"I... liked it. No one's ever..." Her voice catches, those eyes blazing with something that stirs my beast. "That's twice now you've defended me—no one's ever done anything like that for me, Erik."
The way she says my name, like it's something sacred, something cherished...
I can't resist pulling her flush against me, needing to feel her. Memories of last night flood my mind—her taste, scent, and how she shattered so beautifully around me. I want that again. Wanther, in every way possible.
Her fingers trace the lines of my face, each touch a whisper of silk against my skin. Her eyes search mine with an intensity that steals my breath. It's as if she's seeing me, genuinely seeing me, for the first time.
"What am I going to do with you, silfrhár?" Her voice is a sigh, a surrender, an invitation.
My lips find hers, gentle at first—until she moans into my mouth. The sound ignites a hunger I can't control as I pull her closer, hands spanning her waist through layers of fur and leather.
Her fingers tangle in my hair as she arches into me. I groan when she tugs, the sensation sparking like lightning down my spine.
The world blurs. Her back hits the ancient pine, snow cascading around us like stars.
"Sorry—"
"Stop." She growls againstmy mouth, teeth catching my bottom lip. "Stop apologizing."
The hunger in her voice makes my chest ache. How many taught her that violence was all she deserved? My touch is gentle, and my kiss is turning from desperate to reverent. I'll show her there's more than rough hands and cruel touches.
She whimpers as I trace her lips with my tongue, the sound soft and surprised. Each brush of my mouth against hers is a promise, each caress a prayer. The kiss deepens, slow and thorough—stoking embers into steady flame.
The ground trembles beneath our feet, vibrating like a colossal heartbeat pulsing through the frozen earth. Our lips tear apart as Bryn's eyes widen with recognition—instincts reading danger in the rhythmic tremors.
"Shit." She stumbles back, her warrior's stance returning as she scans the darkening forest. The tremors continue, rhythmic, like giant footfalls shaking the world.
"Bryn—"
"Frost giant." Her voice carries the sharp edge of experience. "They hunt these woods after sunset." Her fingers lock around mine, pulling us toward camp through the snow. "Move. Now."
The tremors grow stronger, each impact rattling ancient pines and sending cascades of snow from their branches. My mind struggles to process the reality of it—a fucking frost giant? But the terror in Bryn's quickening pulse tells me everything I need to know.
The camp materializes through the trees, conspicuously missing one arrogant prince. Of course the bastard fled. Bryn's movements are fluid, practiced—her sword singing free of its scabbard as her shield settles against her arm. Grave Warden's weight feels right in my palm, the blade gleaming with deadly promise in the fading light.
"What’s the strategy?”
"Aim for the joints." Bryn's voice carries the authority of countless battles. "Knees, elbows, neck—anywhere the ice armor is thinnest." Another tremor rocks the ground, closer now. "And whatever you do, don't let them grab you. Their touch turns flesh to ice."
The forest groans around us as ancient trees bend under an unseen weight. Bryn shifts into a battle stance I've seen a thousand times in training, but never with such lethal focus.
"They're strong but slow." Her eyes track something in the darkness that my vampire sight hasn't caught yet. "Use your speed. Strike fast, strike hard, and for fuck's sake, don't try to match their strength."
The world slows and crystallizes, that familiar clarity washing over me as future echoes ripple through my mind.Left. Down. Pivot.The giant's movements paint themselves in my thoughts seconds before they happen.
A mighty hand, blue as glacier ice, swings through the space where my head was a heartbeat ago. Snow explodes as the giant's fist connects with empty air. Bryn's already moving, her blade a silver arc that catches moonlight as she darts between the creature's legs.
Duck. Roll. Strike.
The vision comes just in time. I drop as a chunk of ice the size of a horse whistles overhead. Grave Warden finds the soft spot behind the giant's knee—exactly where Bryn said it would be. Black blood, thick as tar, steams in the frozen air.
"Erik!" Bryn's voice cuts through the night. She's airborne, shield braced, creating the perfect springboard. Without hesitation, I blur forward, plant my foot on her shield, and let her Valkyrie strength launch me toward the giant's face.
Right eye. Three seconds. Block.
The creature's hand comes up to swat me away—exactly as I saw it would. But I'm already twisting, using its own arm as a runway. Grave Warden plunges deep into its right eye socket. The roar that follows shakes snow from distant peaks.
Bryn moves quickly beneath the giant, her blade finding every weak point in its ice armor. We dance around it in perfect synchronization—her knowledge of its weaknesses combining with my ability to see its moves before they come.
