Page 21 of Heart of the Wolf
In the morning, Brielle mewled a hushed sound. She stretched, aware of the sturdy arms anchoring her to a chiseled chest. A deep voice rumbled in her ear, blowing aside wayward curls. He nuzzled her cheek, the coarse hair of his beard tickling her.
“Too early, hjartað mitt,” he groaned, tightening his hold around her. “Go back to sleep.”
The sun had already crept above the mountains.
Back home, she rose when it was still dark out. It could hardly be called early. If anything, it was late. Before she could chastise him, she paused. What was she to do? She wasn’t at home. There were no children with scraped knees to tend to or overzealous men with tiny cuts, screaming likea woman in childbirth. There were no supplies to sort, no bandages to make, and no herbs to grind into salves.
She shifted higher, resting her back against the wall. Absentmindedly, she toyed with the threads of fur pooling around her hips.
The world spun on, the sun eclipsing the moon once more. It had been two days since she left her village. Yet, somehow, it felt as though it had been a lifetime ago; that place and those people so foreign to her now.
Enough time had passed for people to notice she was missing. Did her father secure a group of men to search for her? Or would he thank God for relieving him of one more burden? What if she couldn’t stay here? A familiar, niggling sadness twinged in her chest.
Was it such an awful thing to want her father’s love?
“Your mind is loud. What ails you?” he asked.
With another disgruntled noise, Leif sat up. His thumb stroked the crease between her brows, leaning forward to peck the tip of her nose. The tender act was so at odds with his roughened exterior, all sharp edges and jagged scars. Brielle shook her head, not bothering to make sense of it.
There was none to be had.
“How long will I stay here?” she asked, wincing at the neediness of the question.
Brielle didn’t do well sitting with the unknown. She craved certainty, something that she often had to dowithout. But Leif had been a constant since her mother died. Even when she believed he was only a spirit visiting her from the other side.
He always came. He would always be honest with her, telling her the truth, no matter how much it hurt her.
At least if he told her to leave now, she could fortify her heart to her reality sooner. A massive hand closed around her chin, cradling her.
“Forever. You belong here with me, with us.” His face contorted into an emotionless mask, his gaze cool and distant as he steeled himself for his next words. “But you are no prisoner here. If you wish to leave, that is your choice. No one will stop you.”
People said many things about her. They called her odd yet clever, noting her brilliance for mending others a close second. If she listened to that part of her mind, she would leave and return to the world she had always known.
But as clever as she was, she was ready to throw all logical thought aside.
In truth, nothing about her and Leif was rational. Everything involving him overruled reasonable thought. For nearly a decade, her heart—or maybe Freyja—guided her steps. It would not bode well to change course now. Especially when being in Leif’s presence calmed a lifetime of loneliness.
His heart sang to hers.
If she left, part of her soul would be lost.
“What do I do here?”
“Whatever you wish,” he said, trailing feather light kisses over her freckles. “Tell me, and it is yours.”
“Will you teach me?” she asked, eyeing her pitiful sword in the corner.
Women in his clan fought. She had seen them. Still, she couldn’t stop the way her heart plummeted into her stomach, fearing she would be met with the same anger the last time she asked a man to show her how to use a sword.
At first, he didn’t react, his face remaining indifferent.
“Where did you get it? It is small and not suited to you.”
“I stole it. From a traveling merchant, when my father refused to get me one.”
His lips twitched, his chest puffing out with pride. Whatever reaction she was suspecting, it wasn’t that. It made her stomach flutter and her thighs clench.
“What a smart girl,” he murmured, slipping out of bed.
