His eyes relaxed as he pulled her more firmly into his chest, resting his lips on her temple. The gesture warmed the edges of her grief. She thought of her mother, and how she always said only the strongest admit their mistakes.
And for the first time since her passing, Elara smiled at the memory of her instead of crying.
Eleven
Elara
Soft lips rested against her pulse point, lax in sleep. Njáll’s arm draped over her waist, holding her close. Instinctively, she nuzzled closer, pressing into a slab of pure chiseled muscle.
A contented, lazy sound rolled from her, and she wiggled further into him. Something between a groan and a growl rumbled in his chest as his fingers gently stroked her navel.
After the emotional toll of yesterday, Elara passed out cuddled up with Njáll as soon as he tugged the furs over their bodies.
It felt like a release, allowing herself to breathe fully. Elara didn’t want to fight it anymore. Maybe Njáll was right. Maybe it was some sort of magic.
She traced the intricate lines of jagged scars crisscrossing over the forearm wrapped around her.
For a selfish moment, she drank in the quiet rhythm of his heart beating behind hers. The tips of her fingers stalled on a long, faded scar, wondering what battle had caused it.
“Morning, little flame,” he murmured, his sleep-roughened voice purring in her ear.
His scruff rasped along her cheek, sending a delicious shiver down her spine. Heat pooled between her thighs, the feeling intoxicating.
Something too close to a moan crawled up her throat before she choked it back down.
Outside of one awkward kiss she shared with a boy two years ago, Elara didn’t have much experience with men.
Especially not gorgeous, passionate warriors. Her parents promised never to force her into a marriage or courtship.
With her mother gone and helping her father with the farm, all thoughts of men and marriage and babies fell by the wayside.
“Good morning,” she whispered, turning in his hold and blinking at him through thick lashes.
A pleased groan escaped him as his length twitched against her thigh, making her squeak. Laughing into her hair, he rubbed his hands over her back.
“Apologies for my unruly cock. You smell sweet, like honey. So warm and soft.”
An unfamiliar sound rattled in her chest, making a wide smile push against his cheeks. The pad of his thumb feathered over her flushed skin.
“Pretty. If I could spend all day in the furs with you, I’d go to Valhalla happy.”
Sparks sputtered in the ashy hearth, and Elara imagined a sleepy day nestled in his embrace. His presence quieted everything—the draugar, the burdens, the questions.
“Why don’t you?”
“You tempt me,” he purred, pressing his lips to her knuckles. “But I have duties I must attend, and training to oversee. I will return before the evening meal.” Sadness must have crept into her gaze, because he buried his face back into her mane of sleep-tangled curls. “Explore the village. You belong here as much as anyone else.”
Yesterday, people were distant, mostly indifferent and polite.
“They do not think me a prisoner?” she asked, the sound muffled by his torso.
Gently, his fingers curled around her arms, putting enough distance between them until their eyes met.
A single rough finger lifted her chin.
“You did not arrive or leave the longhouse in shackles. You stay in my home, my furs. They will respect you as mine. Nothing less. You may have bartered yourself for your father, but do not misunderstand, little flame, if anyone is a prisoner, it is me. A captive to your beauty.”
She released a strangled sound as she stared at him. The scars on his body and the defined lines of muscle spoke to his strength, but his voice would have sent her to her knees if she’d been standing.
