Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
Elara
Apleased moan vibrated against her ribs.
Njáll’s two-toned eyes glimmered with mischief beneath his messy braids. Oiled fingers massaged the tight muscles in her calf, working higher until his nails skimmed the thin skin where her thigh and torso met.
His rough touch sent a ripple of heat to her apex that made her groan and hiss. Soft lips caressed the delicate column of her throat. Her hand covered his, stroking his scarred knuckles and stilling his movements.
“Sore,” she murmured, his voice still rough with sleep.
Something akin to a growl rumbled over her pulse, the arm banded around her waist tightening.
“Did I hurt you, little flame?” he asked, his deep baritone laced with concern.
Her head fell back onto his shoulder, his cock prodding against the seam of her ass. A disbelieving laugh bubbled up in her chest, shaking her head.
“You are insatiable, Jarl. And no, you did not hurt me. You were merely intent in your pursuit to leave me sated and slumbering in your embrace after many intense climaxes.”
Lips spread across her neck and she felt his smug smile growing there.
Their night had been long, each romp in the furs punctuated by a short burst of sleep before she awoke to his face between her thighs or his cock nudging her slit.
It had been perfect. They had lost themselves in each other until the rest of the world faded into a distant hum.
In his arms, she wasn’t a Seiekona and he wasn’t a Jarl. They were just Elara and Njáll.
Twin souls bound by Freyja, entwined in a single braided thread.
“Can you blame me, kona? Your beauty burns. If I could spend a lifetime buried in your sweet cunt, I would.”
Lightly, she swatted his tree trunk sized thigh, annoyed when he didn’t even react to the sting.
Still, she molded into his solid form, their naked bodies pressed close together. A sheen of lavender-scented oil glistened on her legs, the muscles deliciously loose there.
Teeth grazed the shell of her ear, trailing lower until he nipped at her collarbone.
“Relax. Allow me to ease the ache that I caused.”
“Yes, Jarl,” she purred.
“You are trouble, kona.”
“Only for you.”
Hot oil dripped onto his large, rough palms, glazing the skin. He rubbed his hands together, his velveteen voice dropping into a dangerous rumble in her ear.
“Lay on your belly,” he whispered, the sinful command making her wish his cock hadn’t stretched her so thoroughly the previous night.
Too curious to snip back, she obeyed, pushing her breasts into the soft, obsidian furs. They cradled her hips, taking all the pressure off her back.
Warm, oiled hands gently stroked her shoulders and down her arms.
Njáll’s knees rested on either side of her waist, careful to keep his weight off her. Lashes fluttered against her cheeks, her hands tucked under her chin.
“Move your hair for me, little flame.”
Humming, she gently swept her curls to one side. Hot breath blew over her nape, the tender scrap of teeth along the spot making gooseflesh prickle her skin.
“Good girl. I like the obedient version of you almost as much as I enjoy your defiance.”
“I will show yo—Ohhhh,” she moaned, the retort dying on her lips as his talented fingers kneaded a knot below her shoulder blade.
Whatever she had been about to say disappeared, the words forgotten as Njáll tended to her with expert touches. Oil pooled in the small of her back.
Slowly, he worked over her back, down her legs and back again until she floated in some hazy version of reality.
“My pretty kona. Have I served my penance?”
“Hmm. You might have to serve it again tonight.”
“Whatever you wish, Elara.”
For so long, she lay there, blissfully floating between dreams and waking. Njáll rose, letting her linger in that beautiful place while he tended to his morning activities. After changing into a loose tunic, he crouched, gently tipping her chin up.
His lips slid along hers, warm and coaxing and soft. The tip of his tongue swept along the seam of her lips, asking for permission instead of taking. She granted it, opening to him and tangling her tongue with his.
Too quickly, he pulled away, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before staring into her eyes.
“If I could, I would let you stay here for days, but I need to meet with the Konungr. And you should join me.”
Thoughts raced in her mind, her body failing to keep up and still drunk off his ministrations. Lazily, she reached out, running her fingers through his hair to push the wayward strands off his face before scratching through his beard.
“Is something wrong?”
“No.” Long fingers wrapped around her wrist and he pressed a kiss to her palm. “Just reporting what we encountered at the border. There is nothing to worry about at this moment.”
Even as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his reassurances fell flat.
Something niggled in the pit of her stomach.
Now curious, she rushed to get ready, washing the oils from her skin and dressing in a wool dress dyed a mossy shade of green that matched her eyes.
