Page 11 of The Viking in the Vault
There is no other explanation for this. The pull I feel toward her is undeniable, a sharp and sudden awareness that roots meto her in a way I’ve never experienced before. My goddess’s blessing is clear—I have found the one she has chosen for me. The one meant to complete me.
But she’s been corrupted. That much is obvious.
Her words—the nonsensical babbling, the frantic tone—must be the result of Borean influence. And her reaction when I destroyed the mind-control device she wore–the way her gaze darkened, the way her hands curled into fists–it’s clear she’s been partially enthralled. The Boreans are cruel, their methods insidious, but I will save her.
I must save her.
I tighten my hold on her as she wriggles in my arms, her small frame trembling with exertion. My grip is firm but careful—always careful, for she is precious, and I will not harm her. She was injured in the fall, and I’m certain she cannot walk on her own. “Fenvarra,” I murmur, the word heavy with reverence as I look down at her. “You are safe now.”
Her reaction is not what I expect.
Her sharp little teeth flash in what can only be a snarl, and she bats at my chest with her fists. She screams at me in a pitch which makes Fenrik’s ears twitch. Fenrik huffs, his blue eyes locking onto her as he trots alongside me, his tail wagging faintly. He seems as intrigued by her as I am, though his amusement is clear.
I glance at her again, my brow furrowing. “Fenvarra,” I repeat, speaking slowly this time. Perhaps the enthrallment runs deeper than I thought. “You are free.” I gesture to her, to myself, then to the space around us. Surely the connection between us is awakening, even now.
Surely she understands…right?
Wrong.
She groans in frustration, her head falling forward against my shoulder as she mutters something I cannot decipher. Herresistance ebbs for a moment, and I take the opportunity to shift her in my arms, ensuring her weight is fully supported.
The goddess has a sense of humor, I think, as her soft warmth presses against me. Of all the paths I have walked, of all the battles I have fought, she would grant me my fenvarra here, now, in the icy depths of a Borean prison.
And a strange little alien, no less. Small, fierce, and thoroughly incomprehensible.
Still, she is mine. And I will protect her.
We reach a small alcove, the air colder here than in the chambers above. The walls shimmer faintly, the light from the broken pillars casting an eerie glow. I lower her gently to the ground, mindful of the way her body tenses as I release her. Fenrik settles beside her, his massive form a comforting presence.
She scrambles to her feet immediately, backing away from me with wide eyes. Her breath fogs in the frigid air, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she glares at me. She speaks again, her voice sharp, but the words are meaningless to me.
I step closer, holding my hands out in a gesture of peace. “You need not fear me,” I say softly, though I know she cannot understand. My gaze locks onto hers, and I see the fire there—the fight, the spirit that must have drawn Yrsa’s blessing. “I will protect you.”
She freezes for a moment, her eyes narrowing as if she’s trying to make sense of my tone, my expression. Then she points at me, her finger trembling slightly, and says something that sounds…angry. Accusatory. She points at the ear which held the Borean brainwashing device, and then she points at me again.
I tilt my head, frowning. Does she not understand? That device was controlling her, binding her will. By destroying it, I freed her.
Perhaps she needs a stronger connection—a spark to ignite the bond we share.
I take another step forward, closing the distance between us. Her breath catches, and she takes a half-step back, but she does not run. She stares up at me, her expression wary but curious, and for a moment, I dare to hope.
“Fenvarra,” I murmur, the word a prayer on my lips as I reach for her. I kneel to get on her level, which seems to disarm her–because this time, she doesn’t move. I reach my hand up to cup her cheek, her skin warm beneath my palm, and I lean down, letting my forehead rest against hers. “Do you feel it?” I whisper. “The bond between us? You are mine, and I am–”
Her hand flashes out, striking my face with a sharp crack.
The sound echoes through the chamber, and my head snaps to the side. I blink, stunned, as the sting of her slap blooms across my cheek. My hand falls away from her face, and I stand and step back, raising both hands in surrender.
She stares at me, her chest heaving, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and fury. Her voice shakes as she speaks, her words a string of sharp, staccato sounds that I cannot decipher but can only assume are some form of profanity.
I stare at her for a long moment, my heart pounding in my chest. I don’t understand. Why would my fenvarra reject me? Why would she fight against the bond that Yrsa herself has blessed?
But even in my confusion, I cannot help but admire her. She is strong—fierce in her defiance, unyielding in her spirit. She does not cower before me, does not submit to fear or confusion. She stands tall, her hands clenched into fists, ready to fight for her freedom.
I feel my lips twitch, the beginnings of a smile curving them upward.
She is magnificent.
I bow my head slightly. “You are strong, fenvarra,” I murmur, though I know she cannot understand. “Stronger than I imagined.”
