His lips found hers again in a hungry, possessive kiss. It chased away any lingering worry of shadows or visions or what ifs.
It was not gentle, but rather a desperate, demanding oath—a promise. Each swipe of his tongue along hers reminded her that she was his.
And he washers.
Njáll murmured against her lips, his deep timbre vibrating the air between them. “Take me as your shield. As your axe. Let me sin for you. Let this demon strike down any god or ghost who dares to harm you.”
A tiny growl rumbled from Elara as her nails dug into his scalp, urging his mouth back to hers. She swallowed his snarl, feeling seen for the first time by a man she was never supposed to love.
Love.
The Völva had been right.
Whatever came, she’d have him by her side.
And until then, she’d live.
“You’re mine, Njáll.”
Twenty-Five
Njáll
Dried blood clung to the cut on his shoulder. Njáll hissed, pressing a salve to the wound. It had been many seasons since his father had injured him during a training bout—long before he claimed the title of Jarl.
All morning, Njáll had been distracted. A fact his Konungr both lamented publicly and scolded privately.
Sweat slicked down his back, hair sticking to his nape as he recovered, watching Erik and Bjorn clash blades.
In the days since Elara returned to him, she continued to impress him.
A weight had been lifted. Whatever had plagued her previously drifted to the background. She didn’t worry about her place among the clan—or him—or fixate on the words of the Völva, which now seemed so long ago.
For now, they were content to focus on each other and forget the outside world. Even if it was only for a few days.
This morning, she’d awoken from dreamless sleep, gorgeously sleep-mused.
Those jade eyes glared at him when he made her flush a pretty shade of pink. She’d taken her fill of him that morning, raking her gaze over his exposed torso as he dressed.
When he’d commented on how her lush thighs pressed together, she hissed, tossing a feathered pillow at his head.
Venom fell from her, commanding him to leave for training.
Though her body told a different story. Crimson crawled up the delicate column of her throat, staining the swells of her breasts and her cheeks. Her lips parted with labored breaths, and the musk of her sweet arousal thickened in the room.
As much as it pained him, Njáll left, heeding her orders, his cock hard and aching between his legs.
His little flame needed to catch fire as much as he did. She was strung as taut as a bowstring, and he craved to free her from her burdens on his tongue.
A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, and Njáll groaned, pulling the salve away to wrap his injury. His father towered over him, his glacial eyes gleaming with the remnants of his wolf.
Despite the hard lines around his mouth, his lips quirked.
“Go home, Jarl. See to your pretty kona before you get yourself maimed.”
“Are you dismissing me, Konungr?”
“For today.”
