She shifted the kitten into one arm, grazing her fingers against his bare forearm. Her touch seared like a brand, making his blood boil and his cock stir.
“I will not ask you to be someone you aren’t. I only ask for the same for you. That you accept me as I am, and give me patience to acclimate to this world.”
The thick lump in his throat faded away. He gazed at her dull nails clutched around his scarred skin. The contrast was staggering. Her quiet strength and his blood-stained soul.
“I will try. I cannot promise I will not fail sometimes. But for you, I will be the hearth, even if I must be ice to the rest of the world.”
Carefully, he bracketed her face with his two scarred palms. She relaxed into his touch, a small, broken sigh escaping her. The kitten crawled out of her arms, perching on his flame’s shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of her neck.
A breathy laugh fell from him. “It seems she is claiming her territory.”
“She is a hunter. Feared among mice,” she chuckled, a wide smile touching her eyes.
Her hands covered his, still holding her precious face close, afraid she might disappear if he let go. Lashes fluttered, clarity sparkling in her eyes like river stones after a rain.
“I was wrong,” she hummed, stroking his knuckles. “I do belong here. With you. The idea of not being near you… it troubled me. It wasn’t fate or Freyja or destiny. It was you. I want you.”
A swell of pride bloomed in his chest, and he didn’t wait any longer. He leaned down, his mouth finding hers with practiced ease.
He held her close, growling as her sweet lips parted for him. The tip of his tongue swept along hers in unhurried, deliberate strokes. She tasted of berries and mulled wine andhis.
A rasping moan fell from her, and his cock hardened, straining his trews as he deepened their kiss, greedily taking more. He wanted all of her sweet noises, wanted to drown in them.
She melted into him, her nails raking down his sculpted back before wrapping her arms around his waist.
This was the choice.
She chosehim.
And this kiss was where everything started to feel less like fate and more like love.
The love the Völva spoke of.
It terrified him.
Twenty-Four
Elara
Fingers tangled in the hair at her nape, Njáll’s palm splaying across the span of her ribs. The heat of his hand sent a delicious zip of need straight to her core.
Their lips parted for a moment, their panting breaths mingling in the space between them.
This was where she belonged, and she’d been a fool for doubting it. Their kitten jumped off her shoulder, burrowing into the furs.
The pad of his thumb stroked the base of her skull, his gaze full of such longing. It made her dizzy. Elara melted into his touch, holding him tighter.
A groan purred in his throat as she tugged his body flush against hers, burying her face in the silky fabric of his tunic.
Home.
He smelled like home.
For a long breath, Njáll held her head against him, his fingers stroking her nape in grounding touches.
Njáll pulled back enough to look into her eyes. She welcomed the sudden, fierce need that spread from her belly to the tips of her fingers.
“Mine,” he whispered, the claim a command and a plea.
