Chapter 11
Eleven
Elara
Soft lips rested against her pulse point, lax in sleep. Njáll’s arm draped over her waist, holding her close. Instinctively, she nuzzled closer, pressing into a slab of pure chiseled muscle.
A contented, lazy sound rolled from her, and she wiggled further into him. Something between a groan and a growl rumbled in his chest as his fingers gently stroked her navel.
After the emotional toll of yesterday, Elara passed out cuddled up with Njáll as soon as he tugged the furs over their bodies.
It felt like a release, allowing herself to breathe fully. Elara didn’t want to fight it anymore. Maybe Njáll was right. Maybe it was some sort of magic.
She traced the intricate lines of jagged scars crisscrossing over the forearm wrapped around her.
For a selfish moment, she drank in the quiet rhythm of his heart beating behind hers. The tips of her fingers stalled on a long, faded scar, wondering what battle had caused it.
“Morning, little flame,” he murmured, his sleep-roughened voice purring in her ear.
His scruff rasped along her cheek, sending a delicious shiver down her spine. Heat pooled between her thighs, the feeling intoxicating.
Something too close to a moan crawled up her throat before she choked it back down.
Outside of one awkward kiss she shared with a boy two years ago, Elara didn’t have much experience with men.
Especially not gorgeous, passionate warriors. Her parents promised never to force her into a marriage or courtship.
With her mother gone and helping her father with the farm, all thoughts of men and marriage and babies fell by the wayside.
“Good morning,” she whispered, turning in his hold and blinking at him through thick lashes.
A pleased groan escaped him as his length twitched against her thigh, making her squeak. Laughing into her hair, he rubbed his hands over her back.
“Apologies for my unruly cock. You smell sweet, like honey. So warm and soft.”
An unfamiliar sound rattled in her chest, making a wide smile push against his cheeks. The pad of his thumb feathered over her flushed skin.
“Pretty. If I could spend all day in the furs with you, I’d go to Valhalla happy.”
Sparks sputtered in the ashy hearth, and Elara imagined a sleepy day nestled in his embrace. His presence quieted everything—the draugar, the burdens, the questions.
“Why don’t you?”
“You tempt me,” he purred, pressing his lips to her knuckles.
“But I have duties I must attend, and training to oversee. I will return before the evening meal.” Sadness must have crept into her gaze, because he buried his face back into her mane of sleep-tangled curls.
“Explore the village. You belong here as much as anyone else.”
Yesterday, people were distant, mostly indifferent and polite.
“They do not think me a prisoner?” she asked, the sound muffled by his torso.
Gently, his fingers curled around her arms, putting enough distance between them until their eyes met.
A single rough finger lifted her chin.
“You did not arrive or leave the longhouse in shackles. You stay in my home, my furs. They will respect you as mine. Nothing less. You may have bartered yourself for your father, but do not misunderstand, little flame, if anyone is a prisoner, it is me. A captive to your beauty.”
She released a strangled sound as she stared at him. The scars on his body and the defined lines of muscle spoke to his strength, but his voice would have sent her to her knees if she’d been standing.
When she opened her mouth, no sound came. The lack of response didn’t deter him. Njáll pecked the top of her head once more, making her stomach do an odd sort of swooping.
“Stay sweet and huddled in the furs until you are ready to wake,” he said, grinning as he crawled out of bed.
Njáll strode to the trunks lining the far side of his home, peeling his tunic off by the back of the collar. Teeth dug into her lips as she leaned on her elbows, appreciating the expanse of muscled torso flexing with his movement.
Then, without regard for anything, he stripped his trews, flashing her a magnificent, sculpted ass. Some foreign, inhuman noise rattled in the back of her throat, unable to peel away her wide eyes.
As if feeling her gaze on him, Njáll took his time sliding into a pair of fresh trews before buckling a fur over his left shoulder. Turning, Njáll beamed at her, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
“You’re drooling,” he smirked, raising a brow.
She blanched, her face chilling as she hastily swept away the speck from the corner of her mouth.
Laughing, he left, closing the door behind him, and leaving an aching wetness at the crux of her thighs.
Desperate for a distraction, she changed into an indigo-dyed linen dress. Brushing out her hair with a comb of antlers, she fastened it into two braids.
Crisp air greeted her as she stepped outside. Sunlight spilled across the tall grass in the far fields. Birds chirped overhead, the worn dirt paths bustling with activity.
