Chapter 22
Elina
Finally, I reach the top of the hill. And there’s the fire—in a wide clearing.
The drums intensify, doubling in sound, and voices join in too, whispering and chanting, marking my arrival.
At least thirty people are gathered in a half circle around the fire, all facing me.
Only one man stands out. The forest king with the antlers.
He’s standing beneath the branches of an ancient tree that reaches high into the sky, so enormous it would take several people to span its girth.
Huge, heavy branches spread out over one side of the clearing, creating a sheltered pocket.
The tree is mesmerizing, and so is the man beneath it, standing tall and proud, mighty and magnificent—a long braid hanging down a naked chest, a huge fur over his shoulders, clusters of armbands, black jeans, and bare feet.
Sparse tattoos of runes and ancient symbols.
This time, so close, there’s no mistaking who it is, and my heart beats even faster, yet calmer.
He lifts a hand toward me and waves his fingers. Despite the terror still thrumming in my veins, nearly choking the air from my lungs, something compels me to approach—to fall into the dust and surrender to him. But then I see the ropes hanging from the tree and the whip in his hand.
Shaking my head, I sidestep further down the trail, away from the crowd and the king awaiting me.
But suddenly, hands grab me from both sides.
Someone has snuck up on me while I fell captive to the trance they’re trying to lure me into.
Or maybe they were there all along, waiting in the shadows, and didn’t even need to sneak.
It doesn’t matter. I’m trapped. I try to writhe free as they lead me forward.
“No,” I beg. “Let me go.”
The forest king approaches, one measured step at a time. It’s like something taken out of a horror movie.
I put in more strength.
“Let me go!” I yell, and that’s when the tears truly let loose. Hot drops streak down my cheeks in unbroken streams, and choked sobs rip from my throat. I try to contain it, but there’s no controlling anything.
I want it all to stop, but at the same time, part of me just wants to cave in—stop fighting and give myself over to these people and the strong pulses of the music and the life of the forest. I feel like I could disappear into it all somehow.
My mind becomes a battlefield as the two men lead me forward.
Stuck in a spiral, I can’t stop fighting, kicking my legs and jerking in their grips, and they end up half-carrying me.
Closing my eyes, I scream as we near the king.
He might not wear face paint, but that antler crown shadowing his eyes and the huge fur make him look more beast than man, agitating the already thrumming palpitations of my heart.
The men drop me onto my knees before him. I watch his bare feet sink into the moss as I come apart, utterly broken and shamefully exposed, realizing I’m completely naked in front of a crowd. Naked, weeping, and kneeling.
I try to connect with my logical mind and remember that I know this man before me—I’ve received his pain, his dominance, and his comfort.
I know all the other people here too. I can’t see who is who, but I know them.
I try to cling to these thoughts, but the fear is too loud, throbbing over the drums and drowning out everything.
Then a thought strikes that doesn’t need to rival the fear.
Embrace the fear, Asbjorn said.
Everything inside me screams to fight—to run. But I can’t. So I give up.
I curl in on myself, hugging my arms around my middle—trying to physically embrace the fear.
The sound of the drums and the hypnotic singing seem to close in as I shut myself off.
They keep going in a steady but complex rhythm, rising and falling in intensity, creeping into my senses and hypnotizing me.
They’re so loud I can’t even hear my own breathing.
For a moment, I let the sound consume me, becoming my escape.
“Look at me,” a deep, powerful voice says. It seems to reverberate through me with the same intensity as the music. I lift my head and face the forest king.
At that moment, when I meet his eyes—seeing them clearly—something changes. The world around us fades into a blur. The people and the fire become a halo around him, and the music enhances the bubble, wrapping around us, trapping us—or maybe cocooning us.
He presses the handle of his whip against my chin until my head is leaning back, my chest wide open.
The tears keep streaming, the vulnerability becoming achingly acute, but the sobs cease as the trance weaves tighter.
Unlike all the others, his face is clear, revealing familiar features. A face that has been haunting my dreams as well as every scene I’ve done with Asbjorn.
He just watches me, chin high, posture tall, even as he’s looking down at me.
