“But you’ve told me several.” I slip the gloves off.
“I promised trust. And you’ve done nothing but given me yours, so it’s time I put my faith in you,” Shaw says. The gravity of what he’s saying clings to the magic surrounding the ritual.
While we wait, he takes several long pieces of unfinished metal and shows me how to draw them out after a quench and bend them with a hammer to fit around a shield. I am in awe at how he knows what each weapon needs to be strong and sharp.
“Can you teach me how to do this?” I ask, after we’ve poured the bright yellow liquid from the ritual crucible into the link mold during, what he calls, the cast.
“Yes. Blacksmithing and decorating, or goldsmithing, are two different things. Or are you asking about learning to write?” He points out rune labels he’s etched into the table to show the status of different weapons he’s crafting.
“Jorvik made sure I had no ability to speak for myself or sign anything. That’s why he kept ink out of my reach and parchment locked away.” I touch the pretty details on a sword made for a man who must have paid Shaw handsomely.
“Here” – Shaw hands me a tiny tool with a sharp smoldering blade on one side – “you can’t mess up. Draw what comes to mind and practice holding the knife like this.” He takes my thumb andwraps it around the slender tool. Holding it tightly between it and my pointer finger, he guides my hand over a blazing hot loop that will be a hand guard.
My lines are wobbly at first as I try to create the key shapes for the majority of our rune language. It’s easier than I imagined to sink the little blade into the metal, and my confidence grows. Shaw stands beside me with unending patience, showing me how to use the fat blade versus the pointy tip to draw the bends in the letters and make a border to accentuate my single word.
“Not bad for one day of practice. I can teach you to read if you’d like,” he says, putting tools away and blowing warm air into his cold hands. We’ve been out here for hours.
“What about the link?” I wrap my hands around the hot clay to defrost my fingertips. The snow picks back up as the afternoon wanes, and deep-purple snow clouds block out any visible stars.
“We can bring it inside for now,” he recommends, and I scoop up the mold, carrying it inside where the cabin is warm and cozy. Closing up barrels and feeding the goats on his way, Shaw follows me inside and takes off his heavy fur coat.
“Thank you for today.” I brace myself on my tiptoes to give him a kiss. We smell like embers and smoke as he wraps his arms up my back, under my tunic. My lips part, and our kiss deepens. His rough fingers graze over my skin, buckling my knees in the best way.
“Rasha,” his voice trembles against my mouth, and I fist his shirt to keep him close. “The magic of our blood mixing with the elements you provided is making you feel more.”
“I’ve felt like this for days,” I murmur. Slipping my hands under his shirt, I need to feel his skin against mine, and I pull the sleeves off his shoulders. My lips trail over the broken, blue lines of his tattoo.
“We need to go to the caves when you stop bleeding.” He moves me away so he can kiss down my neck.
“If we stay in the same bed tonight, I don’t know if I can keep my hands to myself,” I whimper as he looks at me with pure depravity in his eyes.
“The alternative is that we sleep apart, and I can’t have that.”He pulls me close again. “You must be starving for more than the taste of my skin?”
“I am hungry.” I giggle as he picks me up, sets me down on the kitchen table, and begins pulling things out to prepare dinner. The clay mold sits on the floor by the hearth, each piece of our bond solidifying little by little as the link cools.
25
SHAW
Everyday we grow closer, and every day my restraint wanes. I’ve pumped my cock dry while she sleeps. Looking at the swell of her hips and the dip between her legs is enough to make me come. Some nights, she stirs, like her body knows and reaches for me, but I dare not wake her.
When she offered to use our blood in the link for the chain, I was both elated and conflicted. Should I have stopped her or kept my blood out of it? I never thought I’d have a partner when reclaiming my seat in the Vanheim, so I am at a loss. Are my feelings for her because I am a man starved or is she to sit beside me as an equal in the Immortal Realm?
She is so certain she understands what she feels. I haven’t stopped her since I feel it too. Vidarr was right when he said this time was different. Rasha is different from Skadi, though she doesn’t know it. She has no idea how powerful she is as she slowly learns to wield her new strengths.
We’ve practiced less with the bow, considering it frustrates her, but this morning she wears the quiver with the bow tucked inside as we follow Aslaug down to the icy river below the cabin to fish. Her flushed face as she descends the difficult terrain makes me think ofall the ways I can make her sweat. Hiking down a mountain is ridiculous with a hard on. I swear at myself and take a swig of the honeyed wine she insisted we bring.
“What are you doing way up there?” she asks, gazing up at me with those big blue eyes.
“Watching you,” I call, sliding on my ass a good ten feet down to where she is. Snow and ice cave-in under my legs when I stop. A massive piece of ice breaks from underneath, hitting the sides of the mountain on the way down. We are almost at the river bank where I plan on making a fire while I watch her fish with Aslaug.
“Out here, we are at the border of my protection, so don’t be too complacent,” I explain and watch her survey our surroundings.
“The snow stopped yesterday, and I doubt Harald will be on the move so quickly. I don’t remember traveling through any river valleys, so Jorvik won’t come this way if he is returning home.” Her gaze travels up and down the river. The foamy current breaks the ice in places, sending fat sections careening down. Pushed by sliding snow drifting off the mountain and the sheer force of our ever changing nature, the river never completely freezes over.
“There are other predators besides man,” I remind her and start climbing down the rest of the way.
“I still think I should go home before we try to find the herd. There might be people in the Beaivi Clan who would be on our side, people who would help us. Before my grandparents generation, they lived with the reindeer, never taking more than they needed. That’s how they survived the winters before the other Vikings came from the South.” She brings up a conversation from a few nights ago.
