When he first agreed to her bargain, he’d thought her disgust was the heaviest burden, but now realized her vulnerability was far heavier.
His palm lay over his chest, swearing a silent oath. While she might not want him, he’d diligently protect her. The seiðr commanded it of him. Maybe it made him weak to give in to her power.
Being weak for her had never felt so right.
Even if she hated him the whole time he did it.
Njáll’s life wasn’t easy, and he didn’t wish to tie her to it. It wasn’t a path most willingly chose.
She didn’t need his burdens when she had enough of her own.
But tonight, he refused to stay away, knowing it might be the only time she welcomed his comfort. Selfishly, he wanted to feel the softness of her body in his arms at least once.
Carefully, he crawled into the furs, avoiding jerky movements.
The situation was delicate. She was delicate; any quick gesture would send her into a panic. His breath slowed as he slid his hand around her stomach.
Gently, he pulled her rigid form into him.
The muscles in his abdomen clenched, prepared for a violent attack. But it never came. Instead, the tension melted from her strained body. A moment of shock made her flinch, and then slowly, she yielded, giving in to him fully.
His nose rested in the thick mane of curls, smelling the lavender he’d crushed in the water basin for her to clean with. Even in her terror, she was breathtaking.
A vision he could never have. Not entirely.
The erratic thump of her heart fluttered against his ribs, the coarse fabric of her shift itching his chest. He tightened his hold, keeping one hand around her waist while the other cradled the back of her head, his fingers burrowing into the silken strands of hair.
He said nothing, simply pressing her into his solid figure. A wisp of black smoke crawled through the cracks in the wood, Alruna leaving them.
The honor was not lost on him. That Freyja’s blessing trusted him with her charge.
With each passing moment, the sheer mass of his body seemed to anchor her, bringing her back to the present.
Outside, the storm continued to strike, but more muffled.
“Do you still hear them? The whispers of the draugar?” he asked, the pad of his thumb drawing circles on her nape.
Gooseflesh pebbled the skin near the hollow of her throat, and a half smile lifted on the right side of his mouth.
She shook her head, the movement so slight he barely felt it.
Clammy skin brushed against his, pulling a hiss through his clenched jaw. Her tiny fingers grazed over his collarbone, her trail exploratory as she dragged her nails through his beard.
Her touch sent a shock through him. As if he’d rolled into a forgotten fire, making him burn with the intensity of it.
“Don’t leave me. Stay. Please,” she murmured, her words a fragile plea against his skin.
Always.
The silent vow beat with the strength of his heart. Nothing could take her away from him. Not the Konungr. Not the draugar. Not Freyja nor Odin.
He smoothed the hair back from her forehead, his lips brushing the faint scent of woodsmoke from her temple. It was one last pleasure he granted himself.
In case he never got the chance again.
“All will be well, little flame. Close your eyes for me. I’ll keep the whispers at bay while you rest.”
Seven