The air crackles between us the same way it’s done all those times he’s watched me succumb to Asbjorn’s dominance—or maybe Asbjorn wasn’t the one I surrendered to at all.
Uncertainty filters into all those memories, but at the same time, everything is clearer than it ever has been as I get lost in those stark, terrifying eyes that command the very air I breathe.
It’s just us. The conqueror and the conquered.
The master and the slave. The beast and the prey.
“Who do you belong to?” Ulf asks, eyes widening with feral intensity.
“You,” I say, the word coming unfiltered, surprising me in its clarity.
A hint of a smile lights up his eyes. But it disappears as quickly as it came. He draws a deep breath that has his nostrils flaring, his entire stance growing taller.
He lifts a hand, and the music stops. The silence is deafening, my ears still echoing with the steady rhythm of the drums.
Ulf’s voice is startling in the quiet as he imbues it with authority and importance. “Will you be mine, Elina? My sub, my girl, my companion—the end of my journey.”
I swallow hard against the emotions that coalesce and lodge in my throat. I thought he was gone. That I didn’t mean anything to him. That he was just a phantom that would always haunt me with its presence, right there yet out of reach.
I nod. It’s the only response that makes sense.
I’m already his. I haven’t dared to form the words in my mind, but he already has his claws deep in my heart—in my submissive soul.
He’s the pulse that beats with new life in my veins, and he’s the fresh air that has brought new purpose to my spirit.
And now, finally, the man I’m going to give it all to.
He removes his whip, but my head remains where it is, ensnared by his magnetic power.
“Do you vow,” he starts, “before all these people—your brothers and sisters—and before the mighty ash tree, to follow and obey me? To let me lead the way and provide safety and comfort?”
A swoosh of something quiet, yet urgent surges through me—through my legs, my torso, into my arms, and my very fingertips. My head clears, every thought and trail of fear vanishing in a blink. All that’s left is Ulf’s words. Follow and obey. Safety and comfort.
New tears pool in my eyes—a different kind. “Yes,” I say, somehow managing to clear my voice of the rawness and let it drift into the open, articulate and audible for everyone to hear.
“This vow is sacred. Our bond can only be broken through grave offense or if the group deems that our time together has run its natural course and a new journey must begin. I cannot sever our sacred bond; you cannot sever our sacred bond. Do you understand?”
His clarification is overwhelming and scary, but no part of me wants to argue or question. Because I want that finality with him—that unbreakable bond. So I repeat my answer with purposeful clarity. “Yes.”
“As long as you’re mine, I hold the right to punish and discipline you, and I hold the duty to guide and protect you.
” He pauses to let his words sink in. Something solemn descends over him.
He places his hand on my head, lowering his head as he lets me do the same.
“I, Ulf Eriksson, vow to protect, guide, and take care of you, my dear Elina—my little deer of the woods.” A swoosh goes through the air.
The energy seems to sweep through the whole crowd and the forest, casting it in quiet reverence.
Slowly, Ulf removes his hand, fingertips brushing my temple and cheek as he moves down to lift my head with the back of his hand.
“Again I ask you, Elina Lindholm, do you vow to submit and obey me as your master, your chieftain, and your sacred protector?”
I swallow hard—not out of fear but reverence.
This is not pretend. This vow is sacred, and I know that great consequence will befall me if I ever break it.
But as I stare up at Ulf and feel my heart expand and contract with steady thuds, I don’t feel fear or concern.
All I feel is purpose and submission. I know, deep in my heart, that he will honor his vow to protect, guide, and take care of me.
That’s why I once again reply without hesitation. “Yes. I vow to submit and obey you.” My eyes fall shut as an intense feeling of belonging overcomes me.
Ulf curves his hand around my cheek, giving me a moment to process before straightening. “If you agree to this sacred contract, you may bow and kiss my feet.”
I’ve never been religious, but at that moment when I lean forward, into the dirt, bending my head before Ulf and pressing my lips to his foot, I feel connected to something higher.
A force beyond anything that can be measured or weighed.
I know I’ve found my God. But not in the shape of an invisible being far away, high in the heavens, or hidden in the trees.
