For an imperceptible heartbeat, he stuttered, his throat working with a swallow. Then he continued as if he had never heard her. The blade glinted in the light, looking almost as radiant as it was deadly.
Bile splashed up her throat. Elara moved, believing she was somehow capable of stopping Njáll.
She was too slow.
The steel bit into the man’s throat, gliding from one side to the other in a precise, clean motion. Another scream caught in her chest, muffled as she covered her mouth, eyes wide.
A wet, gurgling sound escaped the man as his body crumpled to the ground with a horrific thud. Njáll released his hair, blood covering his massive palm, droplets dripping down his fingers as he sheathed his crimson-stained dagger in his boot.
She stood there, rooted to the ground by some unseen force. A wisp of shadowy fur weaved between her legs, Alruna sitting beside her mistress.
Two warriors approached, unbothered by the corpse staining the fresh dirt. One of them even laughed at something the other had said. Slowly, the crowd dispersed, smiling as if nothing had happened.
Despite being surrounded by people, Elara had never felt more alone.
More like an outsider.
Her vision blurred, all the blood rushing to her head.
How… How could they just stand there? Pretend none of it happened and go about their day.
And Njáll. How could he kill a man for being hungry? For looking for help?
And do it with no remorse in his glacial gaze.
Her tongue licked at the acid coating her mouth, staring at the blood congealing into a dark pool.
She was under no delusion about what and who Njáll was. A warrior. A jarl. But this… She hadn’t been braced for this, for this flippant sort of cruelty.
Color drained from Elara’s cheeks. She stared at the body, her eyes blinking, refusing to look at it.
Instead, they focused on the demon looming over it.
A demon who she belonged to.
Whether she wanted it or not.
That morning, she’d started to believe she could find a place with Njáll. To care for him. To find comfortin him.
“Little flame. Come,” he said, his voice a quiet rumble vibrating her spine.
A warm palm pressed into her lower back.
She recoiled slightly, still too stunned to pull away. Njáll stifled a growl, his displeasure evident in the tight set of his jaw. The heat of his fingers felt like a brand, a stark contrast to the touch she craved only minutes ago.
Her mind retreated into a dark, numb corner, Alruna following in their wake. Elara allowed him to lead her away, her feet kicking up dust clouds as they moved.
Eventually, they stood in the shadow of his home, with only ash left in the fire pit.
Dried blood and dirt caked his knuckles. Slowly, her gaze found his. The icy chill around her melted, replaced by a foreign ache that twinged like hurt and regret.
“Why?” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “All he wanted was food. Shelter. Why? How?”
Njáll didn’t flinch, his face barren of all emotion.
This wasn’t the man who had kissed her lips raw and murmured sweet Norse praises to her by the fire.
This was a jarl.
