Page 58 of Heart of the Wolf
The terrified sounds of the rest of the village echoed in the distance as Leif lumbered back to her side, making it clear that he had no intention of harming anyone else.
Crimson marred his muzzle, though the rest of his beautiful, white coat was somehow untouched. She palmed the underside of his bloodied snout, her tiny fingers disappearing in the thick fur. Leif nuzzled into her touch, grounding her to him.
In the center of the village lay her father’s mangled body. It didn’t bother her as she expected it might. Rather, an odd sensation of relief eased her.
Another smattering of gasps rang out as Leif shifted back into his human form, blood caked in his beard. His hand ghosted over her nape before he stepped forward.
“It is done,” Leif declared. “You have nothing to fear from us. There is no need to provide us with a cache each winter anymore. If you do not disturb us, we will leave you in peace.”
Hushed whispers murmured amongst the men as Leif turned, taking her face in his hands and kissing her forehead.
“Let us go home, hjartað mitt. There is nothing left for us here.”
Chapter fifteen
Brielle
Acold dread pooled in her gut, heavy and unsettling. It wasn’t quite regret, but more the stark realization that something inside her had changed forever. That an irreparable stain now marked her soul, dimming that pure light she so often admired.
Lost in her thoughts, the silken threads of the horse’s mane glided through her fingertips, her body swaying with its movement. Steely eyes bore into the back of her head. Still, Leif didn’t intrude. Instead, his strong fingers silently stroked her navel, his muscled chest a steadfast anchor against her back during the long ride home.
Once back in the safety of their village, his hands gripped her waist, helping her off their horse. The frost-covered grass crunched under her feet, and a breath misted in front of her as a large figure blocked out the few rays of sun struggling to peek through the clouds.
“Do you wish it were different?”
Despite the smooth timbre of his voice, even Leif struggled to hide the tremble in his words. The hard line of his jaw twitched, dried blood still streaking his tawny beard. Some otherworldly feeling nudged her forward, urging her to comfort his uncertainty. Leif was a contradiction, his hesitant words betraying his tense, battle-worn features.
“No,” she intoned, an unwavering finality in her words.
Relief spread across his face, the creases around his eyes softening. She wouldn’t allow him to believe for one moment that she regretted what he had done. Or, worst of all, that she blamed him. He covered her hand, a slow exhale shaking his chest as he kept her warmth pressed to his skin.
“You are distant. If not that, then what troubles you?”
Footsteps grew quieter as Amund, Liv, and the others left them. Self-doubt slithered into the recesses of her mind, poisoning every good thought until she feared she would never be able to shake it. What if she had confused what it meant to be strong?
To be a Dróttning.
“Am I?” she started, then stopped.
Afraid of what she might find, she looked everywhere but at him until his fingers pinched her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. His heart synchronized with hers, the steady rhythm slowly dissolving the tension sticking to her ribs.
“Am I corrupted… by seeking revenge? You always said you were unworthy of my light.” Her voice cracked. “But now, I fear, it is I, who is unworthy of you.”
A thumb wiped away the tears as they fell. Skilled fingers weaved through hers, their grip reassuring and firm.
“Come,” he said, leaving no room for resistance in the low command.
She instantly obeyed, letting him guide her. The paths surrounding the village were quiet, the usual bustle of activity absent. Soon, the sun would set much earlier, and families would retreat inside before it became too cold.
No one followed them into the snow-covered grove where they had been married. A hushed silence blanketed the meadow, with only the distant sound of hooting owls echoing from far away.
Bright color exploded across the sky as the sun sank into the mountains, painting the snow in a pretty shade of lilac.
The remnants of the pyre from their wedding day still lay in an ashy pit, the snow having melted around it. With a peck to her temple, Leif gathered kindling, reigniting theflame. Trying to hide away, she buried her face in the furs lining the hood on her cloak.
“Look at me, hjartað mitt.”
Unable to deny him, her eyes found his. What she saw looking back at her was too intense, too demanding, too everything.
