He rushes over to me and takes my hand. “You do not have to say or do anything. Your job is to heal and rest. I shall take care of everything else.”
“I know, but I’m confused. I need—” I take a deep breath through my nose and let it out of my mouth, turning my attention to Warlord Einarr. “I need time. I cannot look at Lady Thyra right now. She looks too much like her mother.”
“You remember her mother?” Beowulf asks. Lady Thyra’s eyes widen with shock, and then she covers her mouth.
I nod and stare down my withered hands. “I remember everything about her mother.”
“That’s awful. I’m so sorry,” Lady Thyra says through tears, then runs out of the room, and Warlord Einarr gives us a quick look full of remorse before running after her.
I lay my head down on the pillow and exhale. I’m tired.
“Why didn’t you tell me you could remember anything?”
“I didn’t remember until Lady Thyra touched my hand. Right now, her mother is the only thing I can see,” I wipe tears on the back of my hand to clean my cheek, but they are falling too fast.
“Look at me,” he gently cups my face and tilts my head up to meet his beautiful blue eyes. “See me. I’m right here, Angel. She isn’t the only thing you can see, not when I’m right here.” He brings his lips to my forehead again, and I shut my eyes, letting the intimate moment calm me. My heart slows from the accelerated rate, and I break away, staring at the man who seems to always be at my side, no matter if I remember him or not.
“Will you stay with me tonight?” I slide over on the bed but realize it doesn’t matter how much room I give him; it will not be enough. He is too big for the bed to hold the both of us.
Beowulf hangs his head, breathing so heavy his shoulders are rising and falling. “I don’t know if that is a good idea.”
“Why? I trust you.”
Those words make him snap his head up. Beowulf’s pupils dilate to a sharp point. He stares at me like I’ve just given him the world. “You trust me?”
“More than I’ve ever trusted anyone. Please, stay. I need to feel safe. I want to run away. I’m frightened, but I know that’s just my fear controlling me. I need you to stay, or I’m afraid I’ll run.”
“I’d never let you run from me again.” The way he says it makes me wonder how I ran from him last time. I wouldn’t think I’d ever willingly want to run from him. If my heart is any inclination, I think I only ever wanted to be with him.
The bed creaks when he crawls on it and flips to his side with a grunt. He shoves his massive arm under one pillow, while the other one lays on the side that isn’t touching the bed.
“This isn’t going to work,” he grumbles.
My hopes sink.
“Here.” He flips until he is on his back, and then my head is resting on his chest while one of his arms is under my pillow. The other large hand comes up the other side and strokes my exposed shoulder, easing me into a relaxed state.
I bite my lip again, feeling coy and brave at the same time. I lift my left arm until I have my hand placed in the middle of his chest. His strong warrior heart beats under it, reassuring me that my guardian is safe right next to me.
“Thank you,” I whisper into the dark.
“It is me who should be thanking you, Lilith.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
He says nothing. The silence eases me into sleep. Before the dreams take me, his lips kiss my forehead.
“You’ve done everything. You’re my everything.”
And I can’t tell if that’s a dream or my reality.
Chapter Eight
Beowulf
“Looks like someone’s been gone far too long,” Warlord Einarr teases, a smug smirk on his face.
I must admit, he has gotten the best of me the first two or three times, but I’ve gotten my fair share of licks in. I twirl the blade in the air, and the sun reflects off the metal for a second, blinding me.
“We shall see if you still think that when I put you on your back, Warlord. With all due respect,” I snarl, lifting my blade and stepping right. He thinks I’m going to bring my arm down on his shoulder, but I don’t. I sidestep him quickly, spin around, and place my sword against his throat.
“There’s my best warrior,” he chuckles, ripping from my grasp. “Now, I want you to fight Trident.”
“No.”
“No? You don’t say no to me. I said, fight him.”
