I push air through rounded lips and release my answer on the last gust of air. “Yes.”
A smile curves his lips and deepens the faint lines around his mouth, making him look utterly beautiful. The darkness behind his eyes remains, though, always there, revealing a heavy depth behind his controlled façade—a severity I want to kiss and caress and share with him in the hopes that I can shoulder some of theweight for him. I hope he’ll open up to me the same way he’s opening me up to him.
Gripped by the urge to get closer to him—needing something in return as I bare my soul and all my vulnerabilities—I say, “Will you tell me something about yourself that I don’t know—something no one else knows?”
A grave expression settles over his face. I think he’s about to say no, but then he nods. I wait breathlessly as he stares into the distance, the air growing fraught with something dark and somber.
He doesn’t look at me when he finally says, “I once killed a man with my bare hands—a good friend.” His eyes close, the weight of the memory settling on his brow. “Half his body was covered in third-degree burns. He probably could have lived, but he begged me not to let him go through that agony.” He goes quiet for a moment. “I still see his face every night when I close my eyes.”
His breaths become heavy, and I press my hand to his rising and falling chest, needing to provide some sort of comfort but having no idea how. I almost expect him to tense up and shut off, but instead, he relaxes into my touch, dropping his head slightly with a surprising hint of vulnerability.
Feeling bold, I lift my hand to his face and press it to his cheek. Once again, he surprises me by leaning in instead of pulling away. His eyes remain closed, though. The severity of the memory seems to roll through him, but I sense him finding comfort in my touch, and it warms my heart.
When he opens his eyes and aims the sharp blue straight at me, there’s a hardness as if he’s prepared to shut off. “Do you still trust me?” he asks with thick doubt.
“Yes,” I say without pause. Because I do. All that shame and guilt and the harrowing loneliness that seems to accompany his memory tell me more than any words or actions could. This manis fiercely protective. He’ll go to extreme lengths to protect the people close to him. And now I’m under his protection.
Wonder infiltrates the somber darkness in his eyes. “I can’t believe I finally have you. You’re everything I hoped you’d be and so much more.” He presses a long kiss to my lips, then adjusts his grip on me, leans forward to grab the knife, and gets up with me in his arms. “Let’s finish the ritual.”
26
Elina
The mountain offers a stunning view over the forest and lake. From our vantage point, we can barely see the town. It’s just breathtaking, undisturbed visions of nature.
I bite the back of my finger at the sight of a stone structure on the summit. A huge flat stone resting on two smaller ones, creating a sort of low table. A dolmen. An ancient grave. My heart skips a beat. Something powerful seems to hum in the very air, drawing me in. It’s the same type of power Ulf exudes.
I feel like I’m being laid out on an altar to serve a higher purpose when Ulf carefully positions me on the stone. My eyes drift shut, and a shuddery sense of purpose rolls through me—a sense of connection. To nature, to Ulf. And most of all, to myself.
Ulf moves about me, tying my wrists and ankles, securing the ropes to stakes that he hammers into the ground. Once he’s done, I’m lying spread out on the stone, naked and vulnerable beneath the sun.
Even though it’s just us, I feel like I’m being watched. But not by people or even birds. By the sun, the trees, and the wind—by the omnipresent power of the mountain. It welcomes me in and lets me shed all knowledge of who I am and what I am not. Up here, it doesn’t matter. The mountain doesn’t expect anything of me. It knows me as I am when I’m my truest, barest self, reducedto instincts and basic needs. And I know Ulf does the same when he climbs onto the stone, between my legs, and watches me for a long, quiet moment.
Despite the knife in his hand, I don’t recoil in fear or tense my muscles in nervousness.
I just breathe.
“Are you ready?” he asks with grave seriousness.
“Yes,” I say on a long breath.
Leaning forward, he presses his hand to my chest, weighing down, hindering my breath even as he makes it flow freer. With a deep inhale through his nose, he closes his eyes and leans his head back.
A buzzing energy stirs in the air, but it’s not coming from him or me. It’s like an ancient power coming from deep within the mountain—like he’s summoning it.
I don’t understand it, and neither do I know if it’s real or just my senses heightening. But it doesn’t matter. At that moment, I feel more connected than ever before. It’s all a circle. The sun, the earth, the trees, the stone, and Ulf and me. We’re no longer visitors on this summit or spectators to the wonders of this world. We’re part of it.
When he opens his eyes again, they’re full of a razor-sharp intensity that cuts straight through me, baring my innermost parts—things I never knew about myself. Feelings too strong and abstract to put into words.
His nostrils flare again as he lifts the knife, strength rippling through his muscles as he slowly, controlled, lowers the tip of the blade to my thigh. He doesn’t say anything, just holds my gaze firmly.
“Ah,” I yelp, wincing when the tip breaks my skin.
He gives me a slow nod. A promise—he’s got me, I’m safe. I nod in return—I’m ready—and he slowly blinks, redirecting his attention to my thigh and the knife.
I lock up all my muscles, barely breathing, as I watch his grip tighten on the knife. He drags a long line down my thigh, breaking my skin, making me hiss and pant. Pressing his hand deeper into my chest, he reminds me of his control. It stabilizes me through the pain, and I somehow manage to lie still and breathe through the sharp burn as he cuts two more shorter lines with the knife.
Then he just watches me again, something quiet but meaningful passing between us. Possession and submission, control and surrender. A connection deeper than any words can forge.
