nickname, which I’ve only ever dared call him on paper, seems to broaden his chest.
“Good.” His fingers start roaming again, caressing, kneading. “Because I know I’ll never stop wanting you.”
“You can’t know that. If you meet your mate—”
He stamps my lips closed with his thumb. “When I was younger, I decided that the person I’d spend my life with would be my choice, not Fenrir’s. Which he must’ve understood, since he’s never mated me. If you give me a second chance, I swear that you’ll only lose me if you walk away.”
“Would you let me?”
His expression turns so somber that I regret asking the question. “I would never force you to stay at my side, Zas.”
“You forced me to come back.”
“Because you left out of spite for me, not out of love for someone else.”
My stomach sours. “You should’ve really read my journals cover to cover before disposing of them. You would’ve learned that I’ve never even looked at another man.”
His throat dips.
“The only reason I’d ever leave again would be because you’ve hurt me.”
Nordin’s muscles clench, along with every line that makes up his beautiful face. “Which will never happen. Never again.”
My conversation with Ulf blights my mood. “What of Havrik’s threat to take me?”
His stare sharpens, darkens. “You’re too young.”
“He doesn’t seem to have any qualms about my age.”
“The Ravines might be a wretched lot, but they’re not lawless.”
Since the Ravines don’t have a Council to keep their Alpha in check, I have my doubts. I keep them to myself to avoid angering Nordin further. The same way I withhold his father’s suggestion that I intentionally head to the Ravine Valley to right a wrong done to me.
Nordin misinterprets my enduring reservations because he reiterates his conviction. “They uphold the codex. If they didn’t, the packs would ostracize them. But mark my words, Zas, if their Alpha so much as touches a hair on your body, I’ll send him straight to Jotunheimr.”
I inhale sharply. “That would start a war.”
“And…?”
“And you cannot go around starting wars over me.”
“There’s little I wouldn’t do to keep you safe. Scratch that, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do. Even if you didn’t take me as your mate, I wouldn’t let Varganson have you. I wouldn’t let anyone have you.”
“So, it’s you or no one?” My intent to tease causes his ferocity to blaze brighter and the whole of him to sharpen into a weapon of mass destruction. “My heart and soul have been yours for fucking ever, Nordin. If it weren’t for the damn codex, my body would also be yours.”
The pressure of his anger drains from his tendons and muscles. Although the male becomes in no way soft, his stare does.
With a sigh, I muse, “If only we could fake a mating bond so we could be together without infringing on the codex.”
“Fenrir never mates those not of age.”
I joggle my head. “True, but how does anyone know my true birthday when my identity is a mystery?”
His lips thin.
“I could be twenty-one.” I wait for him to argue.
For once, he doesn’t.
I look at the beam etched with the likeness of our Wolf God. “Since Fenrir sometimes gives wolves a human mate, what are the odds he’d bind a valkyrie to one of his children?”
“I don’t know.” Nordin thumbs a caress along my high-perched cheekbone. “Zas?”