“And I said no.” I heave my sword into my belt, knowing I’m being a stupid man by disobeying my Warlord’s order. I do not wish to fight Trident. He and I aren’t on the best of terms. I’m afraid, I’ll do something I’ll regret like kill him.
“If you do not fight him like I order, you shall spend five days in the tunnels after a lashing with a silver tip. What about Lilith? Can you be without her that long?”
My Warlord isn’t a cruel man, usually, but there has been a lot of tension in the air since Lilith arrived. Especially with what happened two nights ago when Lady Thyra came to apologize to Lilith. It sent my Angel down a dark memory, and by the end of it, Warlord had me by the throat against the wall. I’m a big man at six and a half feet tall, but the Warlord is bigger and stronger. It is the only reason he is able to get the upper hand on me. Not many can.
Before I can answer, Trident comes sauntering into the middle of the circle, the long golden handle of his sword grasped in his hand. The warriors surround us, murmuring, and whispering questions behind my back. Trident and I never fight. We have always been teammates. When we combine our strengths, we are unstoppable. Pitting us against each other? It could be deadly.
“Anything for precious Lilith, am I right?” Trident goads, making me grit my teeth. He is angry, but so am I. He doesn’t agree with what I’ve been doing and how I’ve been spending my time.
The difference between Trident and me is that I’ve known there is more to life than war and blood. I’ve known goodness. I’ve known love. I’ve known what it is like to be truly happy, and to have something worth coming home to. Trident has not.
For us not to be on the same page is expected. For him to not have my back this one time, is not.
“If you know what’s good for your health, you’ll turn around and walk away, Trident.”
“Why? Unlike you, I don’t waiver from my responsibilities. I do what my Warlord commands. I don’t rebel.”
Rebel. Please. It’s the last thing I’ve done. All the time spent with Lilith has been approved by Warlord Einarr, but Trident won’t hear of that. He only sees what he wants to see. And right now, he sees someone disloyal.
A heavy sigh leaves my throat and puffs into the cold air. It’s been getting colder every day, and it won’t be long before the first snow falls, barricading us to our homes. The thought of being stuck behind closed doors with Lilith has me unfocused. Trident attacks, but my mind is lost in the clouds of just what she and I could do when we are alone.
His fist slams against my stomach, and I stumble back, knocked back into reality.
“Wake the fuck up, Wulf!” he roars, rearing his fist in the air again, aiming for my face. I duck my head just in time before his big fist makes supper out of my skull.
I need to get my shit together. I need to clear my mind. In ten years, I haven’t had this kind of trouble focusing, and I know it is because if Lilith. That’s why I’m so mad at Trident, for calling me out on my shit. I want him to be wrong. I’ve tried to convince myself that he is wrong, but his knuckles to in my stomach just proved just how right he really is.
And it really pisses me off.
“Back off now, Trident. If you know what’s good for you,” I warn, tossing my sword on the ground. The blade gets buried in the muddy grass, near the feet of our onlookers. Trident does the same with his.
The only weapons required today are our fists. We’ll settle this like men.
I’m fifty pounds heavier than Trident and about two inches taller, but where I have strength
over him, he has speed. He has always been quick, so I must be extra aware of the way his feet move.
He has a tendency to dance.
I’m only doing this because I have been ordered. I do not want to. After everything, I still think of Trident as a friend. I expected him to be more understanding. I won’t lie and say it doesn’t hurt and disappoint me, but I am counting on his support.
His green eyes lock with mine. What I see makes me lower my fists for a moment, a chance for him to take advantage of my weakened position. He doesn’t want to do this either.
Envy swims in his stare. Jealously, but no hatred.
“Giving up already?”
I shake my head and let my hands fall to my sides. “I’m not fighting you, Trident. A week ago, you were my friend. I don’t know what happened.”
“You know what happened,” he lunges forward to strike, but I dodge it, grabbing his wrist with my hand and yanking his arm behind his back. I put stress on the bone, threatening to cause it to break. Trident falls to his knees, shouting in pain from the tendons stretching.
