Chapter 22
When I reach the steam hut, I find clothes strewn across the benches. Not feeling like socializing, I decide to visit Astrid and the pups, who live next door, and return during suppertime when the sauna is empty.
“Leaving or arriving?” a deep voice rasps.
My heart almost trips out of my chest. “You’re here,” I breathe out dumbly, gawping at the white-haired male dwarfing the antechamber.
“I’m here.”
“I just arrived, but I was thinking of coming back when there were fewer people.”
He ambles close. Closer. “Want to go for a run?” The face I make coaxes a smirk to his lips. “On my back.”
“I don’t think I could hold on. My fingers are dead. I was hoping some heat would revive them.”
His smile fades. “Why are they dead?” He reaches down and picks up one of my hands, then begins massaging it through the leather.
I moan out a soft, “Work.”
“I’ll have a word with Koppar.”
“My fingers hurt from my own projects.” When Nordin sets down one hand to pick up the other, I ask, “I take it the cell is secured?”
“It is.”
“Has he woken up?”
“Not yet.”
“But he’s close to waking?”
“Far thinks he is.”
His impromptu massage feels positively divine. “Will you set him free?”
“No.”
“You’re waiting until Skarnir passes…?”
He nods.
“How did the Vampyr King seem to you up close? Very sick?”
“He kept his distance, so it was hard to tell.” Nordin drives his thumb into the meat of my palm, eliciting a deep groan. “Any chance we can talk about something other than vampyrs?”
I consider asking him if he’s aware that Nika is back but decide I don’t especially want to discuss her at the moment either. “What brought you to the steam hut?”
“You,” he murmurs.
“You followed me?”
“Your scent.”
Keeping my voice equally low, I tease, “How very stalkerish of you, Mr. Stormsson.”
A corner of his mouth hooks up. “I came to request daily meetups. Seeing you once a week isn’t working for me.”
I glance over my shoulder to make sure the sauna door is closed. “Koppar always goes home for lunch.”
“Perfect. Now take these off, so I can better massage your fingers.” He gives my hand another deep, delectable stroke before letting it go. “And don’t make that face, Zas.”
“I’m not making a face,” I say, even though I can feel I am. Why does laying my fingers bare feel more daunting than stripping my body of knickers?
“Zas? Nord?” I jump at the sound of Saga’s voice, then twirl so fast I would’ve lost my balance if Nordin’s hand hadn’t closed around my waist.
Saga’s eyes pinch, like she’s still adjusting to the glow of the antechamber. Unless it’s the sight of her brother holding me that’s got her squinting?
“We were just talking about you two,” Vanoo says, since his companion has yet to utter anything other than our names, “and here you both are. How crazy is that?”
“Crazy,” I say.
While Nordin asks, “How exactly did we come up in your conversation?”
“Family dynamics,” Vanoo replies, glancing at where Nordin’s body connects with mine, which prompts him to let go. “You’ve been well, Zas? I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I’ve been keeping busy with work,” I say, inspecting his scalp for any lingering burns from his battle with the dragon.
Not only did the Myrknótt moon heal his skin, but it also regrew his long braids. The full moon’s effect on shifters will never cease to amaze me.
“What were you two doing in there?”
Saga finally, finally snaps out of her trancelike state and grins up at her companion.
“I was trying to convince Vanoo to get a tattoo.” She dances her fingers across his bulging pecs, leading me to wonder if they hooked up or are about to.
“I suggested he get my name, or a big heart to match the one inside his chest. Or my new mantra, which is so awesome, it should become the official Vale creed. Once you go shifter, your core will never feel stiffer.” A giggle escapes her. “It’s great, isn’t it?”
“How much has that one had to drink?” Nordin asks.
“That one has had one cup of honey wine,” Saga replies.
He must shoot his sister a dubious stare, because she amends her answer.
“Fine, two. You should consider day-drinking, Nord. It makes winter’s gloom so much more bearable.”
“Are you done with the sauna?” he asks.
“Nope. We’re going to roll around in the snow to cool off.” Her hand goes to the towel wrapped around her torso. “Are you two staying?”
“Depends,” I say. “Who else is in there?”
“No one. It’s just Vanoo and me.” She turns down the short corridor that leads to the walled-off patio where the snow is trampled daily by those who relish the shock of extreme temperatures. “Stay!” she calls out over her shoulder, before adding, “I left the jug of mead inside.”
She tosses off her towel, revealing a back ornamented not only with the purple Vale stripe, but also with an inked collage of words and images.
Saga got her first tattoo the day of her coming of stripe and hasn’t stopped since.
