Chapter 6 Calder #2
The quaint home’s general disorganization evokes a physical reaction from the uptight warrior.
His home in Skalor is a cold keep with bare walls and dead plants in the garden beds.
The only creature comfort is his old friend, Argnier, whose connection to Aura is so spectacularly coincidental that he didn’t even share his destination before he left home.
The Princess’s bare legs stretch beside the table. Calder knows she is the most forbidden creature on the continent. Yet, imagining her tight ass snuggled onto his lap while he twists her body until she screams his name has his gaze darkening.
Dammit, this woman was crafted from every fantasy I ever had.
“Tell us.” Serk leans toward her. “What happened?”
She fiddles with a heel of bread before finally sharing the ordeal. Serk and Eivor offer a wonderfully captive audience as they gasp and exclaim at the correct moments. She relays the events with poise and dignity.
Yet, her shame is palpable to the Iss Drengr, who understands far more than she can ever realize.
“I warned you, Aurie, nothing good can come from these people.” Serk reclines in his chair.
“You will show them when you retake your Trial.” Eivor stands on her seat, brandishing a dagger.
These two don’t know.
Aura does not immediately respond. She pops a piece of bread into her mouth and chews far longer than necessary. Serk wraps his hand around her delicate wrist and squeezes until she meets his gaze.
“What?” Eivor demands. “What is it?”
“That was my only chance to become a Drengr,” She whispers to a collective hush in the shack.
Sigvid never permits second chances. Avina’s honorary status is unusual and involved all of us pledging our loyalty to her during the Treland War.
Serk leans back while Evior flops onto the floor.
A clack sounds from the table as Calder’s Drengr medallion appears. “I kept my word. A real medal.”
Eivor scrambles to inspect. She and her brother lift, poke, and trace it with reverence. Aura observes their excitement with a satisfied grin, even though her beautiful blue eyes hold a somber yearning for what she has been denied.
She clicks her tongue off the roof of her mouth while tapping the table with her tattooed forefinger. Four black runes are inked along the side, representing family, courage, dawn, and fate stacked atop each other. “I understand if that means my assistance is no longer wanted-”
“...at sundown!” Serk incorrectly finishes her sentence, but the sentiment of keeping Aura as a companion is apparent.
“We prefer that you spend the day,” he announces, tucking his staff under his arm.
“You are in luck, as I am about to whip up some more herbed bread loaves. This recipe can be a bit of a challenge.” He wags his brows, enticing her fierce determination.
She follows him into the kitchen, leaving Eivor craning her small neck to look at Calder with unamusement.
“You’re not from Treland, are you?” Her question is more of an accusation.
Calder raises a brow, taken aback at her directness. “I lived here in my youth.”
“Why did you leave?” She leans closer.
“Our King Sigvid required my skills elsewhere.”
“Did you want to leave?” She pokes at a particularly nasty scar visible along his upper arm.
“No. When a man you respect needs you to act, you do what needs to be done.”
She sways along the floor as if percolating on his words. “But he did not consider your wants. How can you follow him?” She looks up with a burning curiosity.
“Inquisitive little thing, aren’t you? I followed my orders as I pledged my life to his service.”
She shakes her head as if his words are absurd. “I wouldn’t listen to anyone who made me leave the place I love.” She pushes herself to her feet and pads out the open front door toward the creek.
That damn child asks a lot of questions.
His gaze roves to Aura, stirring dough in a giant bowl and laughing at Serk's words. Calder strides into the kitchen, having to duck through the dividing arch. As he watches the young man closely, it is evident that the two hold no fire for each other. They resemble a pair of siblings.
Yet, why do I want to crack his skull open?
“Do you cook, Jarl Calder?” Serk interrupts his violent musings as he cuts carrots.
Before he can answer, Aura scoffs. “Oh no, he is a Jarl of Skalor and a Drengr of my father. He likely hunts the creature but pays someone to prepare it.”
His eyes flash at her presumptuous attitude.
How beautiful would she look bent over my knee? I could change that spirited mindset with two fingers buried in that sweet little cunt.
He shakes his head. What in the Abyss am I thinking?
“Well, Serk, had I not been so rudely interrupted,” he glances at her.
“I would say my elk steak would melt in your mouth.” He plucks a carrot from the butcher block and munches while they stare at him as if he bloomed from the ground.
“I prefer my meticulous way of preparing meals to trust anyone else with their care.”
Serk nods, impressed, while Aura’s eyes turn to slits as if she blames him for speaking the truth.
Don’t tempt my resolve, Princess.
“I heard the Conclave started…” Serk begins, only for a splash and shout outside to cut him off. “Shit, I better grab Eivor before she swims to the river again.” He hobbles outside on his staff.
