by Ree Thornton
She grabbed the edge of the small wooden skiff and gasped for air as his hand settled beside hers. Nei. If he passed her, it was all over. She needed a distraction, something that would unsettle him and give her an advantage. It was time for a sneak attack.
"That was unfair," he said, barely panting as he looked down at her with mirth lighting his eyes.
"You naked is not fair." She reached out and grabbed him between the legs, fondling the length of his manhood. "This is impossible to ignore."
He stilled as she stroked his hardening length, and then his eyes drifted closed as he surrendered to her touch.
Her heart raced as she held his manhood in her hand, remembering the heady rush that came with giving him pleasure.
"Já." His voice was the low rumble of a man caught in the throes of satisfaction.
She stroked faster, and glanced up to where Ásta's shocked face peered down at her over the edge of the small boat. Undoubtedly, her friend would taunt her endlessly about this later.
She slid her thumb over his smooth bell shaped tip, then slowly reached up with her other hand and grabbed both of the ribbons from Ásta's hand.
"Rúna," Jorvan moaned, oblivious to their audience.
Now was her chance. She curled her feet up under her until they rested against the submerged hull, then released him and pushed off. She threw herself into the swim, pushing her body like never before. Her heart thundered in her chest as she swam as fast as she could back toward the shore.
"RÚNA," he bellowed, as he discovered that she'd stolen both of the ribbons.
She laughed, almost choking on a mouthful of water. It was less than what he deserved. She swam until her lungs burned and her arms ached, then staggered onto the beach on shaky legs. She looked down at the ribbons in her left hand, then turned back to look for him.
His body cut through the water with ease, barely hampered by the billowing fabric of his shirt.
Her heart leapt. He was nowhere near the shore yet. She grinned and stumbled across the beach to the well-worn path that led up to the settlement.
"Run, Rúna!" shouted the crowd gathered on the grass beneath the gnarled branches of the apple trees.
Their cries of support lifted her spirits. Her legs were heavy with fatigue, but she kept moving forward, buoyed by the knowledge that she would soon claim the victory that would allow her to choose her husband. Then she could banish the wolf, and the unwanted feelings his presence brought up in her, from her life. She was nearly there.
The shouts of the crowd swelled to a deafening roar.
A gust of air swished against the back of her neck. Her hand jerked as a ribbon slipped from her grasp.
"My thanks, firefly," the wolf yelled, his long legs pumping hard as he ran past her so fast that it felt like she was standing still.
She stumbled to a stop and watched as he tied his ribbon around the largest apple tree. Her heart dropped. He had won the second challenge and now they were tied.
"Jorvan, Jorvan," the crowd cheered as they surrounded him.
Rúna veered off the path and away from the crowded orchard. She would not let anyone see her distress. She avoided the great hall and made her way to the spring-fed bath nestled into the side of a grassy knoll for privacy, glad that she'd had the forethought to send Ásta to leave a dress there for her earlier.
Lush grass curled between her toes as she fumbled with numb fingers to remove her wet clothes and drop them beside the steaming circular stone bath fed by hot and cold springs from the nearby the mountainside.
She cursed the wolf under her breath and rubbed her hands together. He had snatched victory from her. She loathed being bested by him and was relieved that she was alone and could lick her wounds in peace.
A cool breeze wafted across her back, making her teeth chatter and forcing her to action. She pulled the leather tie from her hair and loosened her braids with shaky fingers as the sun disappeared behind the mountain, leaving behind the murky glow of twilight.
She stepped down onto the submerged stone ledge. A relieved groan fell from her parched lips as the steaming water warmed the chill from her toes to her knees. She plunged into the deeper water, eager to wash the salt from her hair and chill from her bones. If only she could wash him from her life as easily.
"Well fought, Rúna," a voice said as she resurfaced.
Wolf!
Her eyes flew open.
He stood naked and unashamed on the grass, his wet shirt lying beside a flaming torch that cast flickering light over his powerful body. His intense blue eyes caught and held hers.
