Chapter 15
Elina
I’m pacing my apartment, biting the back of my fingers, and pressing my palms to my eyes to keep the tears from spilling.
It’s been a struggle to hold myself together ever since Asbjorn drove me home.
Part of me badly wanted to stay at the farm and spend the day with him, but I was too scared—of all the emotions that stirred inside me and the strong desire for… something. Him? Life on the farm? Ulf?
I’m so confused. And the confusion seems to have morphed into an almost crippling fatigue during the day. Now, out of the blue, I feel this pressing sorrow. And I’m not even sure why.
I know part of it is a drop—Asbjorn has told me about subdrop many times, and I’ve had a few tastes of it—but this feels too intense to be only that.
I considered whether it might have something to do with Gustav and the pestering messages he keeps sending me, but when I opened them earlier, I barely felt anything. Over the course of the last few months, they’ve somehow stopped mattering.
This is something else.
I feel ridiculous as I keep having to fight off tears.
Just a simple call from Asbjorn twenty minutes ago nearly broke me.
I refuse to let the tears free. I hate crying.
It makes me feel weak. And God knows I shed enough tears after I found Gustav fucking another woman.
At least then I had a good reason. Being sad after an amazing night is not a good reason.
My phone vibrates on my nightstand, and I consider ignoring it.
But when I see Asbjorn’s name on the screen, I can’t bear to do so.
He’s been so good to me. I take the phone and watch his name flashing for a second.
Maybe I should finally take him up on his offer and let him come over and give me aftercare.
God knows I could use a hug. The idea eases the tightness in my chest and calms the confusion somewhat.
I press the green button and put the phone to my ear.
“Hi,” I say softly, ready to let him know that I’d like him to come over. But what Asbjorn says drowns out my resolve and makes the chaos spin faster.
“Ulf will be at your place in thirty minutes,” he says.
“What?” I blurt, pressing a hand to my chest as my breathing speeds out of control.
“You are to let him in. He’s your chieftain, and you have to obey him.”
“But I’m not even part of the clan.”
“Soon, you will be. You’ll have to get used to the idea.”
“But—”
Asbjorn cuts me off before I can get more protests in. “Your safeword works outside play too. But do not misuse it. It’s a great offense—especially to the chieftain.”
“I—” This time, I stop myself. I don’t know what to say. I wouldn’t ever misuse my safeword, but the idea of Ulf coming here has me teetering on the edge of panic.
“Do you understand?” he presses.
I swallow hard. “Yes.”
“Good girl.” He pauses to let his praise take effect. “Don’t worry, Ulf will take good care of you. Oh, and one last thing, the same rule as always stands: no talking to him.”
“Okay,” I say tentatively. I have a hard time imagining him coming here and not talking to him, but I also have a hard time imagining talking to him after months of silence between us.
The line goes quiet for a beat. Then Asbjorn draws a sharp breath as if he was just about to say something but stopped himself. When he speaks, there’s a hint of sadness in his voice. “Let him take care of you, Elina. You need it. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”
“Okay,” I agree, and a twinge of guilt twists in my heart when he hangs up.
I hate how I’ve been keeping him at an arm’s length.
He’s the kindest, most caring man I’ve ever met.
On top of that, he’s deliciously dominant and sadistic, and he’s funny and charismatic too.
The full package. But even when I look past my wounded heart, there’s something missing.
Like I’m not supposed to be with him even if I dared.
The perplexing thoughts skitter out of my mind when I look around my messy living room and remember that Ulf will be here shortly.
Suddenly, I’m not just pacing; I’m rushing around, cleaning up stray clothes, scattered documents, and all my tea mugs that tend to inhabit most surfaces because I always grab a new one instead of reusing them.
Then I’m on the kitchen floor after bumping my head into a cabinet door, trying to stave off a new well of tears.
“Shit,” I mutter, wiping my fingers under my eyes, trying to breathe through the tightening sensation in my throat.
Glancing down at myself, I remember that I’m in my pajamas. “Shit, shit, shit,” I mutter as I rush to my bedroom. But just as I grab the closet door, the doorbell rings.
A slow panic grabs hold of me. I look around as if I could find a wand that would magically tidy up the place and myself with one quick flick. But no such thing exists.
The doorbell rings again, and then I’m rushing toward the entryway—without having changed.
Instead of pressing the intercom button to check who it is, I just press the key button. Then I crack the door open and run back to my bedroom. I don’t know why. I’m so flustered I can’t figure out how to act. So I hide—as if that would make him leave.
My heart starts hammering when the door opens and feet enter.
I press my back against the wall and close my eyes.
I should go out and greet him—or whatever I’m supposed to do when I can’t speak to him.
But the tears are pressing again. I fear they’ll break free any second. So I stall to get them under control.
The door closes, and steps resound through the living room.
Firm thuds of military boots. The image of Ulf flashes through my brain: a charcoal button-up shirt, black jeans, and military boots.
Rolled-up sleeves baring the rune symbols inked into the skin on his arms. The long braid of his beard and the braided trail of hair gathered in a high ponytail.
A stab of longing makes me drop my head back against the wall.
