Chapter 25 Calder #2
“Apologies, I’m borrowing a few things from you.” Calder touches the man's leg, freezing him solid. He shoves him off the horse. When he connects with the ground, his figure shatters.
“Would it hurt to ask what you require before freezing people?” She nudges him with a smirk as she collects the torch from the ground.
“Where is the fun in that?” He lifts her into the saddle, teasing her for her earlier comment when she used her seidr on him.
Her laugh is infectious. “A real jest! I am proud, Jarl Calder.”
He pauses, buckling their bags to the horse with a smirk twisting across his lips.
I made her laugh.
Despite their situation and the looming threat of Draemonium, the other Jarls, Lavinia, and Sigvid Thordsson, the only peace he finds is with the Princess.
He mounts the horse, maintaining a protective grip on her abdomen as they ride into the night. The light from the torch offers the sole illumination of their path.
They make significant progress under the cover of night, only dodging a pack of wolves.
Just as he worries they have been riding in circles, a decent-sized village emerges within the forest. As they trot towards the stables, he takes mental note of an inn that seems to double as a tavern.
They are fortunate that no one works in the stables at this time of the evening. Considering he murdered a guard for the steed, he is more concerned for the well-being of the horse than actually paying some sod to muck out the stall.
After stabling their mare and shouldering their bags, he secures the wrap over Aura’s copper locks.
“Do not speak to anyone. I will try to get you a room with a bath.”
“That would be magnificent.”
He throws the hood of his cloak over his head as they move through the deserted streets toward the solitary inn with a sign featuring a happily painted goat.
As the inn's door swings shut behind them, they are greeted by warmth and the strong scent of baking pies. Straight ahead is a winding staircase, while a long counter on the left holds a bulky guestbook. A wide entry on their right reveals a bustling tavern that looks to be standing-room only.
We are in a town a third the size of Kaldrgataness. How are there enough people to party this late at night?
“Welcome to the Curious Goat Inn! Here for the Autumn Festival, yeah?” A middle-aged woman with deep laugh lines appears behind the counter, clutching a long quill.
“Yes, we are.” He dons a strange, light-hearted voice, knowing his more grisly appearance is likely to raise alarms. “Do you have any rooms with washrooms available?” He leans on the counter with an uncharacteristic smile as he nods to Aura.
Bless that young woman, reading the energy of the room. She could not appear more adorable and innocent.
The innkeeper flips open the guestbook, and her finger dances over the page as she flips to the next. “Two rooms for you and your daughter?”
He sighs internally, grinding his poor teeth. “Sure.”
The woman looks at Calder again, lingering on his face, clearly taking in his scars. She swallows hard. “I, uh, can offer one room without a washroom, sir. I’m afraid with the festival in Geit, we are at capacity.”
Aura shifts uncomfortably at his side, but they have no other choice.
“We will take it.” Calder removes his coin purse and dumps more than the room is worth onto her ledger. “And someone to bring us food to the room.”
She quickly scribbles a note on the page before smiling as she hands him a skeleton key attached to a small wooden square, with the number eight carved into it.
He nudges Aura up the stairs to their room, which turns out to be tiny enough to fit a single bed, a crumbling stone hearth, and a moth-eaten chair.
“It’ll serve its purpose for tonight.” She dumps her bags onto the chair.
Calder tosses his packs with hers, and the chair collapses. “She is going to charge me for that.”
The food finally arrives and is as horrible as he could fathom.
Perhaps the worst in the realm.
With a full belly, Aura curls up on the bags and remnants of the broken chair. Calder sits along the edge of the bed, watching her sketch in the notebook he crafted for her. Somehow, she manages to carry it with her at all times.
His lips turn into a half smile as he watches her hand dance across the page. The tip of her tongue pokes through the side of her mouth as she concentrates.
Aura’s scribbling and the crackling of the hearth fire lull his weariness into a need for sleep. Whether he succumbs to a much-needed slumber is another matter altogether.
At last, the candlelight extinguishes until the only illumination emanates from the cracked hearth and the pale moonlight trickling through the warped window pane.
The Princess yawns loudly, setting the quill between her pages. Her gaze flicks from the bed to the slight space on the warped floor.
“Do not even think about it, Princess. You will sleep in the bed.” He stands, motioning her over.
She clutches the sketchbook, staring at him with a stirring hunger. The glow of the fire frames her figure. Against the flickering flames, her luscious curves entice him to worship her body.
Her eyes darken, nearly black with desire. The simple act of her tongue sliding out to lick along her pink lips, has his cock straining in his pants.
