Page 74 of Heart of the Wolf
Yet, many young thralls milled about here, trepidation evident on their sallow faces, pointing to this clan’s defiance of his laws.
Or rather, two specific people, swaying the others.
Among the thralls were women and men who openly greeted Leif, dipping their chins in respect at his advance. He ignored them for now, focused on one thing.
Mate. Mate. Mate.
His wolf chanted it over and over again, like a broken prayer to the gods. Leif paced back and forth, circling the vibrant longhouse in the center of the village.
“In there?” Amund asked, jutting his chin in the direction of the building.
Leif nodded, his nose working furiously at the overwhelming scent of his kona. It soothed him at first.
Soon, her sweetness mixed with the metallic tang of blood, threatening to rip apart the last dredges of control he had, making him give in fully to his wolf. But with her smell came the foul stench of another he had long forgotten. Someone he wished to be rid of for years, but duty forbade him from scorching her from this plane.
But now, blood had threatened his blood, and nothing would stop him from spilling it.
His kin had been allowed to maintain this settlement. And they had defied him, doing as they wished, taking thralls and who knew what else.
Many disagreed with him, but few were brave enough to face him, hiding like cowards. At least Styrr had faced him like a man. But now his kin stood against him.
They stole his soul. Took her instead of clashing steel with steel.
Outside the longhouse stood a frail thrall, a fresh bruise on the young girl’s face. Her shoulders shook, and her knees knocked as Leif’s wolf approached. A low growl vibrated his chest and the ground beneath him.
The girl was told to wait for him, no matter how much it frightened her. He had to fight against the desire to rip out her throat, knowing she had something to do with Brielle’s capture.
They stopped at the entrance, Leif pawing at the ground to prevent him from attacking the thrall. Finally,she looked up from the dirt, offering an awkward bow. When she tried to speak, her teeth chattered as she covered the bruise on her cheek.
“Speak, girl,” Amund hissed, spit flying from his mouth. “Do you have a message from your mistress?” he added, slightly softer.
She nodded, her jaw quivering. Leif took an ounce of pity on the thrall, covering her foot with his paw.
Inhaling a sharp gasp, the girl locked her wide, doe-eyes on the wolf. For a minute, the dark irises and smattering of freckles reminded him of a younger version of his kona.
“Only Konungr and his jarl may pass,” she said.
A pathetic excuse for a dagger dangled limply in her hand, and Leif didn’t stop the huffing snort that puffed from him. The girl skittered back into the longhouse with the sound, dropping the dagger before frantically picking it up again.
Leif’s icy eyes turned to Amund, who nodded.
“Your mistress has destined you for Helheim, girl,” Amund huffed, the wide-eyed girl shaking in response, tears staining her cheeks. “Are they harmed?”
“No,” the girl blurted.
Without another word, Amund pushed on the door with his axe, opening it to the dingy meeting space. Leif padded behind him, his massive paws thundering ominously as he moved. Fire raged in the hearth, flameslicking the stone as smoke billowed out of the holes in the roof.
A whimpering howl ripped from deep in his chest at the sight in the middle of the room. Astrid smiled sweetly, her blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. Her arms were bound behind the rickety wood seat, but otherwise, she looked unharmed, her cerulean eyes sparkling at Amund.
In another chair sat his kona, her dress torn and her face swollen and bloody. Knotted curls cascaded down her back, dirt caked in the braids that framed her face. His icy eyes trailed slowly to the swell of her belly. Leif paced hurriedly in front of Amund, snapping his jaw toward the woman, who was chuckling between the chairs.
Black, gnarled braids bracketed her bony cheeks. A knowing smirk grew on the woman’s face as she pressed the tip of her dagger into Brielle’s stomach.
Mate. Mate. Mate.
Leif shook his head, forcing himself to regain control. He could not give in completely to his wolf. Not yet.
“Welcome, son of my sister,” she sneered, running the dagger from Brielle’s navel to the hollow of her throat and back again.
