Page 185 of Whisper of Nightmares

She is the monster.

Only, she is done fearing herself because of it.

The mob of men stagger and tremble.

Behind them, Dagfinn watches in awe.

Euphemia notices for the first time that Percival is standing beside him. Dagfinn is clutching him as though he’s his own personal prisoner.

Dagfinn gives him a shake and addresses the crowd. “Aye, Euphemia helped me find my way back from certain death. Some might say that is the sign of an angel. Of someone touched by your God.”

The men glance uncomfortably at one another.

Dagfinn shoves Percival back to the constable.

Slowly, he approaches the men who part a path for him like they’ve suddenly become aware that they are standing between their cursed lord and his lady.

“I will remember you—Arthur. Rowan. Gunter. Hildebrand. Issaac.” Dagfinn glares down each and every one of them, the men shifting where they stand, heads bowed with new fear. “Should any of you come for my wife again, it is not Euphemia you will have to fear. For I have seen the realm of death. I know where men like you go, and I will not hesitate to send you there.”

Reaching Euphemia and the helhest at the end of the alleyway, Dagfinn’s gaze fixes upon her.

“You may leave,” he calls to the men, eyes never leaving hers.

They scatter like rats, retreating into the streets of Thorfell.

Euphemia does not know if this means their hatred is over. In fact, she is positive they will continue to try to infest the minds of everyone with their constricting ideals. Their fears. Their narrow-minded beliefs.

But for today, they are gone.

For today, she is the thing they fear, and they will leave her and her family in peace.

Dagfinn looks up at her astride her flaming steed, a delicious darkness behind his eyes.

“May I touch it?” he asks.

“Only if you are not afraid.”

“I have never been afraid of you, my True North.”

Euphemia laughs. “That’s not true. What was it you called me when you first laid eyes upon me? Cruel spirit? Wretched creature?”

He smirks. “You are a wretched creature, but only because you are so irresistible.”

His hand reaches out, brushing the helhest’s snout. Dagfinn’s hand does not burn.

The creature sniffs contentedly. It’s a marvel she ever feared such a peaceful thing.

“Care for a ride?” she says.

A wicked gleam flashes behind Dagfinn’s eyes. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

Without another thought, Dagfinn climbs onto the helhest’s back. Flames ripple around them, but the fire cradles them like furs on a bed. Warm. Inviting. Unafraid.

Dagfinn wraps his arms around her waist, inching closer. She can feel the hardening length of him pressed against her back, because apparently this cursed man actually loves this side of her. He relishes seeing her embracing her darkness, her flames.

No one has ever seen her, truly, and not been afraid.

No one has ever accepted her like this.