Not ready to return to Njáll’s too quiet home, she walked around the village. The sound of steel grating against steel rumbled like thunder. She followed the rhythmic clang of metal, leading her to a wide, open clearing beyond the cluster of homes.
Sweat glistened on the skin of bare-chested warriors, weapons clutched in their hands. Their shoulders rose and fell with labored breaths. Freshly turned earth billowed in dust clouds at their feet, the sounds of the village drowned out by dueling blades.
And in the center of all the chaos stood Njáll.
The sharp lines on his face hardened as his muscles bunched. Veins bulged in his hands with each deliberate strike of his axe. He had long discarded the fur he’d left with, leaving his masterpiece of a body exposed in the midday sun.
Another clash rang out, sending nearby birds skittering from their nests. Njáll moved with a grace she hadn’t expected while he dueled the Konungr. The two men moved with lethal precision, their strength evenly matched.
Despite the Konungr’s age, he did not show it. His strikes met Njáll’s with a ferocity that left the younger man breathless. Yet, his steps didn’t falter as his gaze swept the edge of the grounds, pausing on her for the tiniest of moments.
Her breath caught at the knowing smirk he flashed her, gone before she was certain it was there. A pleasant prickling sensation crawled up Elara’s neck, and her thighs clenched.
Both men stilled, Njáll offering the Konungr a tight nod.
A beat later, a bright flash of glowing light erupted around the Konungr, his body twisting and morphing as sinew snapped into place. Massive paws thudded onto the damp earth beneath an enormous white wolf with icy eyes.
She gaped, stumbling backward.
Where a king had once stood, now a massive wolf prowled, its white fur glowing in the sunlight. Instinct told her to run, but her feet remained rooted to the spot.
“Are you frightened?” a quiet, confident voice asked.
Gasping, she wobbled, clutching the spot where her heart raced.
Elara turned to face the source of the question.
Beside her stood a woman she’d seen at the longhouse the night of their arrival. Long, white-blonde curls glittered like spun silver, tumbling in a waterfall. Freckles covered the bridge of her nose, with a raised scar bisecting her cheek. Her pale skin sparkled like fresh snow.
The sight should have terrified her. What made her more uneasy was how easily she acclimated to the reality that a man morphed into an enormous wolf before her eyes. The world she grew up in was much different from the reality she was now faced with.
Magic and visions and shifters and gods.
Elara didn’t know what to believe anymore.
“Surprised. Curious, even. But not frightened.”
A smile pushed against the woman’s cheeks, making her eyes crinkle.
“You handled it well. Most flee when they first see the Konungr’s wolf.”
Njáll had told her of their Völva and another blessed by the gods. One who called it a burden and a blessing in the same whisper. Elara’s eyes fluttered back to the training ring, awestruck as Njáll held his own against a wolf, its fangs dripping as its jaw snapped too close to Njáll’s throat.
“Is he the one blessed by Odin?”
She moved closer to Elara, nodding. “Our Konungr is known by many names. To most, Konungr. To others, Úlfr. Wolf. To few, Leif. And to me and Njáll, father.”
Fingers spread over the valley between her breasts, and Elara’s jaw dropped. The sound of Njáll and the wolf sparring quieted as Elara stared wide-eyed at the ground.
“So you and Njáll are…”
“Kin. Yes. My little brother. And our parents are the Konungr and Dróttning.”
A rock settled in the pit of Elara’s stomach. This was the sister Njáll spoke of. The one who had been kidnapped and attacked by an Englishman. Without meaning to, Elara stared a beat too long at the mark on her face.
“My battle victory,” the woman murmured, fingers hovering over the scar.
“I’m sorry… I didn’t… Njáll never said anything,” Elara mumbled.