Time ceased moving as he stepped down into the water, his sun-kissed skin glistening around the dozens of silvery scars that covered his chest. Her eyes dipped lower, to where his manhood stood upright against his ridges of his muscular stomach. Blessed Freya, the man was more tempting than ale on a hot summer's day.
"Water?" He lowered himself into the bathing pool with one hand outstretched, offering her his leather flask.
Rúna eyed him warily. She was parched, but she didn't trust herself to be close to him. Everything inside of her screamed to stay as far away as possible for fear that she would succumb and quench her thirst on this rugged Viking. She'd felt an overwhelming rush of desire as she'd held his manhood in her hand out in the sea. Despite how he'd abandoned her, her body still wanted him.
"You do not want it?”
She didn't trust herself but would not let him know he affected her. She swam to sit beside him on the stone ledge, her body taut with nerves though she feigned a causal stooped pose, and took the flask from his outstretched hand.
"I did not think you capable of such deception Rúna."
She shrugged indifference. "You underestimate me." She emptied the flask and then placed it on the grass behind her.
He moved off the ledge and out into the deep, and then disappeared below the surface.
She sighed in relief then relaxed back against the cool stone wall with her legs dangling over the edge of the ledge. She would stay a while and then take her leave.
A few moments later, he re-emerged with a whoosh that sent water spilling over the stone edges and onto the lawn. He tossed his head, flicking his long hair back and sending a shower of water raining down over her.
She huffed her displeasure as she wiped the water from her face.
His nostrils flared as his eyes followed the slide of a droplet down her neck and over the swell of her breasts.
Her nipples hardened under his hungry stare. He looked like he wanted to lick it from her skin. Her gaze fell and caught on the scars that marred his chest. He had been honest about the bloodletting at least. Now she understood why he'd swum in his shirt. He would not want to explain his scars to the curious, nor be the subject of the rampant gossip they would incite.
His broad shoulders cut through the steam atop the water as he glided closer, giving him the look of a man blessed with an otherworldly magic.
"You could not best me without cheating?" he said.
She bristled at the insult, then sat up straight and leaned forward. "I. Did. Not. Cheat. I did what I must, to get what I want."
He closed the distance between them, placed his hands on either side of her on the ledge, and leaned in.
This close she could see the darker flecks of blue in his left eye and the tantalizing mole below his lower lip. She fought back the urge to pull him closer and press her mouth to his.
"And what do you want?" His low husky voice made the hairs on her neck stand on end.
A delicious warmth filled her, like warm pine-needle tea on a cold day, until she felt as though she would burst into flames. Blessed Freya, his mere voice set her body alight.
His lips curved into a satisfied smile.
Curse him! She was not a naive girl anymore. He would not use her desire as a weapon against her again. She looked down her nose at him defiantly.
"I want to kiss you," he whispered.
Her womanhood pulsed i
n response, and she realized that she wanted that too.
As though he'd heard her silent plea, he twisted his fingers into her hair and thrust his tongue into her mouth in quick angry strokes that allowed no escape. When she did not object, he slid a hand up the back of her neck, holding her firmly in place as his mouth covered hers in a tantalizingly slow and savoring kiss.
A shiver crept up her spine and she whimpered against his mouth. It felt so good. She needed more, much more. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, her pulse quickening as her nipples brushed against his hard chest.
A delicious shudder heated her body as he wrapped his arms around her. She gasped in delight as his teeth sunk into her fleshy bottom lip and the sharp stinging pain drove her over the edge. She gripped his shoulders and met him with equal fervor in the frantic battle to control the kiss. Her legs wrapped around his waist and pulled him closer, until the hard ridges of his staff pressed against her soft folds. Freya, her body was on fire.
He rocked against her, his sex rubbing against the center of her pleasure, as his lips gentled once more into a soft kiss of lovers.
