Christiana stumbled toward the fireplace, where she pulled a clay jar from the mantel and removed its stopper before lifting it to her lips to drink.
He waited in the doorway as she stretched out on her bed and closed her eyes as he’d seen her do so many times on the pillows in his tower. Within minutes, her breathing slowed and she traveled the pathways of Skuld’s world.
It took longer for him to regain control. Longer to shove the beast back down into the depths where it belonged. Once he’d managed that, he moved toward the bed, his eyes fixed on the gentle rise and fall of the chemise covering her chest.
An odd lump in her form caught his attention and he reached for it, dipping his fingers inside the neckline of her gown to discover what she thought to hide from him.
A small pouch hung from a cord around her throat and, inside, two small carvings.
Runes. He recognized them immediately, though the ability to read the future from the tiny bits of wood was her gift, not his. Two of them, Tiwaz and Berkana, the warrior and the birch tree, special enough she wore them about her neck. One to represent each of her parents, perhaps? There was no way for him to know at the moment. And certainly not important enough to disturb her travels in Skuld’s world.
He returned the little carvings to their pouch, enclosing it in his fist, delaying its return to its original resting spot between her breasts.
His eyes fixed again on the rise and fall of the cloth, on the way it molded to her breasts with eachexhale. Frustration held him prisoner, his fisted hand motionless only inches from that which he wanted.
It was unfair that even now he must deny himself the one pleasure of the flesh he wanted most lest the beast within break free and tear her tender body to pieces, depriving him of her foreknowledge.
For now, willpower alone was his ally. One day, when he’d mastered the Magic and no longer needed word of Skuld’s world to guide his steps, he would reward himself with that which he wanted. On that day when he no longer needed to fear the actions of the beast, he would have her and satisfy all those craven Mortal desires.
His breath caught in his throat when he at last slipped the pouch into her neckline, his unnatural need for her battering at his senses once again.
Not unnatural at all.
“Who said that? Who’s there?” he demanded, scanning the small empty room for some unseen enemy.
Our need for her is reasonable.
The words rang not in his ears, but within his mind.
The beast spoke to him? It was not possible. He alone conjured the beast, and he alone controlled it.
Not unnatural but sensible,the Beast assured him.
“The need is totally without reason. She is but the spawn of a Tinkler,” he countered. “And fruit of my father’s loins even as I am.” It took more fromhim than he’d anticipated to admit aloud that last bit of degradation.
Nonsense. Tinklers are the favored of Faeries, and what are Faeries but the counterpart of Elves? Elves, who are the favored of the Vanir.
The words pounded inside his head, chipping away at the wall of guilt and denial he’d built up over the years.
It’s not our fault. The desire runs in our blood.
He had never considered these things on his own. A bubble of laughter grew in his chest, working its way up to burst into the silence of the tower bedchamber.
It was in his blood. Though he carried Odin’s bloodline through his father, from his mother he claimed ancestry with the Vanir, her line rumored to descend from the goddess Freya. It was the reason she had been pledged to his father long before Alfor had left their home shores in the Viking longboat that carried him to this land.
Do not fight that which we feel for her. She is the vessel to ensure the purity of our bloodline.
Could it be true? Torquil paced the small room, sweat beading on his forehead and rolling down his face in great salty drops. Or could it be simply a new ploy by the beast, growing ever stronger each day, seeking to control them both?
I could help us.
Perhaps. Or perhaps it could destroy them both. He couldn’t decide which at the moment. Couldn’tconcentrate well enough to keep all the barriers in place. Couldn’t stay here any longer, allowing Christiana and the beast to fragment his mind and his energy.
There was no need for him to remain, in any case. She would be gone for hours, and once she returned to her body it would take time and energy to tease out the truths he needed. Energy he simply didn’t have.
Down the stairs he ran, one hand sliding along the contours of the wall for balance. Not until he stepped into the light of day was he able to regain some semblance of himself.
With a dignity befitting Odin, he lifted his head and made his way back to the keep, heading for his bedchamber. An hour or so of sleep and he would be strong enough to cope. Then he would return to his tower to attempt the scrolls again.
