He pulled her tighter, the hard planes of his body molding to her soft curves.
“An eternal vow. I am yours, Elara. Not until death. But until the end of times. For not even death can keep me from you. I will crawl out of the pits of Helheim, Valhalla, or Fólkvangr to return to you.”
Twenty-Seven
Elara
The scent of ashen cedar permeated the air, dragging her from blissfully dreamless sleep. A warm, heavy weight lay draped over her, their legs entwined in a single tangled mass beneath the furs.
Her blood hummed with a delicious ache, one that pushed her to succumb to her exhaustion, curled against him.
A quiet, possessive sigh slipped from her as she traced the line of Njáll’s jaw with the tip of her index finger.
Her lashes fluttered, and a harsh groan rolled from Njáll, his body still in sleep.
The scar bisecting his torso shimmered like a crevice in stone, speaking to the two conflicting parts of him—warrior and protector.
The tip of her tongue traced her still swollen lips. Blush crept up her nape at the image of Njáll on his knees, drinking from her.
An insistent throb pulsed between her legs, the memory of his cock stretching her like a brand. She squirmed, trying to alleviate the soreness stinging her.
Njáll stirred, his usually sharp eyes softened by a glaze of contentment. A pleased growl rumbled in his chest, his palms skimming her curves and brushing the underside of her breasts.
Something between a moan and a sigh met his touch.
Teeth grazed her pulse, his lips closing in a lazy kiss along the column of her throat.
“My little flame,” he rasped, his rough voice sending a shiver down to the delightful ache thrumming at her apex. A knuckle dusted under her chin, his gaze searching hers. “Tell me. Do you hurt? Should I bow at your feet and beg for penance?”
A breathy, genuine laugh tumbled from her, a sound she hadn’t heard from herself in years. She savored the musky scent clinging to his beard, making a possessive pride flare in her chest.
“A little,” she admitted, her hips involuntarily rocking against his rigid length. “You were thorough, Jarl.”
Two hands bracketed her hips, stopping her movements and she pouted. The wolfish, confident expression on his features made her core clench, gooseflesh pebbling her arms.
“I will not hurt you more, sweet girl,” he groaned, as if pained by the thought of not having her that morning. “I will have a fresh bath of juniper and rosewater brought for you. It will ease the sting.”
Lips fused to hers, silencing the protest before she could utter it. With each slide of his tongue along hers, it professed so many unspoken promises. While he didn’t say the words, she felt it in the hum of his heart beating in rhythm with hers.
Love.
Her throat bobbed as he pulled her closer, kissing her until she was dizzy.
Love.
It terrified her, knowing how one emotion could kindle and destroy equally.
This was never supposed to happen, not with him.
Not with the man who stole her away, who now held her heart prisoner.
Unhurriedly, he drew out the kiss, muttering into her swollen lips, “You have me until the end of days, Elara. I am yours.”
He could have it. Her heart. All of her.
It was his.
After making her come twice on his tongue, Njáll had eventually left for training, leaving her to the juniper bath.