She was captive to the sensual dance of his hips, awash in a sea of sensation and emotion that drove her steadily toward release.
His mouth left hers and burned a fiery path down toward her breasts. "Firefly," he whispered reverently.
She froze—the icy truth creeping back in to quell the fire flowing through her veins. She couldn't do this.
"Nei." She pushed at his shoulders, and then pushed again.
He pulled away and rose up in front of her. His eyes were still clouded by desire, and he was so close she could taste the sweetness of his breath on the air.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I want you to go. Leave Luleavst." She kept her eyes on the darkness over his shoulder, certain that if she looked at him she would surrender once more.
He cupped her chin in his hand, tilted her head back until she met his intense gaze, and studied her intently. "I am not leaving you again, Firefly. I love you."
He loved her?
Her breath hitched at his declaration. She could no longer deny that she still wanted to love and be loved, but not from a man that could walk away so heartlessly.
"You left once, you will do it again."
He pulled himself onto the ledge beside her and crossed his arms. He looked down at her, his hard, determined gaze leaving no doubt that he intended to prove her wrong.
Rúna swallowed hard. She couldn't lose herself in this man. She wouldn't survive the inevitable heartbreak of losing him again. But if he stayed …
Her pulse beat erratically.
… and fought to win her back, then eventually she would have to face the depths of her feelings for him. The very thought was terrifying.
"I cannot do this." She rose to her feet, hastily wrapped her towel around her body, and grabbed her clothes.
"Rúna, please stay."
She paused, barely resisting the urge to turn around. "Do not ask me to do what you could not," she said, then blinked away her tears and walked away.
Chapter Eight
Jorvan
Jorvan paused on his patrol through the outskirts of the slumbering village to scan the shadows. He couldn't sleep on the best of nights, and yet again, he'd woken thrashing and sweating with his legs wrapped up in the twisted blanket, to the drunken snores of his men reverberating around the barn. He had risen to walk through the darkness he loathed, intent on banishing his fear with each step of the boundary he traversed.
His mind wandered back to that moment in the sea when he'd discovered that Rúna's touch did not repulse him or remind him of the seer rubbing the oils into his skin. Rúna fingers gliding over his flesh had made him ache for her hands all over his body, and given him hope that maybe he was not broken after all.
And that kiss …
Remembering the taste of her lips left him hard as rock and unsatisfied, so he walked, he walked, and he walked.
The soft scuff of a stone skidding across dirt broke the silence.
Something was wrong. He froze in the shadow of a large oak tree, icy tendrils brushing across the base of his spine and creeping slowly upward.
He squinted, peering into the inky blackness and wishing that a full moon replaced the crescent that hung overhead.
The faint tap of footsteps sounded out near the edge of the field where the golden barley was ready for harvest.
His hand fell to his sword. Someone was coming.
A crouched figure skirted along the edge of the field, crept behind the guard standing watch by the fire, and moved stealthily toward the settlement.
Were they under attack? Nei, not by an army of one. Mayhap this was one of Loki's tricks.
He followed quietly, cursing himself for not mentioning the weakness near the fields to the Jarl. Someone could have entered unnoticed. Whatever this intruder's intent, no doubt there was mischief or treachery afoot.
He studied the figure weaving through the outlying cottages taking care to remain hidden in the shadows cast by the trees and buildings. Whoever it was, they moved as though they were familiar with the village and accustomed to sneaking around. How many times had they done this before?
The intruder paused outside the Jarl's longhouse and looked left then right.
Jorvan caught a glimpse of hard eyes and a strong jaw before he ducked into the shadows cast by an apple tree.
The person approached the solid timer longhouse and glanced around furtively.
By the gods, they meant to enter the Jarl's home! He could not let the man, for he was now sure it was a man, get inside to where Rúna slept. He launched himself onto the intruder's back, shoving him forward and slamming his head in the large oak doors with a loud thud.
The man crumpled and fell to the ground unconscious. He would not be hurting Rúna or anybody else this eve.
