Chapter 6 #2
A warning to something, but not to him any longer.
Or at least he hoped.
Njáll took a measured step toward the shaking pile of furs, an unfamiliar emotion scratching at his sternum.
“Please, stop,” she whispered, her voice reedy. With her eyes still squeezed shut, she hadn’t seen his approach. “Please. Leave me alone.”
His stomach tumbled, worried she’d beg him to leave. She continued to shake, unaware of his presence, pleading with some unseen torturer. The fur on his shoulder fell to the ground with a wet thud as he unclasped it.
“Tell me what harms you,” he said, his voice gruffer than intended.
She bolted upright, her eyes wild and unfocused. Crimson hair cascaded over her shoulders like a bloody waterfall. No color remained in her face, now paler than ice.
Tiny fingers clawed at the furs pooled around her waist. She scrambled backward until her body collided with the wall.
Cracked lips parted as she stared at him, horror eclipsing the hate usually brimming there.
Cold sweat clung to his palms as he stretched his arms wide, trying to make himself as unthreatening as possible. She was the only one he’d ever willingly submit himself to. And he’d do it proudly.
“I won’t touch you. It is only me. Njáll.”
He spoke his name for the first time, wishing to hear it fall from her pink lips.
A shuddering sound trilled in her throat as her arms banded around her waist. Blown pupils darted between him and the door.
After a breath, then a second, she stilled.
Finally, a pretty jade color swam in her eyes once more, wet lashes blinking. Confusion replaced the fear there.
“The storm,” she breathed, the sound choked. “The thunder. They’re louder during storms.”
His fingers flexed on the hilt of his axe, instinct demanding he protect her. But from what? How could he fight a foe he couldn’t see?
He knelt on the floor beside the furs, afraid if he stayed standing he might cleave his blade through the hull of the ship, if only to feel useful.
“They… Who?” he asked, keeping his voice soft, softer than he had ever heard himself.
The seier changed him, changed who he was, how he behaved—if only with her.
Shadows shifted nearby, and his gaze fell on the panther, its form coalescing enough to reveal fangs dripping from its muzzle.
She huddled tighter, her knuckles almost translucent as she squeezed her sides.
“The draugar, they want me. The cold comes with them.” Her gaze flicked to the panther, unmarred devotion in her eyes. “Alruna keeps them at bay. She… She quiets them. But now, they are so loud. Unforgiving.”
Blood ran cold in his veins.
Stories of the draugar were often told by the skalds to frighten little ones. Any warrior feared them as much as any child. The fate of a draugar was a tormented one. Restless souls bound to their reanimated corpses for eternity.
Some said Hel and Loki tied them to their will, building an army. The army they planned to unleash on his people in hopes of shearing the veil. The signs had plagued his clan for years.
The Volva had been right. A tremendous weapon lay hidden in the quiet English village.
A girl with the ability to see the draugar. Haunting corpses who would fight among the living for a chance to dethrone Odin and unleash bloody Ragnarok with it.
A battle which would determine the fate of the world.
And somehow, this tiny, flaming queen would be at the center of it.
The lump in his throat thickened as he tried to swallow it away.
Water pooled around his boots, his wet braids sticking to his bare chest.
Njáll prided himself on his ability to lead, to fight, to protect. With a blade or spear in his hand, he was borderline invincible. The only warrior who could fell him was the Konungr. Njáll was a strategist blessed with brute strength and speed.
But this… How did he handle this? His axe was useless, and no amount of planning could outsmart sinister spirits spurred by Hel. A battle loomed, one he was woefully unprepared for.
A haunted look plagued his little flame’s eyes, baring her soul to him. She wasn’t fearless. No. She was brave, standing against something that would fell even the strongest warrior. This girl wasn’t just brave.
She was a beacon, calling to the chaos residing a fingers breadth out of reach. A beacon drawing the draugar’s attention.
The panther’s haunches rolled from side to side, a tongue licking across its pearlescent fangs. Alruna was more than a familiar, she was a weapon, one granted by Freyja herself to the witch.
When he first agreed to her bargain, he’d thought her disgust was the heaviest burden, but now realized her vulnerability was far heavier.
His palm lay over his chest, swearing a silent oath. While she might not want him, he’d diligently protect her. The seier commanded it of him. Maybe it made him weak to give in to her power.
Being weak for her had never felt so right.
Even if she hated him the whole time he did it.
Njáll’s life wasn’t easy, and he didn’t wish to tie her to it. It wasn’t a path most willingly chose.
She didn’t need his burdens when she had enough of her own.
But tonight, he refused to stay away, knowing it might be the only time she welcomed his comfort. Selfishly, he wanted to feel the softness of her body in his arms at least once.
Carefully, he crawled into the furs, avoiding jerky movements.
The situation was delicate. She was delicate; any quick gesture would send her into a panic. His breath slowed as he slid his hand around her stomach.
Gently, he pulled her rigid form into him.
The muscles in his abdomen clenched, prepared for a violent attack. But it never came. Instead, the tension melted from her strained body. A moment of shock made her flinch, and then slowly, she yielded, giving in to him fully.
His nose rested in the thick mane of curls, smelling the lavender he’d crushed in the water basin for her to clean with. Even in her terror, she was breathtaking.
A vision he could never have. Not entirely.
The erratic thump of her heart fluttered against his ribs, the coarse fabric of her shift itching his chest. He tightened his hold, keeping one hand around her waist while the other cradled the back of her head, his fingers burrowing into the silken strands of hair.
He said nothing, simply pressing her into his solid figure. A wisp of black smoke crawled through the cracks in the wood, Alruna leaving them.
The honor was not lost on him. That Freyja’s blessing trusted him with her charge.
With each passing moment, the sheer mass of his body seemed to anchor her, bringing her back to the present.
Outside, the storm continued to strike, but more muffled.
“Do you still hear them? The whispers of the draugar?” he asked, the pad of his thumb drawing circles on her nape.
Gooseflesh pebbled the skin near the hollow of her throat, and a half smile lifted on the right side of his mouth.
She shook her head, the movement so slight he barely felt it.
Clammy skin brushed against his, pulling a hiss through his clenched jaw. Her tiny fingers grazed over his collarbone, her trail exploratory as she dragged her nails through his beard.
Her touch sent a shock through him. As if he’d rolled into a forgotten fire, making him burn with the intensity of it.
“Don’t leave me. Stay. Please,” she murmured, her words a fragile plea against his skin.
Always.
The silent vow beat with the strength of his heart. Nothing could take her away from him. Not the Konungr. Not the draugar. Not Freyja nor Odin.
He smoothed the hair back from her forehead, his lips brushing the faint scent of woodsmoke from her temple. It was one last pleasure he granted himself.
In case he never got the chance again.
“All will be well, little flame. Close your eyes for me. I’ll keep the whispers at bay while you rest.”