Asbjörn steps behind me and wraps an arm around my waist, pointing at a firepit full of wood. “That one will be lit and create a huge fire that will burn all night. That one too.” He points at another tall heap of wood across the courtyard. “And that”—he gestures to a man placing a big bearskin rug in front of a St. Andrew’s cross—“will provide plenty of insulation from the cold ground.”
I’m utterly mesmerized, and I hope he’ll say yes to my next question. “Will we be playing here?”
“Not tonight, I’m afraid. Members only.” He turns me around in his arms. “But you’ll get a front-row seat where we’ll be playing.” His lips tip up in a cheeky smile, and my stomach flutters when he leans down and presses his lips to mine in a tender kiss. We’ve kissed before, but as our tongues mingle and dance, the air buzzes with anticipation, and the scent of pine and fresh wood wafts around us. Something feels different. Like I belong.
“Come,” he says, breaking the kiss and offering me his hand. “Let me show you where I live.”
He leads me up to the second floor in one of the old buildings and into a stunning apartment, renovated in a rustic yet clean style of wooden planks and warm, natural textures.
He guides me through the small entryway to a beautiful living room where long carpets in various colors cover the floors, various kinds of animal hides are draped over furniture, and long rows of books sit on shelves on the walls. There’s even a fireplace, and above it, the king of the forest watches over the room—a huge mounted moose head with beautiful antlers.
“Wow, did you shoot that one yourself?” I ask, remembering Evelina saying he had provided the delicious meat we had for dinner.
A proud, almost boyish smile lights up his eyes. “Yeah. I mounted it myself too.”
I glance around the place, which looks much newer than the building did outside. “Did you renovate this place too?”
“Yes. Toke and I. We did most of the work on this whole building. Except for the plumbing. We had to hire someone to do it. But recently, we added a plumber to the community, so now we can handle all the work ourselves.”
“Oh wow,” is all I manage. And my awe only continues when he shows me the cozy kitchen, the warm bathroom, and finally the bedroom.
It’s as stunning as all the other rooms, but what captures my attention is a wooden pillory with beautiful carvings.
“You made these too?” I ask breathlessly as I trail my fingers over the intricate carvings that evoke a sense of something ancient and sacred.
“I made the structure; Ulf did the carvings.”
My eyes snap up to Asbjörn. “Ulf made these?” I don’t know why I’m so surprised. Ulf might look dangerous and powerful,but his power is not all brawn and brutality. Far from it. Rather, it seems to stem from a quiet inner strength. When I think about it, I could easily imagine him spending hours alone in a workshop, carving beautiful patterns.
“Is he a carpenter too?” I ask.
“Nah, this is just a hobby to him.”
“What does he do then?”
“That’s kind of a long story.” Asbjörn rubs his beard. “He spent five years in the Ranger Regiment up in Lapland—cold-weather training, long-range patrols, survival—and was in Iraq for a couple of years. Then he went on to another extreme environment and became a supervisor on a Norwegian oil rig. Dangerous shit. But at least he earned a ton of money—more than the modest bastard can use in a lifetime. But it also prevented him from finding a sub. He didn’t want to subject anyone to the risks of his lifestyle and leave someone for weeks at a time.”
“And now? Is he still on the rigs?”
“Nah, a few years ago, he decided to step back and live a quiet life here, close to nature, focusing his time on our community. He owns a few buildings in the city but spends most of his time here.”
“Oh.” I study the carvings for another long minute. I could study them for hours and not tire. There are so many details that all seem to tell a story of their own. But once again, I’m gravitating toward a man who’s out of my reach—a dream, a fantasy—when I have a real one right here in front of me.
So I take my eyes off the carvings and lift them to the mighty warrior in front of me. “Are we going to play here?” I place my hand in the mid-circle of the pillory. Part of me hopes he’ll say yes, but another part knows I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about Ulf if Asbjörn were to restrain me in this beautiful device.
He crosses the room with slow, deliberate steps and stands behind me. Sliding his hands onto my waist, he leans close, his beard brushing my ear, tickling and sending shivers down my neck. “Not here either. I have something else in mind.” He bites the shell of my ear, making me gasp. “A front-row seat, like I promised.”
12
Elina
The sound of a drum breaks through the silence. No, several drums.
I turn in Asbjörn’s arms. “What is that?” It sounds like the ritualistic music at the club, only this is not coming from speakers. It’s right outside the window.
“Perfect timing. They’ve begun.”
“Begun what?”