Jorvan bent to check that the man still breathed, and then hurled the limp body up over his shoulder.
Muffled shouts and scuffling sounded from behind the longhouse doors.
He backed away, straining under the weight of his load as the doors opened.
Jarl Isaksson stepped outside, his nightshirt billowing around his bare legs as he roared. "Who is there?"
Bleary-eyed warriors holding torches and clutching their blades followed their Jarl outside as others emerged from the surrounding buildings. Rúna stood behind her father in a dark green nightdress and bare feet, the blade in her hand shimmering in the torchlight. She looked like a vengeful goddess.
"It is me, Jorvan." He stepped forward and tossed the intruder at the Jarl's feet, sending up a cloud of dust. "This man snuck past the guards near the fields."
When the Jarl raised his hand, signalling his warriors to lower their swords, women holding their children close flowed from the buildings to join their men.
Karl Isaksson crouched down and looked at the man's face. "Gunter Svensson, the dirty thief." He rose to his feet.
"He was banished last winter. He is the one that has been thieving this past moon," Rúna said.
Then Karl Isaksson stood upright and his eyes pierced the distance between them. He nodded once, a curt nod of acknowledgement shared between comrades. "My thanks, Jorvan."
Rúna's father spoke words of gratitude, to him, publicly! Jorvan forced himself not to recoil in shock. He shrugged nonchalantly. "It was an easy capture."
The Jarl crossed his arms over his chest, his threatening stance a contrast to his respectful words. "Luleavst is in your debt, as am I. Your honor will not be forgotten."
Satisfaction filled him as he looked into the old warrior's eyes and saw respect reflected back at him. He recognized the hidden meaning in the Jarl's words and manner—their hostile past had been replaced with a warrior's respect. Jorvan nodded his agreement to the new accord between them and spoke his mind.
"Jarl, the guard's fire should be moved closer to the fields to offer a better view
."
Jarl Isaksson turned to the warrior beside him. "Put Gunter in chains, and move the fire," he ordered. "Everyone else, back to your beds."
Chapter Nine
Rúna
Rúna remained as the crowd of grumbling men and mothers shushing crying babies dispersed around her.
"What was that between Jorvan and your father?" Ásta asked, pulling her blanket tight around her shoulders. "Was there conflict with the Eriksson clan?"
Rúna shrugged and watched the lone wolf stride away holding a flaming torch aloft. The barn was in the opposite direction. Where was he going? The capture of the thief was surprising, but less so than the unspoken exchange that had occurred between the wolf and her father.
"I do not know, but it is clear that they have reached some sort of agreement." Now that she thought on it, Luleavst had not hosted an Eriksson since the wolf had abandoned her. Nowadays, her father sent their ships to Gottland to trade with Ràsmus Eriksson. Mayhap there was discord. Why would her father hide that from her?
She glanced at Ásta. "I want answers. I am going after him."
"It is cold. Take this," Ásta said, and wrapped the soft woollen blanket around her friend's shoulders.
Rúna hurried in the direction he had disappeared, until she spotted his hulking silhouette heading for the beach. Her feet were cold—she should have gone back for her boots—but it was too late now. She followed quietly, watching him navigate the winding path with ease. He was clearly not inebriated, unlike her warriors, who would pay for their sluggish response come morning.
Her foot caught on a stone and sent it skittering.
He glanced over his shoulder, his hair glowing in the firelight as he motioned her forward and then strode down to the water.
She approached and stood beside him silently, curling her toes into the cool sand as she gathered her thoughts. The warrior that patrolled at night, caught thieves, and showed surprising self-control had reminded her of why she'd fallen in love with him four years ago. He'd always shown compassion for the less fortunate and beneath his light-hearted nature was an earnest drive to protect. She'd loved those parts of him that he'd kept hidden from the world. What a revelation it had been to feel safe with a man other than her father in a world fraught with danger.