Page 55 of Wulver's Flame
I stepped out of the longhouse and moved quietly to Vargr’s side. I didn’t say a word, just stood close enough that our arms nearly touched.
His warriors stood further back. Some watched from the shade, and some were sparring in the open clearing. Their grunts and the soft thud of fists filled the air. Brynhild rushed past behind us, carrying a basket, shouting at one of the thralls to fetch more water for the stew. She was preparing food and drink for our unexpected guests.
I looked ahead.
They were coming on foot—my kin. My heart twisted as I saw my father, a giant red-headed man with a braided beard streaked with grey. He looked older. Worn. But still stood tall.
Naillan was the only one not walking. He sat atop a shaggy pony, trying to look like a warrior with his chin lifted and back straight.
I smiled.
My brother was growing up. Any day now, he would be sent off to train in the household of one of our allies, just like I was meant to be sent off in marriage. Except I ended up here. Claimed by a beast.
Naillan spotted me and slid from the pony’s back, feet barely hitting the ground before he broke into a run, but halfway, he slowed to a walk, remembering he was meant to be a man now.
It didn’t matter.
I lifted my skirts and ran for him.
He dropped all pretence when I met him halfway, arms thrown around my neck. I swung him off the ground, holding him tightly as he laughed into my shoulder.
“You’re still too little to be a man,” I said into his hair.
“I miss yae, Liù,” he whispered.“So much.”
My throat clenched. A lump swelled there, and tears burned my eyes. I held him for a moment longer, then forced myself to set him down.
He didn’t move far. Just stepped to my side and clutched my dress, staring at the Norsemen with wide eyes.
Across the field, the Dunraith warriors eyed Vargr’s men. The Vikings did the same, one or two reaching for weapons at their belts—but none were drawn. Not yet.
I spotted Fergus among them.
Odd. I felt nothing. Not even a flicker.
Then I saw my father approaching.
He walked straight toward me, his heavy steps firm. No hesitation.
I froze.
Before I could speak, Vargr moved behind me, silent and steady. His presence pressed against my back like a wall.
I didn’t need to look at him to know what it meant.
Solidarity, protection and possession, and I wasn’t sure which one scared me more.
Chapter 25
Vargr
My eyes never left my mate. Sigurd and Bjorn knew to watch the Dunraith men closely so my focus could remain where it belonged—on Liùsaidh. I tensed when she broke into a run, but it was for her brother. My relief warred with irritation.
My men stared at Liùsaidh. Not with lust, they valued their lives too much, but with wariness. She was mine. And they’d never seen me like this. I didn’t care if it made them nervous. It should.
When her father stepped forward, I clenched my jaw and moved behind her and the boy, silent but present. The bond churned with her disjointed emotions—nostalgia, fear, guilt. She had wounded us deeply when the shame first flooded through.
She’d spent the night-watching wrapped around my cock, moaning my name, taking my knot like it was her birthright. But the moment her father was mentioned, she looked at me like I was filth.
