She hesitated, fingers hovering over the offered pouch.
“It is not poison. If I wished to kill you, I would have done so with my blade and saved myself the torture of having you here.”
He spoke as if he were the victim in this scenario. Like it pained him to be in her presence. Her stomach twisted, and she huffed.
Lips parting, she took the vial, tipping the contents into her mouth. The tart tang of berries washed away the worst of the acrid sting.
“Come. Sit down for a while and eat something,” he said, gesturing toward the room at the far end of the ship.
As much as she wanted to fight him, the blade digging into the spot behind her eye begged her otherwise. It had been almost two days since she had had any food.
The venison stew she shared with her father around the fire now felt like a lifetime ago.
When they arrived behind the hide, her knees gave out and she nearly collapsed on the furs. Strong hands gripped her hips, and her traitorous body relaxed into him as he helped her down.
“Here.”
He handed her a bowl of dried meat, placing another one filled with berries beside her. Without looking away from him, she brought a piece to her mouth. The spices weren’t too overpowering, her stomach unclenching a little more with each bite she took.
The Dane leaned against the wall, busying himself with whittling while she ate. It was the picture of domestic quietude. And it made her more uneasy than if he held a knife to her throat.
It didn’t take long for her to empty both bowls and the skin of water.
“More?” he asked, eyes flicking up from his carving.
She shook her head, and he grunted in response. Light spilled in, casting him in half shadow, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw. The silver eye glowed like moonlight, the veins in his hand bulging as he whittled the wood.
The world quieted when he was near. No whispers. Almost like the draugar were afraid of him. She still knew so little of the creatures plaguing her, having only a name and nothing more.
An itch bloomed in her palm, and her nails scraped over the spot.
Perhaps she could find something helpful in this situation.
Maybe this Dane’s clan knew of the draugar, could tell her why they wanted her. Why she saw the things she saw. Why she felt a pulse radiate beneath her fingers.
His gruff baritone cut through her wandering thoughts.
“Why did you step between my blade and your father?”
A furrow creased her brow as her hands fell into her lap. Looking up through thick lashes, she gazed at him, his whittling forgotten. Toned muscles and faded scars wove along his skin, highlighting his victories.
She doubted he had any failures.
Did he expect her answer to differ from his own?
“Would you not do the same for your mother?” A muscle ticced in his jaw, and his chin dipped. “Before my mother passed, I promised her I’d look after my father. I wanted to honor that. I love him. He has loved me through the pain of losing his soulmate. And selfishly,” she added, the final words a mutter, “I couldn’t survive if I lost him too. He’s all I have left.”
The confession lodged in her throat. Maybe death for them would have been a kindness. Then at least they would have been with her mother and brother again.
A family.
Something between pity and pride alighted in the depths of his eyes. They held each other’s stare, and he peeled away more of her defenses. Her gaze darted to the side, too exposed under his knowing eyes.
Flashes of flames and gold waters shimmered in her mind.
Indistinct whispers stirred in the shadows.
Before they took shape, Alruna appeared in a wisp of black smoke, a purring growl silencing the sinister taunts before they started. The panther stared at the Dane, sitting beside Elara while her fingers stroked the soft fur.
