“Then let the blood mix,” he declared. “Let the vows be sealed.”
I clasped her bleeding palm to mine, our blood mingling, becoming one. It was done.
“I present to you, Korvak and his mate, Kael!” Kazgar roared. “Bound in blood and before the clan!”
The Great Lodge erupted. The warriors roared their approval, hammering their fists on the tables. The drums exploded in a wild, triumphant rhythm. The tension of the ceremony broke, and the raw, joyous energy of the feast took its place.
Ale flowed freely. Platters of roasted boar were passed around. The air filled with laughter and shouting. I pulled Kael close to my side, a possessive, protective gesture I no longer had to hide.
My shield-brothers, Ghorza at their lead, descended on us.
“So the great General is finally chained!” Ghorza bellowed, clapping me so hard on the back I nearly stumbled. “And by the smallest warrior of all!”
“She has him well-tamed, I think,” another warrior jeered, his tusks glinting. “Look at him. He looks like he doesn't know whether to eat her or guard her.”
“Listen, brother,” Ghorza said, leaning in conspiratorially, his breath thick with the smell of mead. “A word of advice. Human females are… fragile. Be gentle. Like you are trying to crush a flower… but slowly.” He winked, a grotesque expression on his scarred face.
The others roared with laughter. Kael, to her credit, just raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. She was not intimidated by them. My heart swelled with a fierce, burning pride.
The night wore on, a whirlwind of congratulations, crude jokes, and the heady joy of my people. But through it all, my awareness of Kael was a burning, singular point of focus. Every time her arm brushed against mine, every time she leaned in to hear me over the din, the fire in my blood burned hotter. The anticipation, held at bay by the solemnity of the ceremony, was now a raging inferno.
I wanted my wife. I wanted my home. I wanted to be alone with her.
Finally, I caught her eye across the rim of my drinking horn. A silent question passed between us. The noise and the celebration faded away, and there was only her, and the promise in her gaze. She gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
Chapter 15
Kael
The walk from the Great Lodge back to Korvak’s longhouse was the longest and shortest of my life. The wild, triumphant sounds of the feast faded behind us, replaced by the quiet crunch of our boots on the hard-packed earth and the frantic, riotous drumming of my own heart. The cool night air did nothing to calm the fire that had been lit inside me.
He pushed open the heavy door to his home, and we stepped from the public celebration into a cone of profound, intimate silence. The air was thick with it, a tangible, electric tension that made the hairs on my arms stand up.
The central hearth had been banked, its embers casting a low, sensual red glow over the hall. Furs had been piled high on the bed, and a jug of what smelled like spiced wine sat on a small table beside it. His mother had prepared the space for us.
I stood awkwardly in the center of the room, my hands clasped in front of me, a soldier waiting for orders. I knew how to fight a war, strip a weapon blindfolded, and set a broken bone. I did not know how to do… this. My body was a landscape I had dedicated to strength and survival, not to pleasure or intimacy.
Korvak stood by the door, his massive frame a silhouette against the moonlit world outside. He watched me, his expression unreadable in the dim light. He seemed… hesitant. He took a slow step toward me, his movements careful, deliberate, as if I were a frightened deer he was afraid of spooking.
"Kael," he rumbled, his voice a low, soft thing, stripped of all its command.
He reached out, his hand moving with an agonizing slowness, and gently tucked a stray strand of my red hair behind my ear. His calloused fingertips, rough from a lifetime of holding an axe, brushed against my skin with an impossible gentleness. He was treating me like I was made of spun glass. Like I might shatter.
And I hated it.
It was kind. I knew it was meant to be kind. But after everything—the battle, the poison, the defiance—this gentle, hesitant handling felt like a dismissal of the warrior he claimed to see in me. It made me feel small. Fragile. It made me feel like prey.
Something inside me, the part of me that had charged him in the square, that had spat defiance at Roric, snapped. I was not glass. And I would not be handled as such.
Before I could second-guess the impulse, I rose up on my toes, fisted my hands in the fur of his cloak, and pulled his head down to mine. I crushed my mouth against his.
For a heartbeat, he was completely still, a mountain of shocked, unmoving muscle. His lips were firm, warm, tasting of mead and smoke. I kissed him with all the pent-up frustration and fear and a desperate, terrifying want I hadn’t known how to name. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was a brand, a claim, a demand.
And then, his control shattered.
A deep, guttural sound was torn from his chest, a groan that was half shock, half surrender. His hesitation evaporated in a flash of pure, primal heat. His arm, which had been hanging uselessly at his side, snaked around my waist, lifting me from my feet andslamming my body flush against his. His other hand tangled in my hair, tilting my head back as his mouth took mine with a devouring, possessive hunger that stole the breath from my lungs.
This was not the careful General. This was the beast I had glimpsed in the training ring, unleashed by my own hand. His tongue swept into my mouth, a hot, wet invasion that was both a conquest and a deep, intimate knowing. He tasted of power and longing, and I met his every thrust with a desperate greed of my own.
