Page 67 of Storm of Fury
“But the guilt will be mine.”
She broke from the river as swiftly as she could move, water sluicing down her naked body. And she knew he watched her go, hunger darkening his eyes.
But she didn’t look back.
To surrender to mercy now would be to lose everything she’d ever yearned for. She couldn’t come so close, only to fail now.
She could restore her name and her sisters’ faith in her. She could return to the only home that had ever opened its doors to her. She could be immortal again. Brave and fearless and knowing nothing of this cursed doubt that had dogged her steps ever since she was cast into oblivion.
Bryn’s hand closed around the ring in the pocket of her shirt, and she rubbed her thumb over it, bringing it to her lips. “I have him,” she whispered.
The ring instantly warmed as Bryn slipped it on. She twirled it on her finger, feeling a little uncomfortable with the sensation, but done was done.
Time to end this now, before she could break the giant fool’s heart.
Tormund deserved to know the truth.
Even if he never looked at her again the way he did now.
Thirteen
Tormund woke the next morning,the itch of unfulfilled desire aching within him. Which was a hell of an awkward way to wake when one was surrounded by two other males. Scrubbing his hand over his face, he cocked his knee under his blankets so Haakon—who was stoking the fire—didn’t notice, and then shifted his aching erection.
He didn’t know what he’d done to drive Bryn from the water yesterday morning—and his arms—but it had something to do with what he’d said.
You’re so perfect. So fucking beautiful. Brave. Loyal. Powerful. And mine, Bryn. All mine.
Fuck.
He’d gone too far, too fast. And she’d fled.
You idiot. You know she’s guarded.
And the second she’d lowered her shield just a fraction, he’d shoved his way through with all the brute finesse of a wounded bull.
“Morning,” Haakon murmured, setting the frypan on the coals.
Tormund grunted and pushed onto his elbows. There was no sign of Bryn. Not that he’d expected it. The ruins they’d found to camp in were devoid of sexy, frustrating women.
“Sleepless night?” Haakon murmured with a faint quirk to his lips. “Or a lonely one, judging by the look of you?”
Tormund tossed his boot at the bastard. Damn it. “I would have slept better if some fool wasn’t snoring like a wounded dragon beside me.”
“Bryn doesn’t snore that loudly.”
“I was talking about you.”
Haakon pushed to his feet, tossing Tormund’s boot up and catching it. “She clearly didn’t sleep any better. She took off an hour ago. Haven’t seen her since. Said she wanted to clear her head, which I thought meant she wanted to get away from you.”
Tormund scowled. “Thanks. You let her go off alone?”
They’d flown for miles yesterday, with Marduk trying to hone in on his sister’s whereabouts, and while they’d left Queen Zorja’sdrekicourt miles behind them, they were still in the wilderness.
“She can take care of herself,” Haakon pointed out. “She took her sword.”
“I’m not worried about her,” he lied, noting that Bryn’s pack remained, though the merlin was gone too. “If there’s one thing I can count on, it’s for Bryn to be the scariest thing out there on the slopes of this mountain.”
“You look worried.”
