Page 40 of Heart of the Wolf
“Still. It displeases the gods when a Konungr does not serve his kona properly,” he said, his voice muffled as he burrowed his face in her curls. Her stomach clenched, andshe scraped her nails over his leather-clad torso. “I hear someone had many supplies sent to our new kin.”
A jolt zapped her, and she stiffened, unsure whether it was a question or an accusation. Perhaps she had been too rash. Just that morning, Leif mentioned concerns about supplies for the winter. Fingers slid through her loose curls, fisting them and she whimpered.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her chest constricting under his unflinching gaze.
Two fingers dusted under her chin, gripping it softly. His thumb slid over her lips, and the tension coiled in her stomach unknotted. Warmth snaked around her limbs, making her pliant in his hold.
“No sorries. You must do as you will. You do not need my permission. Besides,” he murmured, nudging her nose with his. “Whatever you did, worked. The families came out tonight, helped process the grain, and spoke with others.”
A choked laugh escaped her, her cheeks hurting with the breadth of her smile. She wasn’t certain if anything she had done had changed anything. Smirking, he lifted her, tossing her effortlessly on the bed as she yelped.
“Now let me reward my kona.”
His stormy eyes glimmered like lightning striking across cloudy skies. The furs soon clung to her back, already sticky with sweat.
All night, Leif rewarded her with his tongue and fingers buried so far inside her that her body never forgot the feel of them. Even when she begged him to stop, he didn’t. Only when tears slid down her cheeks from too much pleasure did he finally relent, making her finish one last time while clenched around his cock.
***
An onslaught of nerves assaulted her the night of the feast. It wasn’t just their village in attendance; there were jarls and delegations from every clan. Leif bathed and dressed in his finest silks and furs, looking too gorgeous to share with others.
His hands framed her face, thumbs sweeping over the swells of her cheeks. She leaned in, pressing her lips to his and taking what she wanted. A quiet growl hummed in his chest as she broke away, admiring his swollen lips.
Gods above, he was beautiful. Fierce and foreboding and entirely hers. Something in this world that belonged only to her.
“Pretty, hjartað mitt.” Unable to stay away, he kissed her again, tasting of honey. “You will join me in the hall once the celebration has started.”
She traced the line of crimson, highlighting her freckles. Brielle nodded, stealing a final chaste kiss before he disappeared, ignoring the muffled giggles coming from Astrid and Liv.
“Úlfr is happy,” Liv beamed once they were alone. “It is good.”
Astrid wrapped a hand around Brielle’s wrist, manhandling her between the two women. They spent much of the evening bathing and preparing Brielle for the festivities.
Like Leif, they dressed her in the most luxurious materials; even her linen underdress was woven with rare ivory silk. They braided her hair into a crown of curls and fastened her fur cloak with a golden wolf brooch.
The other women smiled, pleased with their work.
“Ready?” Astrid asked, weaving her arm through Brielle’s while Liv did the same on the other side.
“Yes,” she responded.
Rowdy people, already deep into the ale stores, packed the longhouse. The ladies entered through the back, unseen. An oversized chair sat at the front of the room, wolves and lightning bolts carved into the wood.
Leif lounged elegantly in the seat, looking as regal as any English king presiding over his court. Heat danced in Leif’s mercurial gaze as he laughed at something Amund said while tracking her movements. The man slapped him on the back, shoving an overflowing mug of ale into his hand.
Liv disappeared into the crowd, grabbing a skin of mead from Andri, who shook his head at something his wife said.
Leif exchanged words with other men Brielle didn’t recognize. Based on their clothing, they appeared to be leaders from the other clans.
Even as Astrid led her toward the high table, Brielle felt out of sorts in such a place of honor. Despite that, she lifted her chin, fixing her expression into something worthy of Leif’s wife.
Leif reached out, beckoning her to his side. All his attention was on her, the conversation with the jarls forgotten. His larger hand engulfed her much smaller one. Warmth settled in her bones when they touched, steadying the fluttering wings of her heart. Brielle squealed, making the other men laugh as Leif yanked her into his lap.
Muscles flexed under her bottom, and she sucked down an indecent noise. A hand splayed over her stomach, his thumb stroking it possessively. Soft lips pressed a reverent kiss to her jaw before he whispered in her ear.
“Hjartað mitt. You are too beautiful for this world. You make it hard to want to share you with others. Right now, I wish to steal you away.”
He banded a forearm over her thighs, securing her to him. Amund raised his mead to her in a simple salute, pulling a laughing Astrid into his lap. She gripped herhusband’s chin. He grinned, pecking her cheek and handing her his ale as a peace offering.
