Chapter 35 Rhianelle
Iopen my eyes blearily to the pile of white pillows in my bed. I feel more refreshed and enlivened than I have been in days. This is the best sleep I’ve had in a while.
Svenn is nowhere in sight. His clothes lay on the bed next to me. I bring the shirt closer to my face, breathing it in deeply.
The scent envelops me, something of a mix between the cold woods at dawn and a frozen lake. It’s so peaceful, unlike the person who owns it. A violent storm rages in him, one that will only wreck devastation in its wake.
I place the shirt on one of the fluffy white pillows so it’s easier to hug. It feels a little silly and downright irrational. I nuzzle it to my heart’s content until I’m drunk with his scent. This pull I have for him is strange and a little frustrating.
As if my thoughts summon him, Svenn appears, his robust frame filling the doorway. The tent instantly feels smaller when he enters.
He doesn’t greet me. I don’t bother saying anything to him either. The silence stretches between us, slowly grating on my consciousness like knives.
He doesn’t want you; I remind myself.
Not in his heart or in his bed. I should keep my interactions with him to the bare minimum. He is wearing nothing but the black breeches, molded to his long, muscular legs. The male doesn’t care for modesty as he settles on the chair at the small dining table to read a grimoire.
I shouldn’t look.
But my eyes stray to the dark temptation anyway. Every dip and plane of muscles on his defined abdomen is unreal. Svenn is like a timeless work of art that deserves to be admired for centuries to come.
His head slowly turns to me.
I quickly avert my eyes a little too late.
“Did you sleep well?” I ask him. My voice is a little too flustered and nervous.
He responds with a shake of his head. “Not at all. You?”
I’m so startled by the sound of his voice that I simply nod at him.
He gives me a dark smile that sets my heart racing.
I don’t return it. The wound of his words is still fresh for me.
It cuts deep because he’s the only person I’ve ever told those dreams to.
He ripped them apart like tearing through the fragile wings of a butterfly.
I’ve said some horrible things too. But I’ve apologized for my part at least.
I look around for any bruises on my skin. It would be embarrassing if I had one of my nightmares with him here.
“If you’re done with whatever it is you’re doing to my shirt, I’d like to have it back,” he says, running a hand over his hair.
My cheeks burn with heat. “I wasn’t doing anything weird.”
His eyes flicker to the pillow beside me.
“Sure,” he says carelessly.
This evil, evil man.
I’ll throw the stupid tunic at his head. I stumble off the bed for a better aim. Crippling pain shoots straight to my spine the moment I set my foot down.
My lame leg picks the best time to fail. Strong arms envelop me before I hit the floor. Svenn scoops me into his embrace in a heartbeat.
“No, I don’t want this,” I say desperately. The cramp is excruciating, but this is pathetic. Not after yesterday.
“Nel,” he grunts over my struggle.
“Let me go!” I pound my fist on his hard chest uselessly.
My body is such a little traitor. For all my hate, I can’t deny that I like this touch, this closeness. It makes me happy, sad, and angry at the same time.
“Hold still,” he says, placing me on the chair. He kneels in front of me to check for my injury. I am suddenly aware of how soft and small I am compared to his hard muscles and broad shoulders.
As much as I’m enjoying this, I know Svenn doesn’t want it. The strange link between us has to be painful for him because I’m the curse bearer. I wish there was a way to sever this connection instantly.
“I’m trying to help. Please,” he pleads.
His grip on my leg is firm but not strong enough to keep me. If I truly want to slip away from him, I can. I stare up at him silently. His eyes hold my gaze, earnest and sincere in their gleam. He does seem less infuriating when he’s settled in between my thighs.
His shoulders ease with relief when I don’t move. He starts working on my foot immediately. I quiver despite the warmth of him searing onto my skin.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say flatly, crossing my arms.
“Where does it hurt?” he asks, ignoring me. “Here?”
A strange shiver dances on my skin when he massages my calf. His hands are rough with callouses gained from centuries worth of battle.
I quickly realize that my thin, sheer nightgown does nothing to hide the wretched mark of the Rhunhraefn. I’m scared he’ll have the same reaction as yesterday. But Svenn barely cares about the tattoo today. His focus is entirely on me.
“Look at me, Nel,” he demands.
I meet his harsh stare. I’m surprised to see his sharp, hard edges have softened a shade.
