Page 78 of Heart of the Wolf
All she wanted was her wolf, and to be wrapped up in his arms.
A chorus of screams muffled by snot-ridden sobs echoed off the walls, mixing with the crack of bones. Too tired to hold her head up any longer, Brielle stared at the dried puddle of blood between her feet.
Sleep called to her.
It wasn’t long before the hoarse screams faded into the distance. Thunderous steps rattled the walls, a massiveshadow pausing before her. Slowly, Brielle lifted her head, smiling at the bloodied wolf before her.
Her eyes fluttered, struggling to stay open, and Leif returned to his human form.
Scratches from Herja’s frivolous assault marked his chest and face, new scars mingling with the old.
Dropping to his knees, he undid the straps around her wrists before settling between her thighs and resting his head on her belly.
Weakly, Brielle reached out, her hands nearly numb from the lack of blood. She cradled his head to her stomach, willing their baby to kick, hoping to give Leif a moment of joy.
One side of her mouth lifted when their sweet baby did just that, making a single tear leak from his eye.
“We’re alright, Úlfr. See, our baby is strong,” she said, kissing the top of his head, wiping the lone tear from his face.
“Like her mother.” His gaze drifted to the cut on her face before eyeing the more worrisome one on her arm. “Too pure for scars, hjartað mitt,” he said, gingerly rubbing his thumb over the bloody marks etched into her skin. “Not your burden.”
Featherlight kisses trailed over the tender flesh, the firelight reflecting the scarlet stain on his beard.
“This one is for you. I wear it proudly,” she murmured, leaning into his chest and echoing the words he once told her.
Shaking his head, he ripped sheets of fabric from his tunic, wrapping her wound.
“Come,” he said, the familiar command returning to his voice. Leif stood, effortlessly lifting Brielle to his chest. “Time for us to go home.”
Chapter twenty-one
Brielle
Sleepily, Brielle rolled her head into the hard planes of Leif’s chest. She ran her fingers over the exposed scars on his arms, allowing the gentle sway of him carrying her to ease her stiff muscles. Cracked lips and scruff brushed her temple, Leif kissing her and muttering quiet words in Norse.
“Sól mín.”My sun.
“Pú ert örugg með mér.”You are safe with me.
“Allt mun verða vel.”All will be well.
Once they stepped outside, the bright sun assaulted her eyes, renewing the pounding in her head. Brielle groaned, turning her face into Leif before rolling back to see Amund and Astrid waiting for them.
Of course, he didn’t leave. He wouldn’t. Not without Leif and Brielle with them.
“Úlfr,” he grunted, the veins in his arm flexing.
Though her vision was blurry and still adjusting to the light, Brielle followed the strained muscles of Amund’s arm. His fingers were nestled in a mop of mousey brown hair, caked with dirt.
On her knees, Vala sobbed, her nails scratching uselessly at Amund’s unrelenting grip.
Silver from the head of his axe gleamed in the sunlight, the blade resting threateningly against Vala’s slender neck. Others in the village paid the crying girl little mind, dipping their heads at Leif before shuffling into their homes.
“I told you to leave,” Leif said, looking from the thrashing girl back to Amund.
“I left the building,” he smirked. Astrid stayed tucked into Amund’s side, avoiding looking at Vala. “This one,” Amund hissed, tugging on Vala’s hair. “Helped Herja. On your word, Konungr.”
Amund tightened his grip on her hair, pressing the blade further into Vala’s throat.
