Only broken.
Only dormant.
Waiting to be reborn.
Under the reproachful gaze of her two Valkyrie sisters, Brynhildr removed her swan cloak and solemnly secured it to Himingdrápa’s saddle alongside herValkjósleiðrspear.
“We’ll return for you at dawn.” Skögul’s tone was sharp as her steely gaze.
Kára kissed her cheek and whispered into her ear as she handed her a blanket for warmth—and to conceal her golden Valkyrie armor when she entered Agnar’s fortress. “Drink deeply of your Sea Wolf’s love. It will sustain you when you face Odin’s wrath.”
With a whoosh of wings on a whisper of wind, Kára and Skögul flew west into the setting sun.
Brynhildr remained on the hilltop beneath a small grove of twisted oaks, their roots gripping the cliff as fiercely as she clung to her defiant choice. Below, the fjord gleamed dark and restless, reflecting the last embers of golden light.
When night finally fell, she wrapped the woolen blanket over her head and shoulders, hunching over and dragging a leg as if injured while she made her way toward the entrance to Agnar’s fortress.
“Another wounded,” one of the guards muttered to another. letting her pass through the heavy double doors. “Healers are in the east tower. Victory feast in the Great Hall. Get your wounds treated, then join the revelry.”
Brynhildr grunted in acknowledgment and slipped into the dark castle.
Behind the enormous guarded doors lay a narrow entry hall, dimly lit by torches burning in metal sconces along the stone walls. Amidst the smoky haze and the acrid odor of blood and pungent herbs, armored guards directed wounded warriors toward harried healers who seared the gashes of screaming men with white-hot tongs, set and bandaged broken bones, and closed open wounds with gleaming needles and silken thread. Just ahead of where Brynhildr lurked in the shadows stood a second set of massive oaken doors. Jubilant notes of lyres and lutes blended with thunderous song and bellows of laughter from the Great Hall, tankards clashing and raucous voices raised in raw celebration and hard-won triumph.
At the back of the vast chamber, where painted shields and woven banners displayed fierce heads of roaring bears along the towering walls, Agnar sat in an elaborateöndvegiupon an elevated dais.Carved into the gleaming wood which rose high above his bearskin-clad crowned head, a mammoth bear roared with regal fury, its amber eyes aglow in the firelight from the central hearth which spanned the length of the Great Hall.
Her breath hitched andseiðrsurged at the sight of Sigurd, seated at the high table in the place of honor to the Bear King’s right. The lapis beads braided into his golden beard glimmered, the glorious blue wolfskin ofBlárúlfrshimmering in the incandescent light. Among theSjórúlfarat a nearby table, she spotted Kveld Nightwolf, his gleaming wolfskin cloak as black as his long hair. braided beard, and inked runes which marked his pale, scarred skin. As if he sensed her presence, thevitkiturned his wolf-clad head toward the open doors where she lingered in the dark hallway.
Sigurd must have felt the same surge ofseiðrthat burned theouroborosabove her wildly thumping heart, for he glanced at the doorway. When she caught his gaze, Brynhildr drew the blanket away from her hidden head, revealing her shining blonde hair and hopeful face to her beloved Sea Wolf.
Recognition sparked in his shocked gaze. He leaned toward Agnar, spoke into his bloodswornbroðir’sear, then rose from the high table. Quickly descending the dais, he strode across the waxed wooden floor, nodding to theSjórúlfarand the warriors who raised their mugs of mead to hail him as he passed their tables.
When he reached her side, she grasped his hands, pulling him with her into the shadows.
Cupping her cold hands within his, he raised them to his bearded lips, incredulous eyes scanning her face with a blend of stunned disbelief and bewildered joy. “Brynhildr,” he breathed, pulling her into his arms and brushing his trembling lips against hers. “How can you be here?”
“I assumed human form to spend the night with you.” Rising onto her toes, she kissed his parted mouth and shared his ragged breath. “I must leave at dawn, but I have much to tell you.” She darted glances down the hall, where the guards and healers tended the moaning wounded. “Where can we be alone?”
“In my private chamber. Come—it’s this way.” Sigurd led her from the entrance of the boisterous Great Hall down a darkened corridor to a heavy wooden door secured by a thick iron latch. Withdrawing a key from the belt at his waist, he unlocked the door and led her into the quiet room.
Banked embers crackled in the hearth set into the stone wall. A sleigh-shaped bed covered with furs stood beneath a window where slivers of silver moonlight streamed onto the wooden floor. In the corner, she spotted the gem-encrusted scabbard which contained the shards ofÚlfblóðr,resting atop a table, with a large oaken chest on the floor near the hearth.
He tossed a log onto the fire, stoked the flames with an iron poker, and gently removed the blanket from her shaking shoulders. Intense longing blazed in his fierce lupine gaze.
As she had done so many times in her private chambers of the tower at Hrafnfjall, Brynhildr unfastened the wolf brooch which secured hisBlárúlrcloak and slipped the thick wolfskin from his broad shoulders. She folded his fur cloak, placed it reverently upon the wooden chest, and flew into his outstretched arms.
Groaning as if in pain, he swooped down and claimed her lips, parting them with a probing tongue. As his deft fingers released the latches of her golden corslet, she removed the golden vambraces from her forearms and slipped out of her armor. When she sat on the edge of the fur-covered bed, Sigurd unwrapped the amber leather from her shaking legs. “By all the gods, I have yearned for you every day,” he whispered, kissing the smooth skin inside her quivering thighs as he peeled the leather away. “I cannot believe you are here…” Sigurd threw off his tunic, boots, and breeches, standing gloriously naked in the moonglow.
As she reclined on the soft furs, he climbed onto the bed and hovered over her. Like a famished wolf, his feral gaze raked over her bare body. “You are a goddess,” he murmured, warm lips sampling her neck as he whispered into her ear. “And I shall worship you with my adoring mouth.”
His skilled tongue traced the skin from her throat to her nipples, sucking each one with warm, eager lips. The rhythmic tugging caused her insides to clamp, desperate for him to fill them. When he parted the blonde curls between her trembling thighs, he groaned with hunger. “How I have longed for your taste…” Lowering his mouth to her tender folds, he feasted on her flesh like a man starved.
He swirled his tongue over her sensitive bud, penetrating her with long fingers, rocking with the sea which lapped at the shore far below the clifftop fortress. The unbearable tension mounted under his insistent, relentless rhythm until she snapped. Waves of pleasure washed over her as she surrendered and succumbed to bliss.
“Sigurd,” she gasped, her breath heaving as she reached for his taut shoulders. “I want you inside me.Please.”
He lifted his head, a wolfish grin stretching across his bearded face as he licked his bristled lips. “With pleasure.”Placing strong knees between her shaking legs, he parted her thighs wide. Calloused hands slid beneath her hips, tilting them up to receive him. When he plunged deep inside, he moaned with a guttural growl
“By all the gods, I love you,” he groaned, pumping her flesh, causing the delicious tension to rise again.
