Page 41 of Heart of the Wolf
The scene surrounding them devolved, general drunkenness running rampant through the throngs of people. Leif left his ale untouched. Instead, he watched his people and whispered sweet, filthy words only for Brielle to hear. She still wasn’t confident this wasn’t one of her dreams, scarcely believing he was real.
“How hard will you come for me tonight? They all know you are mine. Will you quiver in my arms?”
Scarlet flamed her chest, that same heat making another ache bloom between her thighs. Brielle wiggled in his lap, the length of him pressing into the curve of her ass. Not once had she bothered to observe the crowd; her attention focused on the besotted man blowing hot air over her thrumming pulse.
Leif jutted his chin at Amund in a wordless order.
Amund stood, bellowing a command that shook the hall and quieted the crowd. Every eye in the room landed on her and Leif, and for the first time, uncertainty swam in her belly. Her heart stammered like a thundering herd of horses. Leif’s large palm curled around her nape in a possessive grip that steadied her.
“Relax. Remember, you have nothing to fear in my arms,” he said, his words soothing her.
Keeping her in his lap, Leif spoke, his voice a commanding echo. Everyone hung on his words, nodding and raising their mugs. She only caught a few of them: kona, the gods, Freyja, and her name.
While everyone already knew of his intent to marry her, this was his official proclamation to all the clans. A declaration more binding than any contract. The longer he spoke, the more exuberant the crowd became, excited to celebrate their Konungr’s marriage.
A content leader boded well for them all.
Leif ended with an unfamiliar word, only for everyone to chant it back, raising their drinks in a toast. Leif stole a demanding kiss from her, making their guests roar and bang their mugs on the tables.
Undeterred by their audience, Brielle ran her fingers along his nape, giving his braid a tug. A sly smile greeted her, his eyes darkening as he raked his gaze over her curves, pausing at the swell of her breasts.
“Úlfr. When will you make me come?” she asked, his name a wanton plea.
“Greedy girl,” he said, nipping her jaw. “Can you be patient for me?”
A scuffle broke out near their feet as voices turned from drunken stumbling to something unsettling. Leif shuffled Brielle from his lap. Shoving her into Amund’sarms, who moved her further back until Astrid stood with her, out of the way.
Someone cloaked in darkness rose before Leif, disgust plastered on his face. Spit flew from his mouth as he shouted. Leif remained stoic; his arms crossed over his chest as his nostrils flared and a vein in his throat pulsed. Amund stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Leif, his face an expressionless mask.
Brielle watched; her mouth parted in confusion. It was the blacksmith. A muffled scream fell from her as he unsheathed his sword. Astrid covered Brielle’s mouth, so no one heard, holding her back with surprising strength.
The blacksmith gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands before striking it into the ground. He kneeled before it, hissing a string of venomous words.
“What just happened?” Brielle asked, afraid of the answer.
“Styrr does not want an outsider to marry our Konungr. He has challenged Leif for the right to lead the clans,” Astrid said.
Chapter eleven
Brielle
Amuscle in Leif’s jaw ticked while the veins on his hands flexed, twitching by the hilt of his axe. Amund stood a pace behind him, a palm clenched on his shoulder. Styrr glared at Leif, rising from his knees and spewing more hateful words. The room was quiet, save for Styrr and his speech, all eyes watching the scene unfolding.
Finally, Styrr said something that made Leif laugh, a dark, emotionless sound, before sharing a bemused look with Amund. He took two slow steps down from the dais until the men were almost touching. Leif was taller than Styrr, but not by much. The man didn’t have the visible scars Leif did. For being a blacksmith, his body showed few signs of battle.
Leif tapped two fingers on his chin. Almost bored. He glowered at Styrr like he was a bothersome gnat, needing to be snuffed out with the heel of his boot.
Sweat itched Brielle’s palms, her mouth painfully dry. The only thing holding her nerves at bay was his confident demeanor.
Leif murmured a threat, causing a smattering of sniggers to break out among their guests. Despite her racing heart, her voice was steady as she whispered to Astrid.
“What are they saying?”
Smooth hands stroked along her arm as Astrid tried to soothe her, wiping away the gooseflesh that rippled there.
“Styrr called Leif a coward. Dared him to accept the challenge and forego his wolf. Face him as a man. Leif agreed and said, ‘You bark loudly, little dog. Let’s see if your yelp matches your bite.’ That he would end him with his own hands.”
Blood turned to ice in her veins when Styrr sneered at her, licking his lips and cocking his head with a maniacal grin. His eyes traveled a slow trail over her, cataloging the curves of her waist, humming a low, appreciative noise.
