Page 15 of The Holly King's Sacrifice

“What are you whistling?” I ask, huddling with my arms around my knees.

He turns to look at me. “A song from my homeworld,” he says. “A winter’s tale.”

“Does it have words?”

Ulfric’s brow furrows, and he stands to reach for me. I take his hand, letting him pull me to my feet.

“Yes,” he says. “And a dance.”

He puts up his palm, and places my right hand flat against his. He steps forward, turning us in a circle, and I follow suit.

“A simple step,” he says. “Eight beats in one direction, then we switch.”

We walk in one direction, then the other. I laugh to myself as I trip over my own feet, our only witness the ram, Laka.

“And the song goes something like…”

Ulfric hums, then mumbles a few words to the tune as we turn in circles. I pick up on the steps quickly, following his lead. It feels strange to be doing this.

I’m dancing with the devil.

The words come across my translator slowly, the lyrics obscured as Ulfric tries to remember. Something about the Snow Queen and her Holly King, clearing away the shadows on the darkest night of the year. He turns me round and round, our rhythm increasing as I learn the steps and he remembers the lyrics.

The toe of my boot catches on a patch of frost, though, and I lose my footing. I fall forward, my heart leaping into my throat.

Ulfric catches me by the elbows.

Our eyes lock.

I lick my lips, not knowing what else to do as I gaze into those pools of liquid silver. Ulfric keeps his eyes on me, his grip tightening on my arms. The only sound is the steady drip of melting water from the icicles, and the occasional muffled snort of Laka near his bail of hay.

I don’t want to move. I like how it feels when he holds me, and I don’t want him to let go.

“Aspen,” he breathes.

I stand upright, taking a bold step forward and into his orbit. Ulfric continues to stare down at me, like he’s enraptured with my very existence.

“Why am I here?” I ask. “What does it have to do with your song?”

His hand moves from my elbow and for a moment, I think he’ll step away. But instead that hand comes up to cup my cheek, a calloused thumb grazing over my skin.

“You ask too many questions, woman,” he murmurs.

Then he silences me with a kiss.

I should have known that the devil’s kiss would bring out demon’s of my own, but I didn’t expect this level of desire. Ulfric’s lips are warm and soft, locking with mine in an unspoken demand for more. I open to him, prepared to give myself over after the long days nestled between his strong thighs. As his tongue presses into the cavern of my mouth, I’m not sure if I feel anything for him or if this is pure, carnal desire—a natural impulse to offer my body to this man that has sheltered me through the cold winter days.

I don’t care that he brought me here.

I don’t care that I was thrown to the wolves.

All I care about now is that Ulfric, Lieutenant of the Kjarr-M’yr Clan, is kissing me.

I melt against him like snow in the spring sun, and his hands slip inside my coat to wrap his arms around my waist. Underneath, I wear a thermal sweater and leggings, but his touch sears me even through my clothes. Those big, strong hands grasp me around the waist, pulling me to him as he ravishes my mouth.

Three years ago, a boy kissed me by a campfire after everyone else had gone to bed. We were caught, and we were punished—because virtue was key in our little town, and we had to be on our best behavior if we wanted the Angels to return and save us.

This is nothing like that kiss.

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