Page 50 of Into the Isle

I squeezed my thighs together, fighting off a burn of lust that came out of nowhere. It took everything inside not to glance down between us.

“Grim Kollbjorn.”

“Bjorn.” Bear. Makes sense. It seemed an appropriate name. A name like that was powerful.

“I will walk you to your dorm.” His words brooked no argument. It was a command more than anything.

I wasn’t about to fight the man who had saved me from the wolves. I owed him my life, or at least my kindness. Blinking, I traced his face and burly chest with my eyes. “Like that? Out in the open?”

His full lips turned with a frown. A second later, he reached over my head . . . and plucked a wide leaf from a tall branch. Grim put the leaf down between his legs, moving my eyes there. “Better?”

It was laughable, because the leaf did nothing to hide the heavy slab hanging between his legs. Is he joking? Regardless, I let out a snort-laugh. It was an ugly sound.

When he didn’t smile or break out in a smirk, I got the sense he was oblivious to what he was. How large he truly was by every measure. He’s not joking. He’s completely serious. A man like this? I don’t know if he can joke.

I gulped. “I dropped my bag of books running here.”

He grunted and tossed the leaf aside. “Let’s go.”

Then he turned, baring his ass to me. It was large, firm, just as muscled as the rest of him.

Gods save me.

I’d never had a man have this kind of effect on me. I’d known plenty of large guys in Selby Village—Viking descendants of strong stock. None of them had the aura Grim Kollbjorn had. He didn’t carry himself with swagger or overconfidence. He simply . . . was.

It was a breath of fresh air to see an aloof, mammoth of a man who wasn’t so wrapped up in himself.

I scurried up beside him, wishing to keep my eyes on the ground rather than his impressive body. I didn’t want him thinking I was ogling him from behind, or that I wasn’t grateful for his help.

“Who was that, Grim?”

“Torfen pack.” He kept walking, long strides I struggled to keep pace with. “Woods aren’t safe for little sneaks. Wolves sneak too.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “This is my own fault. My brother warned me about that. I thought I’d be clever and take a faster route to Nottdeen Quarter.”

“Eirik Halldan.”

I glanced over at him. “You know my brother?”

Grim shrugged. “A little.”

Definitely a man of few words. Probably not going to get much about his relationship with Eirik, if they’re even in the same year.

While Arne Gornhodr was content to carry on a conversation and smirk out the corner of his mouth after I said anything, Grim didn’t seem interested in engaging with me at all. It made me feel a bit small and sad.

Furrowing my brow, realizing something, I said, “How did you know where to find me?”

“Didn’t. I travel the woods. So do the Torfen kin.”

We came to my backpack lying in the dirt, and I swooped down to pick it up. Grim put his hand out. I tilted my head in confusion. Oh. He’s saying he’ll . . . carry my bag for me?

Part of me resisted. I didn’t want favors—never had. But it was such a small gesture. One of kindness. One I wasn’t used to seeing. Chivalrous.

Slowly, without complaint, I handed Grim Kollbjorn my bag of books. He slung it over his bare shoulder and turned us back toward the glade.

As I hurried up alongside him, I asked, “Why do you think the Torfen pack hates me?”

He said nothing for a moment, his thick legs propelling him forward. I glanced over, noticed the huge thing swinging freely between his thighs, and blushed.

---