“Tell me how I can help you,” he asks again in a gentle voice I didn’t think someone like him was capable of making. “Show me where it hurts.”
My heartbeat spikes as I consider his request. Slowly, I point to my knee and my thigh.
He gives a curt nod of understanding. His hand slides up smoothly to my inner thigh, kneading the muscle there. It climbs to my hip bone and a yelp escapes me.
“Another tender spot?” he asks, studying the joint with expert concentration. “The ache is worse at the end of the day after you pretend to walk normally?”
I nod at his assessment.
He continues stretching my leg, testing every tendon and ligament.
I can almost feel the pain seeping out of me slowly.
I close my eyes, enjoying the feel of his fingers rubbing my sore muscles.
It feels so good but watching him work helps with the healing even better.
That coal-black hair is just begging for me to run my fingers through it now.
As if he can read into my thoughts, his touches soon turn a little too wicked. A deep moan leaves me when his thumb glides higher up my thigh.
“Svenn?” My eyes snap to him for answers, but he looks completely innocent and focused on his work. I’m the one panting like a pervert over a simple massage.
“Is the pressure alright with you?” he asks without feeling.
I nod a little too eagerly.
His hand trails higher right to the center of me, tracing lazy circles. He keeps teasing me to the point where I start to writhe.
My fists clench on either side of the armchair, turning my knuckles white. I want to touch him. I want to touch him so bad.
His fingers move to my clit, circling fast and intense.
The rapid movement plunges me into the realm of overwhelming pleasure.
I spring forward to bury my hands in his hair, clawing for whatever support he can give.
The muffled sound of his harsh breathing against my skin throws me closer to my release.
Just when I think I’m about to explode, he presses hard, forcing me to come so violently. Pleasure cascades through my body in pulsating waves.
“You’re alright,” he says, stroking my lower back to soothe me.
My toes curl as the last flutter of my release dissipates.
I start to pull away but his grip on me tightens.
“Stay,” he whispers to my chest. “Don’t let me go, Nel.”
Just hearing him say that makes it hard to breathe.
I wrap my arms over his muscular back, draping myself over him.
Only the rasping sound of our breathing fills the room along with our thundering heartbeats.
I feel his body rising and falling with each breath just as surely as he is feeling mine.
It takes a long time for us to calm down and peel ourselves apart.
My heart flutters wildly in my chest the moment I see his flushed face. That look of hunger and longing burns me to ashes.
This means nothing, I remind myself. He is compelled to touch me the same way I was desperate for him yesterday.
“Rhianelle,” he starts.
“It’s our messed up Arawynn bond. I understand,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “Once we get to Aelfheim, I will ask the Head Priestess how to stop this.”
He says nothing more to the promise, raking a hand over the hair I mussed. His gaze drops to the bruise over my ankle.
“It happens sometimes,” I dismiss quickly before he reads into it too much. “I’m a rough sleeper. I probably kicked the dresser or something.”
“Or someone’s balls…”
“What was that?” I narrow my eyes.
A slow smile works its way to his face over whatever joke is playing inside his head. It’s hard to stay mad at that.
He does another odd, out-of-character thing when he kisses my ankle. His heavy gaze locks with mine. I always feel like prey cornered by a predator whenever he stares at me for too long.
“I think I’m fine now,” I say, my voice small like a mouse. I carefully pull my leg from him. A strange ache forms in my chest when we part.
My eyes land on my father’s signet ring hanging next to Kheirall’s amulet on his necklace. It makes sense to place it there because of his constant shapeshifting. A faint amusement flashes across his face when he notices me staring at his bare chest for far longer than necessary.
“Enjoying the view, Nel?” He arches a brow.
“I was looking at the pendant and the ring,” I say, quickly looking away.
“Would you like to have it back?” he asks, making a move to remove it.
Elves may not give a ring to their spouses, but that jewelry is an ancient heirloom from the old kings of Volundr.
“The ring carries the symbol of my house. My people will respect you as my consort. It means you are under my protection,” I tell him.
It means you are mine.
“Feel free to discard the one I gave you. It’s worthless,” he says easily.
I look at the rattan ring on my finger.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to keep it,” I say, twirling it around out of habit.
The wedding band may mean nothing to him but it’s precious to me. Because for the first time in my life, I felt safe, cherished, and wanted on that night.
Svenn looks as if he has more to say but something is holding him back. It’s like he’s at war with himself.