Page 23 of Heart of the Wolf
Kona.
She hadn’t heard that word before. Instead of asking what it meant, she pressed her cheek to his chest, listening to the beating of his heart. It thumped, the slow and methodical rhythm calming her own. He didn’t rush her, content to let her stay like that for as long as she wished.
When her tears dried, she stepped back and met his gaze. She huffed a laugh, surprised when he didn’t call her hysterical or ill-mannered for sobbing in front of him. He paused, searching her red-rimmed and puffy eyes.
Satisfied with what he found, he placed his hand low on her back.
“If you are ready, I will show you how to use it,” he said, looking at the blade.
Frosty grass crunched beneath their boots. Others in the village watched them together, some laughing and whispering, others nodding with bright eyes.
The blacksmith, Styrr, was the only one who appeared upset, glaring as he followed their steps through the pathways until he disappeared beyond a towering pillar. Based on her interactions with him, Brielle assumed he was usually grumpy.
Eventually, they arrived in an empty meadow on the outskirts of the forest. Leif removed his satchel, placing his axe beside it on the ground. Standing stone still, Brielle gripped the sword hard enough to turn her knuckles white.
“Breathe, Brielle,” he commanded, his hands resting on her shoulders. “You are too tense. Your body must be calm, like the seas before a storm.”
Nodding, she focused on his eyes. On how the gray swirled with flecks of silver. On an exhale, she let her shoulders fall from their pinched position at her ears. With each breath, she relaxed a little more until the grip on her sword was featherlight.
“Good,” he said, bathing her in his praise. “Fighting is about footwork and speed. One’s skill with one’s weapon is only a tiny part of it. For you, most men will overpower you. You should seek to injure and flee. Most men are slowand stupid and will not chase once bleeding,” he said, winking at her.
A laugh bubbled up, making a dimple crease against her cheeks. After spending most of her life in the woods, Brielle was quick on her feet, having outrun bears and wildcats.
Leif moved behind her, his warm hands bracketing her hips and making her mind go blank. He kicked her feet apart, angling her body.
“Like this,” he murmured. “Your blade should be an extension of your arm. It moves as you do. You are one.”
With one hand still pinching her hip, his other wrapped hers on the leather hilt, adjusting her grip. She choked down an unfamiliar noise. He moved closer, eliminating the rest of the space between them. Despite the nip in the air, sweat trickled along her nape. Heat pooled in her belly, and an ache grew between her legs.
“Now. You want to make small, slicing motions, aiming for your opponent’s weak spots. Calves, ankles, between their legs,” he chuckled, and she flushed.
Brielle allowed him to move her body, guiding her feet and arms as he saw fit. When she was too heavy on her feet, he shifted her hips to keep her on her toes. He murmured sweet praises in her ear, encouraging her with every step.
“You’re doing so well. Try to cut me,” he ordered, and she froze.
“What?”
“Go for my throat.”
“What if I hurt you?”
“You won’t. Your heart won’t allow it,” he said, his eyes full of something that looked like adoration.
With an almost taunting lilt in his gaze, Leif stepped back. Brielle held the sword at her side, firm without being too tight. Dust kicked up under her feet as she attempted to get behind him. Leif didn’t go easy on her, matching her movements until they were circling each other like a pair of fighting stags.
Continuing their slow dance, she considered her options. Running straight at him wouldn’t work. His arms were twice as long as hers. He’d stop her in her tracks before she got close. Getting into an advantageous position wasn’t working either. She didn’t have a chance to sneak up on him. She rolled her lip between her teeth, licking away the beads of crimson.
She wouldn’t overpower him.
So, she did the only thing she could.
She turned and sprinted toward the tree line. At first, Leif didn’t give chase. It wasn’t until she reached the trees that she heard his steps growing louder. With much of the leaf cover gone, she dashed behind a boulder, covering her mouth to quiet her breathing.
“Are you hiding from me?” he asked, his deep voice shaking the barren trees.
Keeping her hand steady, she held her sword in position, watching as his shadow closed in on her hiding spot. Once he was in line with her location, she leaped forward, thrusting the tip of her sword into his chin.
Warmth, pride, and something feral and possessive glowed in the depths of his eyes.
