Page 53 of Into the Isle

My fist pounded on the door of the longhouse, hard enough I might punch through it if it didn’t open soon.

I had come halfway across campus, west, to a congregation of small dwellings offered to second- and third-year students who no longer used the Nottdan and Nottdeen dormitories.

Standing there in my flimsy, ridiculous breechcloth, I reared my fist back to knock again.

The door opened before I could.

Eyes in the doorway widened at the sight of me.

I rushed in, arm lashing out, and clutched my hand around Eirik Halldan’s neck. My size and momentum carried us into the longhouse, his face registering shock and pain as I squeezed his throat.

The man was large, yet that was a relative term when it came to me, and I easily pushed him up against the nearest wall.

Three people leapt up from their seats around a table when they saw me barge into the longhouse and assault Eirik.

Choking, growling, Eirik’s hands wrapped around my wrist to try and pry my hand from his neck.

“Grim, what the fuck!” yelled the girl, Ayla, from the side. She scrambled around the table to find a weapon. The two men, Tyrus and Gryphon, charged toward me.

Eirik put a palm toward them to stop, even as he struggled to rip my hand off his neck with his free arm. His face grew red, veins distending. In his struggle, he searched my eyes, and when he found what he was looking for, his face relaxed.

Surprising, that, considering I could’ve snapped his neck like a tree branch in that moment.

“I t-take it you have something to tell me,” Eirik eked out past gritted teeth. He showed no fear, despite getting little air.

“Plan on keeping watch over your sister, Halldan?” I snarled, and then pushed him against the wall and released him from my hold. “Or just hole up here like a deadbeat?”

He breathed heavily, hand going to the red handprint across his neck. After composing himself, he said, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“She was attacked.”

“By whom?”

“Torfens.”

He paused a beat. Then, “All hells.” He shook his head, fingers scratching his forehead. Across from us at the table, his three minions visibly relaxed now that I wasn’t holding him hostage.

There was Ayla, the one he fucked. Tyrus, the one he confided in. And Gryphon, the one he fucked. All of them useless, in my mind. Yet there were worse cliques to be part of at the academy, surely.

“Where was she—”

“Irrelevant,” I barked. When he tilted his head expectantly, one brow lifting, I added, “The woods.”

“Odin fuck me,” he whined, “I told her not—”

“She’s like you, fool. Bullheaded. Take responsibility. Don’t place blame.”

We stared at each other, foreheads creasing with wrinkles. There was a time I considered Eirik Halldan a friend. Now, I was looking at a stranger. Yet for a moment, memories flooded back.

He smirked. “Still talking in monosyllabic sentences, I see, Grim.”

“Responsibility is six syllables, idiot.”

Eirik rolled his eyes. He threw up his arms in frustration. “What do you want me to do? Vini is her own person. I can control her no more than I can control the wind.”

“You can control the wind—”

“Bad example. If you’ve met her, you know she’s stubborn and strong-willed.”

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