“I know. My past came back. I had something in my life other than you and war. I have something worth fighting for now. And make no mistake, I shall fight to the death for it.”
I toss him on the ground, face first. He flips over, wiping mud off his cheek. “I won’t apologize!” I roar at him and spin in a circle, staring at all the men surrounding us. “Let it be known; I shall not apologize for my absence. I shall not leave someone who has been a part of my life longer than any of you have. If you have a problem with that, take it up with our Warlord to speak about my rank. If you wish to challenge, do it, and I’ll kill you!”
I pick my sword up from the ground and sling the dirt off it. “Do I make myself clear?!” I shout until my face is red. I’ve had enough of the bullshit. I stomp toward Trident and squat down, lowering my voice to a whisper. “This can be our clean slate. All else I’m willing to put behind me. Are you willing to do the same?”
I stand and make my way to my cabin, leaving the people who have fought by my side behind me. Warlord Einarr shouts something at the men, and suddenly I feel a hand on my shoulder. I flinch. Ever since I was a boy, I have always hated to be touched.
Unless it was Lilith.
“Sir Wulf?”
Ah, the young formal uncertainty in this voice calms me. It is Abram, Warlord Einarr’s son. Well, adopted son. Abram actually came from the Jackals, just like their daughter did. He is young. Only seventeen. He has a scar on his neck where Warlord Einarr burned off the Jackal symbol.
I wasn’t too sure about the young man at first, but he has proven himself. It took a long time to get him into fighting shape, but with time, he will be a great warrior.
Abram fidgets, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks down, afraid to meet my eyes. One thing the man hasn’t gained is confidence.
“Look at me when you speak, Abram. Men do not look away. Stand with pride. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Sir Wulf. I… I just wanted to say; I’m sorry about your friend.” He straightens his spine, but the vibrato in his throat trembles with fear.
“Thank you, Abram. That means a lot. You’re a good man.” I clap him on the shoulder, and he stumbles from the strength of my hand. The boy needs to eat more meat and get more muscle on his bones. He has gained thirty pounds with us, but he is still lean and quick. To be a warrior, you must be thick and heavy. I have all the faith in the world he can be a great warrior, but I have a feeling Warlord Einarr won’t use him if he doesn’t gain some weight. Which puts him in an awkward position, considering it is his son. He would have to cut from the warrior line.
It’s always an honor to be in the warrior line. It changes your life. To be a guard for the kingdom is highly sought after. Not many can make the trials.
“Sir Wulf, may I ask something of you?”
“What is it?”
“I’m training with the Warlord, but he refuses to teach me to use a sword.”
Oh, now, this is just cruel. Whose idea was it to have the kid come to me? I can’t say no to a kid. I run my fingers through my hair and sigh, not really wanting to say yes, but knowing I will.
“You’re too small, Abram. You must build muscle first. You couldn’t carry a sword yet.”
“Then train me for that! Father needs me ready for the Jackals, and all he has me do is shoot arrows! I know how to do that!”
“You realize it won’t be easy? You’ll tire quickly. You will spend your days running and lifting. Doing things you won’t expect. I’ll challenge you, make you beg, and wish you were never a warrior. You’ll probably cry for your father and mother. You’ll want to quit.”
“I shall not.” He pushes his chest out and stands up straighter. He has something to prove, but it’s more with himself. I know he is capable. I’ve never seen more determination in anyone.
“Go get an axe and cut down twelve trees. Split the logs, too. I want enough firewood in the castle for the next week. When you are done, find me, and I will train you.”
His mouth drops open. “Truly?”
“Go!” I roar. “I did not tell you to wait!”
“Yes sir!” he snaps out of it, dashing back to find an axe.
I chuckle. That should keep him busy for hours. Turning back, I keep walking back to my cabin. I’m exhausted.
“Wulf!”
