Page 43 of Heart of the Wolf
With those words, the sheen around his eyes melted, revealing something tender only for her. His lips caressed her temple. “Brave. Beautiful girl.”
“Be safe,” she said, her lips resting on his jaw. “You promised me pleasure, and you can’t do that if you’re hurt.”
If Astrid and Amund heard them, they acted otherwise. A sound of approval vibrated in Leif’s throat as he gripped her hips, yanking her hard.
“I’ve created a needy little kona.”
“Yes,” she said, inhaling the smell of pine and smoke that reminded her of him. “You should fix it.”
“Soon,” he cooed. “Amund.”
The command came out harsher than his previous words as he jutted his chin in the jarl’s direction. Nails scratched along her scalp, urging her mouth to meet his. She groaned, her back arching to give him better access.
Amund cleared his throat, and Leif broke away. Heat suffused her cheeks. Steel sparkled in the firelight when Leif took the offered axe from Amund. Obsidian dyed leather wrapped around the hilt, a series of runes engraved into the material.
He effortlessly feathered the weapon in his hands as they walked outside, where everyone awaited. Leif appeared in his element like he was born to fight, and if the stories of Odin were to be believed, maybe he was.
In the open air of the village, the endless sea of people appeared more intimidating than when they were all crammed into the longhouse. Perhaps it was the never-ending gazes that tracked their movements the moment they passed the threshold. Leif held Brielle at his side, his axe at the other, leveling an icy glare at Styrr.
The bravado the blacksmith held in the longhouse doubled in the center of the village. The hard line of his chin jutted out, the sight making joy spark in Leif’s eyes like a flickering flame. A burst of wind cut through the crowd, blowing her hair in the breeze. Styrr’s knuckles turned white as meaty fingers curled around the shaft of his spear, the polished steel gleaming in the setting sun.
Leif squeezed her hand, about to move into the center with Styrr when she yanked him back. Specks of silver ignited into a mercurial, molten heat in his eyes. Smiling softly, Brielle lifted the hand with his axe, brushing her lips over the cold metal of the blade. Her lips twitched when a feral sound echoed in Leif’s chest.
More wolf than man in that moment, Leif pulled her in by her nape. He claimed her as his, leaving her mouth bruised after the primal display.
The hushed din of voices turned deathly quiet when Leif took his place opposite Styrr. The distant hooting of owls echoed from the woods as torches illuminated the two men. The shadows of the flames highlighted Leif’s porcelain skin, making him look like a ghostly figure as streams of starlight bounced off the steel of his blade.
A smattering of laughter broke out when Leif mock bowed and gestured to Styrr.
Sandy brown hair blew behind him as he advanced on Leif, his spear clung tight in his outstretched hand. The nerves buried deep inside her fluttered to the surface. Brielle dug her nails into Astrid’s delicate hand, which was gently clasped in hers. Dazzling blue eyes found hers. They were serene, not a flicker of distress marring the beautiful irises. Astrid’s calmness eased Brielle, the lump in her throat loosening.
With his chin raised, Amund observed the duel, his arms crossed and his jaw tight.
Where Styrr’s strikes were wide and powerful, Leif took unhurried, deliberate swings, almost like he was bored. Styrr fought with the raw, unrefined power of a berserker, his spear moving in an ungraceful arc, but no less imposing.
Brielle worried her lip, knowing that if one of those strikes connected, it could prove lethal.
Leif moved with chilling determination. Each swipe of his axe purposeful and controlled, matching the precise positioning of his feet.
Lacking Leif’s finesse, Styrr grew frustrated. Scarlet flushed his cheeks as sweat beaded off his brow. All the while, Leif had barely broken a sweat, a lazy, confident grin gracing his relaxed features.
Seeing an opening, Styrr attacked.
A snarl hissed through Leif’s clenched jaw when the points of Styrr’s spear slashed through his tunic. Blood stained the silken top, and Brielle choked down a strangled cry. Leif’s playfulness from earlier shifted into something predatory, and his advances turned deadly. Brielle fixed her face, forcing it expressionless, aware of the attention focused on her.
Based on how slowly the wound bled, it was most likely superficial. People looked at her like a Dróttning; she had to be fearless, outwardly at least.
Some watched the fight and some watched Brielle, their curious gazes searching her for signs of distress. She projected herself as composed and unworried.
Even if she was anything but, on the inside.
Another restrained hiss fell from Leif’s cracked lips. A muscle in her jaw jumped when Styrr’s spear bit into Leif again, streaks of scarlet dripping down his forearm.
Leif ducked a haphazard swing, sending Styrr off balance as his spear failed to meet its target. In this split second, Leif pounced, homing in like a wolf with its prey cornered. Leif dragged his axe across Styrr’s shins, sending muddy streams of blood spilling onto the stone and snow.
A ghostly howl pierced the night, sending birds soaring into the darkness from their boughs. Styrr collapsed to his knees at Leif’s feet.
Pain laced his features, and he spat on the ground, sneering up at Leif, resigned to his fate. Finally allowing herself to breathe, Brielle clutched her chest with each icy exhale. She watched Leif’s lips move, unable to hear his words over the din of murmuring voices.