Njáll ducked inside, his axe strapped to his hip and fur cloak draped over his left shoulder. The polished obsidian fur highlighted the hard line of his jaw, his rust-colored beard well defined.
Light glowed in her chest so brightly she thought it might burst from within her. While she had mostly tuned out the distant scratching and mumblings of the draugar, they disappeared entirely in that moment.
It solidified what she had known for a long time.
She stepped into his arms, resting her cheek over his heart and wrapping her arms around his waist. Njáll’s thick forearms encircled her, his lips resting on the top of her head.
“Ready, little flame?”
No.
Nothing had prepared for the intense feelings of love consuming her. Love was a potent, dangerous thing.
Something she watched both free and trap her parents. The moment her mother passed, she took her father’s love with her, leaving a hollowness in him he tried so hard to hide from Elara.
The idea of giving that last piece of herself to Njáll, giving him the power to protect and destroy her, terrified and thrilled her.
The voices in the shadows intensified, clinging to the fear that swallowed the hope in her chest.
“He doesn’t want you. He will forsake you when you need him most.”
With her eyes closed, she pushed her consciousness into the veil, focusing on the ember in her palm, commanding it into a billowing flame. The golden light pooled in her hands and a distant voice called to her, guiding her gently back to him.
“Elara? Are you well?”
She was. A slow breath escaped her as she nodded, clutching his biceps as she returned to her body.
“Yes,” she said instead, pressing her mouth to his heart. “Let’s go.”
When they arrived at the longhouse, Njáll led her to his parents’ private quarters. Eyes followed them, the women silent, their sweeping forgotten. A heavy hand rested on the small of her back, searing her skin with his touch while he gently steered her.
An oversized tapestry clung to the wall, spanning the width of the longhouse. At the center sat Freyja, perched in a golden chariot pulled by glittering panthers that prowled toward glowing eyes in the shadows.
It both comforted her and made her jaw clench.
A thick hide stretched across a large opening, and Njáll tapped his knuckles on the wooden beams holding it in place.
“Enter.”
The gruff command of the Konungr made her heart gallop.
Nothing of the man who comforted her and told her to call him Pabbi remained in the exacting timbre radiating strength and command.
Njáll lifted the hide, holding it aside while shuffling Elara inside.
A basin still steamed by the fire. A bed twice the size of Njáll’s lay against the far wall, piled high with thick bear and wolf furs.
The Konungr sat on a bench by the fire, his legs spread wide with his wife nestled on his lap, her fingers braiding his moonlit hair.
“Konungr. Dróttning,” Njáll said, bowing his head and clutching his chest.
Brielle waved away the greeting, her eyes lighting up with flecks of amber when they landed on Elara.
“Ah, Njáll. You have brought dóttir mín to visit.”
The serious expression on Njáll’s face faltered at the term of endearment. Elara wasn’t certain, but she assumed Brielle called her, my daughter. The woman rose from her seat, Leif grunting as she stood. She closed the space between them, taking Elara into her embrace before her own son.
“Hello, Mamma,” Elara breathed, feeling calmer wrapped in the woman’s arms.
After Njáll’s mother spent many days checking on Elara and caring for her while he was away, she had grown increasingly close to her.
Njáll pecked his mother’s cheek, his fleeting smile faltering before stern lines creased around his mouth.
“Sorry to intrude so early, but we must speak.”
Leif nodded, rising from his seat, the litany of scars on his bare chest glinting in the firelight. A vein in his throat throbbed as he slipped an arm around his wife’s waist, indicating for Njáll to continue.
Eyes flicked to hers, Njáll catching her gaze before tucking her protectively into his side. She melted into his hold, the soft silk of his tunic bunching under her fingers.
“There were troublesome signs along our borders.” Leif scrubbed a hand over his jaw, the man looking older at that moment. “Unnatural frost. Rotting animal carcasses left to waste. Stone that looked to be cleaved by claws.”
“The draugar,” Leif said, his voice emotionless and definitive.
The words sliced through her like a blade, shredding the serene calm that had cradled her all morning. Her fingers automatically flew to the smooth, rune carved stone hanging from her throat.
Njáll’s fingers flexed on her waist, drawing small circles there until her heartbeat steadied.
“Hel wishes to let her pets loose if given the chance,” Leif mused, and a brilliant flash of fear appeared in Brielle’s eyes, gone as quick as it came.
“Perhaps,” Njáll said. “But they haven’t breached.”