“Mother fucker.” I stop in my tracks again and tilt my head up to the sky, trying to calm the raging frustration from being interrupted twice now. What’s a man to do in order to take a cold bath? When I turn around, I expect to see one of the new men, Langlin or Jericho, but to my surprise, I see Trident.
I’m not in the mood. “Can the arguing wait? I’m tired and hungry.”
I spin on my heel and put as much distance as I can between him and me. What was said has been said. It was left on the muddy ground; the dirt has forever soaked up my words. I pinch the bridge of my nose when his boots get closer.
“I’m not in the mood to fight, Trident. Leave it alone for a day, would you?” I take a sharp right into the woods, venturing further into the natural darkness the canopy of the trees provides. My home sits right in the middle. It’s small, just the right size for me. There isn’t even a bedroom. It’s one room that holds a pile of furs and a fireplace. There is a room connected that holds my tub for when I want a warm bath, and next to it, a natural stream I bathe in when it’s warm outside.
“I don’t want to fight.”
“You’re like night and day, man,” I scoff, running my fingers through my dirty brown hair. “Leave me be.” I stomp up the steps of my cabin and slam the door shut, muffling Trident’s shouts of protest. I haven’t the energy to care right now. I just want everyone to leave me alone. I need space. I need to regroup.
I shuck off all my armor and clothes. Kicking off my boots, I groan, relishing the feel of my large feet finally free from the confining leather material. I flop in a tired heap on my animal skins and curse, realizing I forgot to start a fire. If I don’t, with how cold it will be late tonight, I will freeze.
I grunt as I reluctantly roll over to my stomach and push myself up to a standing position. My head swims with exhaustion. I’m so damn tired. Mentally, physically, emotionally. I need a fucking break. I grab a few pieces of wood, the bark scratching my palm as I pick it up and throw it in the hearth. I spark a fire, and in a few moments, large flames engulf the wood, sending warmth onto my skin.
I flop back on the skins and gather a few of them under my head and sigh. I’ll just take a quick nap, and then I’ll go see Lilith.
Just… a… quick…
Chapter Nine
Lilith
Beowulf hasn’t been by today. Every person that walks through the door, my heart speeds up a bit, hoping it is him. When I see that it’s not, pain trickles out of my heart like a slow bleeding wound. Is he tired of the burden of me? Maybe my memory of him—or lack thereof—is too much for him to handle? Has he
… given up on me?
“He will be back, Lilith,” Leiva assures me, changing my bandages again. “How do you feel about trying to walk today? We have a long road of recovery ahead of us. Yes, we do. We must start now before those muscles lose any more mass.”
“Sure,” I shrug, but I have no motivation to even try today, not without the support of Beowulf. It’s hard to understand why I’m so attached to him. It’s this visceral need to be near him, and when I’m not, I feel so lost. I have been without him for twelve years, but perhaps that’s just my soul telling me this is how to make up time lost. A part of it scares me. I still only have memories of my torturer, torturess? Is that what they call a female torturer? I don’t know.
But I’m begging for some type of peace. I want to be able to tell him I remember him. There is nothing I want more than to remember the beautiful moments we shared. They must have been beautiful, especially with the pull between us.
I want to put our pieces together more than anything. I want to be able to make a full picture.
“After breakfast, we will try walking, yes?” Leiva asks, placing a bowl full of stew and warm bread with honey on top in front of me. My stomach grumbles and mouth waters as the scent of beef invades my nostrils. Next to it sits a tall cup of buttermilk, thick and creamy. Everything looks delicious.
“Thank you,” I say earnestly and reach for the bowl carrying the delicious chunks of beef and carrots. My palms warm from the heat permeating from the soup, and I inhale, letting the aroma wash over me. I have food. I have shelter. I’m safe. I’ll never go hungry again. I grab hold of the spoon and dip it into the broth, gathering big chunks of potatoes and beef. My lips hit the wooden utensil and sip, letting the warmth coat my throat. The beef is juicy, and the carrots are tender and have the right amount of crunch. I moan in appreciation.
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