Page 8 of Heart of the Wolf
Not the place she had lived for years, wandering like a shadow amongst its streets.
No, a place where she belonged and was loved.
This man didn’t instill fear like the two in the woods had. Being near him was like it was with the wolf, an instant comfort. There was a familiarity in his eyes, something known to her in the beating of his heart. It called to her likea ship’s beacon in the night. As she clung to his tunic, his grip around her grew tighter, reassuring her through his touch that she had nothing to fear.
Sleepily, she found his stare focused on her, his mouth drawn in a severe line with a slight furrow pronounced on his brow.
The man spoke in a thick accent, Norse words mingling with the English ones. The harsh timbre lathed over her in a comforting cadence that soothed her in a way she had never felt before.
“You cared for me,” he murmured, the ghost of a smile glinting on his lips. “I am here for you, hjartað mitt.”
Chapter three
Brielle
Brielle awoke to a crackling noise that sounded like a log catching fire. With her eyes still closed, fingertips brushed over her heated skin, and she realized she hadn’t died.
Everything blurred together. She did not know how long she had been out for. The last thing she remembered must have been a dream. There was a giant white wolf that saved her and then spent the night curled up with her in a cave after she healed its leg.
That meant her Dane had also been a dream. As he always was. How could something shenever had hurt so badly? Even the memory of a man she never spoke to made tears glimmer in the corners of her eyes.
The pad of her thumb skittered along the raised, cracked skin of her lips. Dried blood coated them, and she licked it away, bringing her knees to her chest.
Wherever she was, it was comfortable. The bed was much softer than anything she had slept in before, lined with thick furs and lustrous silk sheets. She’d only touched silk once before, much less owned any.
A sharp breath hissed through her teeth, and she lifted the furs, relieved to see she was still in her woolen shift. Beside her, the remnants of her cloak and bodice sat strewn over a bench, and within reach, lay her sword propped against the bed.
This wasn’t like any cabin back home.
A dozen tapestries hung along the walls, with a large, roaring hearth at its center. A handful of pelts were displayed proudly alongside the tapestries, flanked by ornate ceremonial weapons. At least, she assumed they were decorative based on how the unblemished steel gleamed in the firelight.
Surprisingly, it was large, wherever she was, with what looked to be other rooms out of sight.
Back home, Brielle’s lodgings were quaint. Practical. She required little. It had a stiff bed, a rickety bench, andone chest that held all her belongings, which wasn’t much. A small fire pit sat in the middle to keep her warm.
In contrast, this place was grand. The sudden sting in her head shook her free from her reminiscing, reminding her how she had gotten here.
On the other side of the bed sat a skin of water and a plate of apples, parsnips, and hazelnuts.
She drained the water and picked over the food, staving off the pain in her belly and head. Fingers snagged on the knotted, messy coils of hair as she ran a hand through it, fighting a hopeless battle.
“Of course,” she mumbled, plucking a twig from her curls and tossing it aside.
It was impossible to manage in the best of times. Now it was unruly, caked with mud, twigs, and blood. She was every bit the unkempt girl her father always accused her of being.
Someone had stoked the fire, brought her food, and stripped her down to her shift. Her head fell to her knees as her thoughts ran wild.
Those ash eyes twinkled in her memory. They swirled like calm waters, pierced by silver storm clouds.
Where was the man who carried her here? His eyes called to her. While pressed against his chest, her heart beat in tandem with his. Steady and sure like the seas.
Wood groaned in the distance, drawing her gaze to the source. A broad-chested man filled the space, blocking the sun with his imposing figure. Bright jade eyes glared at her, his olive skin framed with dark mahogany braids.
It was the jarl who came to her village for the past few years.
Sweat gathered on her brow, and Brielle scurried back on the bed, eyes darting around until they landed on her sword.
She was alone.
