“Ah, Njáll. You have brought dóttir mín to visit.”
The serious expression on Njáll’s face faltered at the term of endearment. Elara wasn’t certain, but she assumed Brielle called her, my daughter. The woman rose from her seat, Leif grunting as she stood. She closed the space between them, taking Elara into her embrace before her own son.
“Hello, Mamma,” Elara breathed, feeling calmer wrapped in the woman’s arms.
After Njáll’s mother spent many days checking on Elara and caring for her while he was away, she had grown increasingly close to her.
Njáll pecked his mother’s cheek, his fleeting smile faltering before stern lines creased around his mouth.
“Sorry to intrude so early, but we must speak.”
Leif nodded, rising from his seat, the litany of scars on his bare chest glinting in the firelight. A vein in his throat throbbed as he slipped an arm around his wife’s waist, indicating for Njáll to continue.
Eyes flicked to hers, Njáll catching her gaze before tucking her protectively into his side. She melted into his hold, the soft silk of his tunic bunching under her fingers.
“There were troublesome signs along our borders.” Leif scrubbed a hand over his jaw, the man looking older at that moment. “Unnatural frost. Rotting animal carcasses left to waste. Stone that looked to be cleaved by claws.”
“The draugar,” Leif said, his voice emotionless and definitive.
The words sliced through her like a blade, shredding the serene calm that had cradled her all morning. Her fingers automatically flew to the smooth, rune carved stone hanging from her throat.
Njáll’s fingers flexed on her waist, drawing small circles there until her heartbeat steadied.
“Hel wishes to let her pets loose if given the chance,” Leif mused, and a brilliant flash of fear appeared in Brielle’s eyes, gone as quick as it came.
“Perhaps,” Njáll said. “But they haven’t breached.”
“I can keep them at bay,” Elara blurted, immediately regretting it. Leif tilted his head to the side, one brow arched. “I’ve been working with Hlif. It’s my fault the veil…”
“No. I will not allow it,” Njáll hissed, cutting her off. Two hands bracketed her face, his thumbs sweeping over the tops of her cheeks. “You are not to blame. Do you understand me?”
While his outrage on her behalf warmed her soul, it wasn’t based in fact. Elara’s grief had alerted the draugar to her presence. Now they followed her. She’d brought this torment to their doorstep.
And unless she mastered the skills Hlif taught her, they’d torment her until she broke, weakening the veil and allowing them through.
“Njáll,” she hissed, glaring at him.
“Elara,” he bit back.
“Enough,” Leif’s deep baritone commanded. “Do not worry, dóttir mín, there is nothing to fear. Continue your studies with the Völva.” Her face must have revealed her lack of faith in her abilities, because Leif’s face softened, reminding her of her father. “Even if the draugar come, they will not survive long on this plane. My wolf, my son, and our warriors will handle them.”
The tension squeezing her chest uncoiled, and Elara sucked in a deep breath, enjoying how the warm air expanded in her lungs. Water flecked in the corners of her eyes, and she wiped it away, smiling at the man who should have been terrifying.
“Thank you, Pabbi.”
A wide smile revealed pearlescent teeth, glittering like fangs in the firelight. Njáll’s eyes widened, darting between her and his father.
“You are going soft, Úlfr,” Brielle said, grinning as she swatted at him.
Leif stiffened, his eyes darkening. A soft growl rumbled up his throat as he whispered in Brielle’s ear. Pink colored the tops of her cheeks, soon deepening to a brilliant crimson. Leif twirled a curl around his finger, smiling into Brielle’s fluttering pulse.
Njáll cleared his throat, already moving toward the exit, eager to leave.
“We’ll leave you two to your morning.”
Njáll offered his parents a curt nod, leading Elara back out into the main hall of the longhouse. The scent of freshly roasted meat filled the long hall, women weaving in and out with armfuls of linens and baskets overflowing with grain.
Njáll groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face before meeting her gaze.