The steps close in and cross the threshold. I feel his power like a wild gust of air through the room. It freezes me in place. I feel him come closer. I clutch my hands against my chest and start panting.
I gasp when warm, calloused hands cup my face.
“Look at me, Elina.”
A whimper forms high in my throat, and I give a small shake of my head. I can’t.
He leans in and presses an achingly tender kiss to my forehead—the only way I felt him for months.
Hovering his lips against my skin, he says, “Look at me, pretty deer.” He reaches down and untangles my hands from each other, enclosing them in his big ones and resting them on my chest. “Look at me.”
Finally, I obey. My nostrils flare with wild breaths as I peel my eyes open. And then the world starts spinning as I crash into the mighty, mesmerizing stare of Ulf. The spinning goes faster and faster, yet I’m not spinning. I’m in the eye of the storm. Steady among the chaos.
It’s too much. It’s too close. Too confusing. I bite my lips and blink to rid my eyes of more stray tears.
“Good girl,” he praises.
I don’t know what it is about those two words. They’re soft and approving, yet firm and assertive. They make me crumble a little more. A tear slips from my eyes. One more follows down the other cheek.
Slowly, Ulf leans in, and I stop breathing altogether when he kisses one tear away, then the other.
I start shaking from the effort of holding the dam intact, and it only gets worse when Ulf guides me to sit on the edge of the bed beside him and starts caressing my back—long, firm strokes gliding up and down along my spine.
I sniffle, and my breaths stutter as I hover right at the edge of a breakdown.
“I’m sorry,” I whimper, hating he’s seeing me this pathetic. Remembering I’m not supposed to talk to him, I press a hand to my mouth and squash the urge to apologize again.
“For what?” he asks, lifting his hand to stroke the back of my head.
Perplexed, I watch him, not daring to speak again.
He turns his hand to trail his knuckles down the side of my face. “You may speak to explain.”
I close my eyes, overwhelmed by the closeness. He’s been so far away for so long. I’ve dreamed of being close to him. But sometimes, when dreams come true, it’s too much. “For nearly crying,” I whisper.
His voice firms as he places his hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Don’t ever apologize for your tears. Be strong and brave and give them to me.”
I do not feel strong or brave. I feel shaken and unraveling.
But when he turns my head, pressing his warm palm to my cheek, and watches me with full earnestness, I don’t feel weak or broken.
I feel seen. Important. And maybe I even feel a flicker of that courage that he seems to will into me with the sheer force of his gaze.
“Be strong and brave, Elina,” he insists. “Let me have it all.”
Part of me wants to shake my head, curl in on myself, and protect my heart. But this man tears straight through my shields. The strength in his gaze makes me believe everything will be okay—that he’ll hold me steady through the raging storm.
So I let it rip. I’ve never been a crier, but the moment I let my guard drop, the tears start pooling in my eyes.
He looks from my one eye to the other, and I’ve never felt as exposed. It’s terrifying. But I want it just the same. Because I’ve never felt as seen either.
“That’s it. Let them spill.”
My chest shakes as I heave a ragged breath, and my exhale breaks the dam. I close my eyes tight as a broken whimper forms in my throat and the tears spill over.
Ulf leans in and kisses one eye at a time. It’s soft and reverent like when he kisses my forehead. He cradles my head between his hands, stroking his thumbs along the trail of fast-falling tears.
“Look at me, sweet Elina. Let me have them. These are my tears, and I want to see them.”
I open my eyes, and that’s when everything crashes. A sob tears from my throat, and I cry in earnest. I can’t control anything. I shake with the force of it, sobbing and sniffling, fisting my hands to find a modicum of stability.
He keeps watching me, straight-on, without restraint. He soaks up every little nuance of my grief—every ragged breath, every tiny tear.
I feel like I’m drowning. It’s too much—too intense, too intimate, and too revealing. Yet somehow, it’s everything I’ve ever wanted. And that only terrifies me even more. Because I know I can’t have him.
“Please.” The word falls from my lips before I can stop it.
I already made one transgression with the apology.
But I guess this doesn’t count as speaking.
Because the word just keeps coming—a litany of grievous sounds.
“Please. Please. Please.” I’m not sure what I’m asking for.
Not until he brings me down to lie with him and wraps me tight into the safety of his arms, legs twining with mine like roots anchoring into the soil.
It’s everything I need. And I’m so damn scared to lose it.
“Shh. I’m here. I’m staying,” he says as if understanding the exact meaning of my broken words.
“Please,” I keep begging, because I don’t believe him. Not in the way I need to. I have no idea what’s happening to me, but the tide keeps throwing me around, crashing me into big rocks, and dragging me underwater.
But at some point, Ulf’s pull becomes stronger.
I start noticing the way he gently rocks me and the small caresses and kisses he peppers over my skin, my temples, and my hair.
His hushed words of comfort. I start believing that he’ll stay.
At least for as long as the storm keeps raging.
And I guess that’s all that matters right now.
So I let go of the fear. I let the current take me away as I find stability in the gentle flow of his reassurances.
A smile brightens his voice. “That’s it, such a good girl. Nothing to fear. I’ve got you.”