Calder leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, as he watches the Princess relentlessly attempt to beat the dough into submission with a wooden spoon. “What in the Abyss are you doing?”
“Mixing.” She grits her teeth and pounds the spoon against the flour-coated dough mound.
By the gods, she is feisty.
The longer he studies her actions, the more he wonders how she would look with her little cunt pounded until those heavy tits pour out of that dress.
I have never been tempted like this before.
“Stop.” Calder can no longer take her ridiculousness and catches her wrist, removing the spoon and setting it back into the bowl.
His hand glides along her abdomen, pulling her closer to him.
The fragrance of Blackwood tree flowers, a distinctive floral aroma reminiscent of home, wafts from her neck, undermining his firm control.
He covers her delicate fingers with his, forever stained with the blood of so many innocent lives.
He guides her hands around the dough and instructs her to knead it. As she responds in silence, his fingers trail along her arms, resting on her hips momentarily before he relinquishes his touch.
“Push the dough flat with your palms.” He commands, craning over her shoulder, smirking when her breathing hitches.
Calder directs her through the process, the tip of his nose trailing along her neck. His mouth salivates in anticipation of her sweetness.
She pushes away from the bowl, her back crashing into his chest. “Do you think you’re in control here?” Her words bite.
He presses his palms against the opposite counter, gritting his teeth to avoid engaging.
If I turn around, I will not be able to stop.
“That’s what I thought.” Her backhanded comment shoves him against his internal wall of self-control. Calder whips around, his rough touch gripping her throat. He tilts her head back, forcing her to meet his cold gaze.
“Yes, Princess.” His lips ghost along her jaw. “I am in control here.”
Release her, now! Apologize for your treason and pray for Sigvid’s forgiveness.
“You’ll never break me, Iss Drengr.” A boldness glints in her gaze that fractures his wall of discipline.
Instead of walking away, his grip tightens around her delicate neck column.
She wants this from him.
Despite her father's mandate, she longs to dance with the demon.
“Careful what you wish for, Princess.”
“I would love to see you try.” She taunts his uncompromising resolve before turning into his chest, placing her flour-covered hands on his tunic.
One heartbeat.
Two heartbeats.
Three heartbeats.
He spins her back around, gripping her curls, forcing her to bend over the table. Her squeals are lightning flooding to his cock. “I expect you to open your mouth and those luscious lips to utter the words ‘yes, Jarl Calder.’”
Before he can consider any other action with the Princess, frost crystallizes across the wooden grains of the table. He releases his hold on her in a breath, stepping away as his seidr ice overtakes the surface.
“Why is it cold in here?” Eivor bounds inside with Serk close behind. “I can see my breath, see!” She exhales rapidly, and sure enough, her breath mists around her tiny face.
Calder glowers accusatorily at his palms.
What is happening? Have I lost command of my seidr?
“Must have been the gods summoning you home to help cook.” Aura teases, bopping a dollop of dough mix onto Eivor’s nose.
The little girl giggles while she and Serk continue his recipe—the Princess peers at Calder with a mixture of frustration and heady longing.
After they eat, Aura ushers Eivor out front of the home to spar. Calder leans against the front door frame while Serk lounges in a chair on the front porch.
“She is a wild spirit.” Serk nods to Aura, who instructs the young girl on how to block. Gone is the anger and drive to prove herself. She is happy and carefree, unfettered from the burden that he knows rests on her shoulders.
If only she knew what hunts her.
“Yes, she is.” He lights his pipe. “Are you a warrior?”
Serk lifts his lousy leg so it stretches out. “I sought to follow my old man and become a Drengr. Except I had an accident before I could train and messed up my leg. Now, I tend the homestead and care for Eivor since our mother has passed on to the Depths.”
Serk tilts his head with a warm smile as Aura tickles Eivor, who swats her with a wooden sword. “She supported me through a rough patch. I’ll never forget it. Another sister.”
Calder clenches his teeth as he follows Serk’s kind gaze to the Princess.
He has spent every spare moment watching her from a distance. The vicious way she plays and loses at chess, or her sweetness with the Lord Commander’s many creatures. Even assisting her parents with anything they could ask.
This Serk, a simple Salt farmer with a good heart, is an excellent option for a partner for her. Yet, why does that thought devastate him? She invokes a feral yearning for him to be her sole protection.
Suddenly, the gruesome image from twenty winters ago of Sigvid disemboweling a Drengr who threatened Queen Avina reminds him of how profoundly forbidden Aura is to him.
She stumbles into the creek, and the water seeps into her gown. The sunlight peeking through the trees gives a faint glimmer to the water droplets frozen on her face, so full of life.
She has me hanging by a thread as she unravels me ever so slowly. I find myself twisting around her as I threaten to shatter my precious control with a hunger to give her everything.
If I cannot rein in my depravity, she will be the end of me.