Only her ears remain blank canvases, ready to one day welcome the name of her mate and the date of their union.
For years, we talked about which phrase or symbol I’d get inked on the day of my first blood. I was dead set on my Wolf. Saga assumed it was a tribute to the wolf within. I let her run with her assumption.
As I reassess branding the phrase that precedes all my journal entries over my left breast, Nordin stops his friends in his tracks and angles in, voice low.
“Nordin,” Saga huffs, tapping her foot. “Vanoo and I are both consenting adults.”
“If you must know, I was giving him my blessing,” he says.
“Oh.” Her mouth rounds in surprise.
Vanoo takes off his towel. I get an eyeful of toned, round ass before getting an eyeful of brawny chest clad in brown leather. I take it Nordin didn’t appreciate the direction of my stare.
I tip my head back, biting down on my smirk. “Sauna?”
“I don’t…” He works his jaw.
“You don’t…?” Though my fingers feel like they’re all thumbs, I manage to unbutton my cloak collar. “…enjoy warming your bones? Spending time with me? Stripping off your layers of winterwear?”
“None of the above.”
After dropping the heavy furs on the bench beside me, I loosen my belt.
When it joins my cloak, Nordin’s jaw sharpens. “I don’t think it’d be wise.”
I roll off my stockings and wool dress, then take a seat to remove my boots. Gods, I cannot wait for summer, if only not to feel like an onion.
When Nordin’s silence endures, I say, “I’ll stay on one side. The farthest from you.”
The tendons in his throat are so strained they press against his milky skin, looking primed to snap.
“We won’t be alone,” I add, hoping that’ll sway him.
But it doesn’t. It does the exact opposite. Without a word, he pivots on his heel and walks toward the door.
A ripple of disappointment moves through me, only to recede when he snatches towels from the wicker basket before retracing his steps toward me.
I tug on the ties of my linen underdress, glad they aren’t buttons.
My fingers are truly too stiff for buttons.
When I seize the hem, Nordin’s eyes cut to the wall behind my head and stay there.
I make quick work of my knickers. Without glancing down at me, he extends a towel.
A fresh wave of disappointment dashes against me when I realize he brought only one.
I wrap it around myself before removing my very last item of clothing—my gloves. Their absence makes me feel more vulnerable than I did a moment ago.
As I stand, I tuck my palms beneath my armpits. “You’re not coming in, are you?”
“Zas…”
I tilt my head. “We were alone in the cabin, and you behaved like a gentleman.”
Incandescent blue rims his enlarged pupils. Nordin raises a hand to his nape and clutches it, then hangs his head and squeezes his lids so tight it grooves the skin.
“I trust you,” I remind him in a last-ditch effort to crack his obstinacy.
Eyes still closed, he murmurs, “I don’t trust myself.”
“Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.” And then I turn and walk into the sauna.
Before climbing to the highest bench, I snag the pewter jug by the neck and down a few gulps of mead.
When the door opens a few minutes later, I hold my breath. Though the head that pops in sports white hair, it’s not Nordin. It’s Saga. I don’t ask her whether her brother has left. I assume he has.
Vanoo sweeps the door closed, a towel knotted around his hips. “Fuck, it’s cold out there.”
“Well, I can promise you that you didn’t look cold.” Saga waggles her brows as she grabs the sweet wine.
Vanoo snorts, settling on the bench opposite mine. “Saga, Saga, Saga.”
She stands, and although she wears a towel, it’s wrapped around her waist. Her heavy breasts bounce as she walks over to Vanoo’s side, hands him the mead vessel, then kicks his legs wide and parks her back in the crook of his front.
I close my eyes and breathe in the hot air, rolling and straightening my stiff fingers.
“We should’ve grabbed Tyron on our way,” I hear her say.
“Why?” Vanoo asks.
“For Zas.”
My nose crinkles. I can’t believe Saga fell for that lie.
“Tyron?” Vanoo repeats.
“Yes, Tyron. Mead, please.”
“I like being alone just fine, Saga. But thanks.”
She sucks in air. “Actually…how about we invite a few of your Glacier friends this weekend?”
“For Zaskja?” Vanoo sounds confused. “I doubt your brother would appreciate it.”
“My brother might be overprotective, but Zas is perfectly capable of making her own choices. Right, Zas?”
“Right,” I say. “But I’m good. Promise.”
Cool air sneaks into the sauna. I assume one of my steam hut companions has left, but the footfalls are heavy. Heavier than either Saga’s or Vanoo’s.
And then the bench beneath mine creaks as someone takes a seat and rests the back of his head against the edge of my thigh. “What wouldn’t I appreciate?”