My God is alive and breathing. His hand is strong and palpable as it wraps around the back of my neck, and his presence is powerful and warm as he sinks to his haunches and welcomes me into his sacred domain.
His voice softens as he leans down, his head hovering just above mine. “Now let me guide you through the pain as I seal our sacred bond.”
I nod beneath his touch. I have no idea what I’m getting myself into, but I know that whatever it is, I’ll take it. Because there’s nothing I want more than to earn Ulf’s praise and a seat at his feet.
Slowly, purposefully, he gets up, keeping his grip on my neck, bringing me with him.
The drums start again as he leads me forward, toward the tree.
He stops between the two ropes that hang from one of the big branches.
Stepping behind me, he slips his arms under mine, around my waist, cocooning me in the warm shell of his embrace.
Two men with painted faces come up to us.
My heart stutters when they take my hands and lift them to the ropes.
But I don’t protest. I just close my eyes and let myself float in the steady power of Ulf’s control while the men tie my hands.
Ulf feels formidable as he just holds me.
Strong and steady. His firm, unwavering grip deepens my trust and manifests my belief that he can keep me safe from anything.
Except from himself, I think when I open my eyes and see the whip hanging from his hand.
But I don’t want to be kept safe from him.
I want him to push me to the edge, unleash his sadism upon me, and rip me apart.
Because that’s how I feel the most alive, and I know he also holds the power to put me together again.
The two men spread my arms out, like when I’m on the cross. Then they tie rope around my ankles, spread my feet wide, and connect the ropes to stakes that they hammer into the ground at a slanted angle.
When Ulf releases me, it’s like a snap of a thread—a single string that makes the entire spider’s web collapse. The world draws back in—the painted people watching, the fire, and the beckoning drums asking for a sacrifice to be made. My pain. My fear.
I pull at the ropes, testing their strength. No give. I try a little harder, and helplessness washes over me, thick and suffocating. The branch above me is so solid it barely even budges, and when I put more force into my legs, the pegs feel as strong as iron. There’s no getting away. I’m trapped.
My chest starts shaking—fear and defeat overcoming me.
I glance at the people who are all watching me.
Suddenly, it’s all too much. I shake my head, choking, overwhelming despair creeping in.
I badly want to do this—to give in to Ulf and become his—but I can’t do this. I’m exhausted. I just want to collapse.
I close my eyes and lick my lips, my safeword swirling in my mind.
Raven, raven, raven. Then comes Asbjorn’s warning.
Everything stops. I can’t do that either.
So I do something else. I beckon the man who holds me at his mercy—the man I’ve given myself over to, trusting him to protect and take care of me.
“Ulf,” I say, my voice so small I don’t think it will reach over the drums. I’m about to draw in on myself when two hands cradle my face, calloused but warm. Achingly familiar. I open my eyes, and the world around me disappears as I crash into Ulf’s stark blue gaze.
“I’m right here, my little deer. Eyes on me at all times. It’s just you and me.” He glances up, and a smile forms on his lips. “You and me and this big, beautiful ash tree that holds you up.”
I look up too, into the thicket of leaves and strong branches.
When I return my attention to Ulf, his features are set in serious lines, eyes soft and honest. “I know how far to take you, Elina. I’ve watched you.
I know your reactions—all your little tells.
” He trails a hand down to my shoulder, leaning in as if to tell me a secret.
“I was the one who told Asbjorn to use the cane. And you took every sharp bite, just like I knew you would. Even more.” He reaches behind me and presses on the butt plug I had almost forgotten about in all the upheaval.
“I was the one who told him you were ready for anal play. And I was right.” He pushes a few times, jostling the plug against my suddenly buzzing nerve endings.
“Wasn’t I?” He leans away, taking my head between his warm hands again.
Releasing a moan, I nod in his grip.
“I was also the one who knew you weren’t ready to be claimed,” he says with grave earnestness.
“But you are now.” He glances between my eyes, soaking up every trace of stark vulnerability.
“You’re ready for me to finally claim you.
” His shoulders drop with his last words, and a sense of purpose, relief, and desire rolls through me as I realize something.
He’s been waiting too.
I was always supposed to be his.