Every muscle in his forearm went rigid, and his breath froze with a whistling inhale. A crushing stillness settled in the space between them.
Alruna vanished in a cloudy wisp.
Traitor.
Of course her friend would abandon her at this moment, leaving her to face the demon on her own.
Njáll exhaled, hot air brushing her clavicle. As he started to speak, she prepared herself for the rough, commanding growl that never came.
Instead, his deep timbre softened, as smooth as melted honey.
“When you first appeared, the decision to slice your throat was an easy one.” A shuddering sound hissed through her teeth, and he held her closer, resting his forehead against hers. “But you gazed at me without flinching. You refused to beg. I do not kill creatures I intend to keep.”
His words shattered the moment, splintering it like fractured ice.
A creature to leash. A pet to claim. A reminder of what she truly was to him.
“I am not a prized mare to be leashed and pranced around,” she hissed, annoyed by his impassive mask.
She scrambled to her feet, desperate to reclaim the distance.
The scent, the touch, the soft words—it had all been a trick to lull her, to weaken her to him. A demon indeed. No. She refused to willingly submit to him. To be treated as some plaything—some pet—for him to show off like a trophy from his conquests.
Cold floorboards stung her bare feet as she wobbled, unsteady after lying down for so long. The chill in the room grew worse without his toned form curled around her.
Something flashed in his eyes as he made to stand.
Softness slid under her fingers as she yanked the closest fur, bringing it to her chin like a barrier. She had to renew the distance between them, ignoring the excruciating longing that yearned for him to hold her again.
Heavy feet landed on the floor, Njáll straightening to his full, imposing height. His linen trews hugged his tree-trunk thighs, and her eyes blew wide at the bulge thickening between his legs.
A vein ticced in his neck as he crossed his massive forearms, his eyes narrowed and his breathing shallow.
“And what of you, witch? You talk of leashes when it is you who shackles me!” he growled, his deep voice rumbling louder with each word.
Elara faltered, staring at him wide-eyed.
“Are you mad? I don’t see any irons around your feet.”
With the fur still clutched in one hand, she gestured wildly with the other. The man must have had too much ale. As if she could ever control him.
Snarling, he ate up the distance between them in three long strides. She swallowed, refusing to cower under the intimidating figure crowding her. His nose twitched as his palm landed on the wall beside her face, making her flinch.
Strands of dark hair fell between his eyes as he leaned closer, his face a breath away from hers.
“You’ve changed me. Made me weak! Whatever corruption you’ve infected me with, release it.”
“I’ve done nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me, Seiðkona. You have slid into every fiber of my being, bending to your will until all I crave is you, little flame.”
His nails dug into her skin, pinching her chin and holding her in place as his warm breath puffed over her face like he was some sort of irritated dragon.
Oh, how she wished she possessed whatever magic he thought she did. None of this would have happened. She wouldn’t be here.
“If I could control your mind, your thoughts, do you not think I would have used it when you threatened my father?” The grip on her chin loosened, his hand falling away as his brow furrowed. “Do you really think if I had that power, I would have offered myself to a monster like you? That I would have let myself be chained to you?”
Her cheeks grew hot as she glared at him, her head tipped back.
