Page 19 of A Darkness So Sweet

He blinked. “I do not need to. I know your name is Maia.”

Right, of course he did. But that didn’t mean... She took a deep breath and told herself to be brave. “Then may I ask what your name is?”

The troll sucked in a deep breath, and she thought for a moment that she’d asked something wrong. Perhaps she wasn’t ever supposed to ask for her husband’s name. Maybe that was against their traditions. “You know my name. It was told to you by my king and all others when your father and him made this deal.”

But she hadn’t been there. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you?—”

“It’s Ragnar,” he snarled. And there was anger in those words. “You forget the name of your mate and yet insist I remain a gentleman? You have followed none of the rules that were set out for you. You are a weak mate, a delicate creature who will be broken in these woods long before you learn to walk in them.”

Suddenly those big hands were around her waist, lifting her from the trunk and carrying her toward the bed. Her legs dangled in the air, and though she grabbed at his wrists for stability, she was once again too small. Too weak. Everything that he said she was.

Ragnar placed her down on the furs, surprisingly gentle for the rage that seemed to blister through him. Maia lost her breath as he planted his knee between her legs, pinning her in place by the shirt he’d given her.

And now she was surrounded by him, his scent, his clothing. The furs smelled of him. A strangely citrus scent that was both clean and surprisingly... nice. She hadn’t thought a troll would smell nice, and yet, here it was. Here he was.

Crouched above her, one thick thigh parting hers and anger on his features. But he was still gentle as he reached for her hair. He caught a curl between his fingers, then wrapped it around his massive pointer finger.

“I prayed for a troll wife,” he murmured, his voice deep and low. “A beautiful woman with lavender or pale blue skin. A wife who would let me tattoo my clan markings onto her skin, and who would wear my piercings with pride. But your pale skin would crack and bleed.”

That blunt finger trailed along her bottom lip, and she drew in a deep breath at the sudden sizzle of awareness that flooded through her body. At his touch, all she could think was that he felt... heavy. A weight she welcomed because it calmed and stilled her anxious mind. He prodded her lips, willing her to open them so that he could trail the pad of his finger along her teeth.

“No tusks,” he said. “Not even fangs. You cannot understand the qualities I am missing from the wife I was promised.”

Pity made her heart ache. She knew she wasn’t what he’d expected, but from the sounds of it, neither was the princess. “I thought you wanted someone with elven blood?”

His gaze hardened. “What use have I for a bride with porcelain skin and fragile glass appendages? I wanted a sturdy wife, a hard wife, one who would survive the harsh winters and the beckoning skies. What shall I do with an elven bride?”

But then his eyes flicked to her ears again, and something deeply troubled crossed his expression. Because he had to know now, in some way, that she wasn’t who he’d been promised.

She opened her mouth to tell him just that, only to freeze as his knee came up and pressed against her core. They both froze at his movement, staring at each other as heat flooded through her body. She didn’t know why she was reacting like this, only that she was surrounded by him. His scent. His need. It all swelled around her and she was overwhelmed by it.

Ragnar leaned closer, his lips nearly pressed against hers. She could feel the heat of him spreading through her entire body. Her own breath came in tiny pants, puffing against the stone wall of his body.

“We wouldn’t even fit,” he murmured, before he was gone. Cold air rushed in where he had been and she took in a deep, shuddering breath. The light went out, and the tent flap swung as he left.

ChapterEight

RAGNAR

There was the slightest hint of a fight in her, Ragnar realized that night. She’d been trying to tell him something and even though he had interrupted and pushed, she’d still tried to speak. Even then, though, she had only the most meager arguments.

Fear dogged his steps all night. He tried to consider all the things that could possibly go wrong. His little wife needed food more than anything else. Of course, he would have to carry more water for her as well when they were running. He’d caught her sipping from the stream while she bathed, so she must have been thirsty.

Clothing would be the most necessary, though. She wasn’t warm enough with fall edging away from summer and toward winter. Not with the shirt that he had brought her, and certainly not with that wedding dress.

So he’d spent his evening bartering. There were things he could do that others couldn’t. His healing touch was renowned among the trolls, and if he offered those services, then he was usually able to get something in return. Shoes that would fit her feet a little better, although they had been created on this journey. A dress that might fit her form, although it had been made for a much younger troll. A cloak that wasn’t yet finished, so it was considered far too short for the owner just yet. Pieces and parts of what he should have already had for her, and yet, he hadn’t the time to prepare for a human.

It took him the better part of the night. And when he’d returned, she’d been tucked underneath his furs so deeply that he’d thought he had lost her for a few moments. Then he’d seen the small lump beneath the blankets rising and falling with her deep, even breaths.

It was enough. At least she hadn’t died in her sleep. Perhaps there was hope for her yet.

Glowering at her for the rest of the night, he stared as she slept through even the loudest ruckus. His people rarely slept as much as humans, and if they did sleep, it was only for brief spurts. Apparently, that was not the same for humans.

She slept through the revelry of his people and he missed it all because... well, he was just looking at her. Only the peak of her forehead and the tip of her nose showing through his furs, and still, he was fascinated by the sight of it.

So many differences. So much he did not know about this woman.

He wanted to ask her more questions than he knew how to verbalize. What was it like growing up with her people? Did she know how to hunt, to fish, to live as she was meant to live? Probably not. She didn’t hear the earth singing the way the trolls did, nor would her people be able to find the deep mines where the crystals and gems had been birthed.

---