Page 60 of Wulver's Flame
“I was scared the child would kill me—like it did my mother—” she whispered, trailing off.
I exhaled slowly, relief bleeding into the bond. Many mortal women perished in childbirth, their bodies too frail for the task, but Fenrir had blessed his wolves with strength and life. My flameheart would not only endure, but thrive.
“Nothing like that will happen to you, my sweet. We live longer. We do not die easily.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, voice small.“My mother…she died.”
She looked away, and it stung more than it should have. She would have been a pup when she lost her mother. My flameheart was hurting.
I reached for her hands and gently tugged her upright.
“There was only one of me in this new land. Sköll was broken before you. I know you don’t believe in Fenrir’s blessing, but this fate, our bond? It is real and it is unbreakable,” I said, sitting on the bed to pull her onto my lap.
“Weare unbreakable,” I murmured against her hair.
If the Gods ever tried to take her from me, I would tear the sky down in protest.
? ? ?
“She is prohibited from working in the kitchen, Brynhild. If I find her in here again—”
“Já, já, you will boil me in a vat of hot oil,” she shot back, waving a hand.“Between that and getting my head smashed with a clay pot, I barely sleep at night.”
I shook my head at her. I preferred it when she feared me, but I said nothing and took the platter from her hands.
Sköll sat to attention as we went to our mate. He refused to let me stray more than six paces from her. I understood the need to keep her safe, but he was becoming insufferable.
No sooner had I opened the door than her scent rolled over us, and by the Gods, it was not for food.
Her mischievous eyes peered out from beneath the furs, flame-red curls tumbling around her in lusty abundance. I barely paused to set the platter on the chest before shedding my clothes.
“I scent you are not hungry for food this morning sun,” I growled, stepping toward the bed.
She giggled and tossed the furs aside. Her long tunic had ridden up over her milky thighs, the fabric caught beneath the swell of her belly.
“Did you give Brynhild her daily threat?” she pouted when I climbed onto the bed, dripping over the furs as I reached her.
“I did. You’ve spoiled her. She no longer trembles when I enter the kitchen,” I said, peeling back the furs to uncover her swollen belly.
Fat with our pup. Glowing and as heavy as the full moon. A sight that made my cock ache and my chest tighten all at once.
“Brynhild fears no one,” she snorted.“Did you know she threw a spear at Bjorn’s head?”
“I think those two need to fuck or kill one another,” I muttered, parting her thighs.
Honey. Spring blossoms. Fire and wildflowers.
Her scent had changed with the pregnancy—richer, sharper, impossible to ignore. Nature’s trick to keep her mate near. To keep me feral with need. She only slept now with her pert nose buried in my neck. The place she bit when she was still fully mortal.
“I know which will make Brynhild happy even if she denies it,” she murmured, dragging her fingers through my hair.
I did not care. All I could see was my mate’s glistening, gaping bloom.
I gripped her tunic and carefully tugged it off, groaning when I saw her heavy breasts. The rosy tips of her nipples were fatter, perfect to suck on.
Her beauty mark and freckles were my roadmap to Valhalla. She shifted restlessly before placing her foot on my belly.
“Always hungry for more, no matter how many times I knot your sweet cunt,” I rasped before running my hand down her leg.