Women with overflowing baskets of herbs and berries corralled giggling children. A broad-backed man with more grey in his hair than chocolate soothed a skittish mare, feeding her apples while murmuring into her muzzle.
Eventually, she stumbled upon a field bursting with flowers. An array of colors painted the lush grass. Elara sat in the middle, curling her feet under her legs as she ran her fingertips over the soft petals.
She wondered about her father and whether he was eating. Hopefully, Brynne saw to him with Elara gone. While she tried to be hopeful about seeing him again, she couldn’t help the tiny voice telling her she wouldn’t. Telling her she’d never see her father again.
Just like she’d never see her mother or brother again. She plucked a flower from beside her, yanking its petals off with a little too much force.
For a fleeting moment last night, she believed she was past this.
The guilt. The grief. The emptiness.
It resurfaced with a vengeance, destroying the fleeting speck of happiness she dared to hold on to. Now she grieved for a mother and brother who had left this world, and a father who was as distant as they were.
Energy shifted by her feet, Alruna materializing with a shuddering growl. Elara froze, a crumpled petal disintegrating in her fingers. A low sound rasped in her ear, making the hairs on her arms stand on end.
Rattling whispers purred over her skin, as nefarious as they had been the night of the storm.
“Let us through, Seiekona. Fighting is useless. The Jarl lies to you, uses you. We can protect you.”
Closing her eyes, Elara sucked in a harsh breath, running her fingers through the wispy tendrils of Alruna’s tail. Their taunts continued, almost sounding as though the draugar stood beside her, murmuring lies in her ear.
For that’s all it was—untruths.
She still didn’t fully understand what they were. Njáll had called them undead crafted in unholy armor She hadn’t found the courage yet to have him explain the meaning.
Sometimes not knowing was a blessing in itself.
The creatures wanted her to give up. They fed off her sadness until it was the only thing remaining.
Images of her mother chasing her through the gardens fluttered to the surface. Elara smiled, focusing on the memory until it warmed her, chasing away the chill.
The whispers faded, growing quieter until they disappeared altogether. And with them, Alruna vanished as well.
Slumping forward, she slid her hands through the grass.
After a beat, Elara rose, pride swelling in her chest. Before, she’d relied entirely on Alruna to banish the draugar. Now she found the strength to chase them away on her own.
Destroyed remnants of flowers littered the spot at her feet, and a small frown appeared. Tomorrow, she’d return and make something beautiful from the petals instead of ruining them.
Not ready to return to Njáll’s too quiet home, she walked around the village. The sound of steel grating against steel rumbled like thunder. She followed the rhythmic clang of metal, leading her to a wide, open clearing beyond the cluster of homes.
Sweat glistened on the skin of bare-chested warriors, weapons clutched in their hands. Their shoulders rose and fell with labored breaths. Freshly turned earth billowed in dust clouds at their feet, the sounds of the village drowned out by dueling blades.
And in the center of all the chaos stood Njáll.
The sharp lines on his face hardened as his muscles bunched. Veins bulged in his hands with each deliberate strike of his axe. He had long discarded the fur he’d left with, leaving his masterpiece of a body exposed in the midday sun.
Another clash rang out, sending nearby birds skittering from their nests. Njáll moved with a grace she hadn’t expected while he dueled the Konungr. The two men moved with lethal precision, their strength evenly matched.
Despite the Konungr’s age, he did not show it. His strikes met Njáll’s with a ferocity that left the younger man breathless. Yet, his steps didn’t falter as his gaze swept the edge of the grounds, pausing on her for the tiniest of moments.
Her breath caught at the knowing smirk he flashed her, gone before she was certain it was there. A pleasant prickling sensation crawled up Elara’s neck, and her thighs clenched.
Both men stilled, Njáll offering the Konungr a tight nod.
A beat later, a bright flash of glowing light erupted around the Konungr, his body twisting and morphing as sinew snapped into place. Massive paws thudded onto the damp earth beneath an enormous white wolf with icy eyes.
She gaped, stumbling backward.
Where a king had once stood, now a massive wolf prowled, its white fur glowing in the sunlight. Instinct told her to run, but her feet remained rooted to the spot.
“Are you frightened?” a quiet, confident voice asked.
Gasping, she wobbled, clutching the spot where her heart raced.
Elara turned to face the source of the question.