Page 116 of Storm of Fury
Once upon a time, she would never have lain naked beside a man like this, but she knew he wouldn’t touch her without her permission.
“I never thought about that,” he murmured in the darkness, rolling toward her. “You’re hundreds of years old. And here I am, regretting what you don’t have.”
“My family was never like yours.”
Her mother would never have cooked her dinner like that, nor would she have greeted any prospective suitor who sat at her table with politeness. Men made you weak, and food was a matter of necessity, not a social gathering.
You ate to survive, you slept in your barracks, and there were frequent tests to prove your worth. Sometimes her mother had sent her out into the snow to survive for weeks on end. Only a weak daughter desired blankets and warm food. If you couldn’t kill it, then you didn’t eat, and if you didn’t eat, then you couldn’t fight.
You never complained.
You never desired more.
To serve your god as his chosen warrior was the only calling you could ever aspire to, and even then, you would always have to prove yourself.
She was Kára of Valmar’s daughter, and she was not weak.
“You don’t speak of your family often,” he murmured, and she sensed the blankets shifting at her back. “Actually, you don’t speak of them at all. Nor your past.”
Bryn closed her eyes. “What is there to say? I was Valkyrie, and now I am not. I have no home. I have no family. Mortal blood flows through my veins. All I have is this.”
“Your blood is not weak, Bryn.” A hand came to rest upon her hip through the roughened blanket. “You’re the most amazing woman I have ever met.”
Her heart caught in her chest.
He barely knew the truth. He was still looking at her through a fantastical gaze, seeing something that wasn’t there.
She rolled onto her back, looking up at him in the moonlight. “When this is over, I will walk away and I will never think of you again. I won’t regret leaving you, Tormund.”
He leaned down, brushing a soft kiss to her mouth. “I know.”
“Did you not hear me?” she demanded, her heart beating a little fast in her ears.
He held himself above her, resting on his elbows. “I heard you. But I don’t think your words were meant for me. I think you’re trying to remind yourself.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. He was such an infuriating man. “Do you always have to sound so certain?”
He hovered over her, the thin stream of moonlight picking out the contours of his jaw as her eyes grew accustomed to the dark. “I’m not certain sometimes, Bryn. Especially about you.” He hesitated. “But maybe if I say it enough times, then some god will hear me and breathe life into my wishes. Maybe this one time, I will get what I’ve always wanted.”
Bryn’s breath caught in her chest. There was no sign of his usual self-deprecating air. “And what do you want?”
He kissed her. Sweetly. And it was answer enough.
“I want to matter,” he finally said, lifting his mouth from hers. “I want someone to fight for me. Someone to think me worthy—”
“Youareworthy.”
“Of them. I want forever in someone’s arms. I want… something of my own. A home. A family. A life. Love. Forever.”
Bryn couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. She stroked her fingertips against his lips as tears sprang to her eyes.
“And I want someone who is willing to fight forme,” he finally said, bending down but not quite kissing her. “I will give my heart, Bryn. Without reservation. But if I had one wish in the world, it would be this: For someone to love me the way that I love them.”
And then he captured her mouth with a heated kiss, as if he couldn’t bear to hear her answer.
Because not even Bryn knew what it would be.
Twenty-Two