Something raw and primal scratches against its cage in the darkest recesses of his being.
I require her body beneath mine so I can possess her completely.
Owning her is the single most urgent sensation he has ever felt. As if she represents a basic need he must satisfy to stay alive.
Calder readjusts his cock in his pants while inspecting every inch of her gorgeous body.
“May I borrow a tunic to sleep?” she mutters.
“Use your words, Princess.”
“Please, Jarl Calder,” her sultry request uttering his name does not ease the aching desire pulsing in his cock. “May I borrow a tunic for bed? I do not have any other clothes but the ones on my back.”
Cracking his neck, he towers over her. With his right hand bent over his shoulder, he tugs his shirt from his chest. When he drops the warm black fabric into her outstretched hands, he cannot help but notice the slight parting of her lips as she stares fixated on the shirt she did not expect to borrow.
Her gaze flits to his bare skin, where the Skalor tattoos entwine, mirroring one another as they twist up his massive arms to meet above his sternum. Faded wounds over the winters mix with the ink, crisscrossing across his flesh.
Hesitantly, she reaches toward him, her feather-light touch tracing the symmetry representing balance and inner discipline.
He catches her hand in his.
Goosebumps spread across her skin at their contact, and he knows he will lose all of his self-control if he sees her undressing.
“We will find you new clothes in the morning.”
Without another word, he steps into the tight corridor, closing the door behind him. The back of his head thunks against the wall that has seen better eras.
Inside, he can hear her shedding her tunic and boots, and he wipes his hand over his face.
“Jarl Calder?” She finally whispers at the crack in the door.
Despite knowing what awaits him in their room, he is still unprepared for the sight before him.
His black tunic, crafted to fit his broad shoulders, exposes one of hers, revealing her flawless skin. Even through the loose fabric, her thick curves are an allure straight from the damn Abyss. And those copper curls fall loose from the wrap, begging him to sink his touch into her scalp.
If he believed the gods weren’t just a petty bunch of narcissistic assholes, he might pray to one. Holding his seidr at bay will be the simpler task of the night when he must lay his head beside that temptress and not devour her flesh.
She plucks her clothes off the bed, gathering the pieces into a disordered mass. Every movement bounces her heavy tits under his shirt. When she bends over to stuff her dirty clothes into a sack, the fabric tugs up, revealing the entirety of her plump ass.
Godsdamn, she is not wearing anything under my tunic.
He readjusts his member while watching her stack the bags as he locks the door, forcing himself to glance away. Deep breaths do little to calm his feverish appetite for the young woman, now shivering by the fire.
She rubs her exposed forearms as she spins on her bare heel away from the hearth. “Jarl Calder?”
Using his full title in that breathy tone does something to his controlled state of mind.
“I am exhausted. Do you mind if I slip into bed?” She bites along her bottom lip, rolling the flesh he knows tastes like a godsdamn afterlife.
He can hear his withering self-control manifest in crystallized ice along the window panes. Heat rolls off his skin as his cold fills the tiny room.
“Climb into bed, Princess. I will throw a few logs on the fire, then join you.” He faces the hearth so he can discreetly squeeze his aching cock.
Damn, this woman.
He kicks off his boots, leaving him in just a pair of black leather trousers.
They can still see their breath despite tossing half the remaining woodpile on the fire. She lays under the layers of thin blankets and fur. When he finally forces himself to bed, he lifts the bedding to see the shirt pulled up, exposing her behind.
Godsdamn, she is going to kill me.
He lays with her back pressed against his front. The bed is only wide enough for them to lay on their sides, which is his justification for his cock pushing against her bare ass.
He drapes an arm over her waist, holding her closer to fight against his unrestrained seidr. “You are freezing, Princess.”
“I deserve to suffer the frost.” She shifts to face him with one arm tucked under her head and the other flush against her curves.
He tucks a fallen curl away from her face, unable to relinquish the feeling of her soft skin along her jawline.
Remorse slithers through his gut.
His ice could destroy her in an instant. Why has he permitted any of this, as unhinged as his hold on his seidr has become in her presence?
Her hand, resting on the outside of her thigh, shifts to press against the center of his chest. “I trust you to warm me, Calder.”
That is why he has not been able to quit her.
In my cold heart, she lit a fire I thought wasn’t capable of burning.
He wraps her securely in his arms and lays his cheek against her forehead, closing his eyes and listening as her breathing steadies into a faint snore.
As he clutches her figure, shrouded in his tunic, he knows it is only a matter of time before he claims this woman. And when that day comes, there will be no one else for the Iss Drengr.
Only Aura.