“Repulsively cheerful woman.” He pinched her ribs, and she squirmed.
“I’d warm your bed with heating stones.” She gasped, wriggling away as he pinched her again. “Massage the ache from your shoulders. I’d knock you on your arse each night to keep your pride in check.”
Rey huffed, gaze settled on hers. His lips twitched, and then it happened.
He smiled.
It was like molten sunlight pouring through her veins. She smiled back, reaching up, skimming fingers along the soft contours of his lips. “Your smiles,” she whispered. “I find myself willing to do anything to see them.” Her finger settled in the divot of his bottom lip, pushing down. “And I find myself wondering…” She pushed onto her knees, bringing their faces level.
Edging closer, she watched Rey’s pupils grow impossibly wide. Something deep inside her fluttered. Impulsively, Silla leaned forward, sliding her lips against his.
As far as kisses went, it wasn’t her best work. She pressed her lips to his just a little too hard. Lost her balance as the world seemed to tilt. Putting a steadying hand to the ground, she drew back, her face as hot as a thousand suns.
“I didn’t want to die without doing that,” she blurted, easing away. Panic gripped her. What had she done? She’d just kissed him—Reynir Galtung.Oh gods.
But his hand slid around her shoulder, before sliding up her neck to cup her face.
“Then do it right,” he muttered. And his lips were on hers.
Silla was torn between a curious mixture of surprise and relief. Surprise that Reynir Galtung was cupping her face so reverently, kissing her with all the tenderness in the world. Relief that at last, this was happening. A warm rush of tingles flowed through her body, and time seemed to stand still for a single perfect moment.
But the moment shattered.
A cry echoed across the burial grounds, and their mouths wrenched apart.
“Runný?” gasped Silla, head whipping around. But before she could see anything, she was slammed to the ground and rolled once, twice. Cold seeped into her back, Rey’s powerful body covering her own. For a moment, Silla thought she was dreaming.
But Rey’s low voice cleared her mind in an instant. “When I get up, move as fast as you can to the trees, and don’t come out.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Heart thundering, Rey hauled Silla to her feet and pushed her toward the woods. At first he’d thought the serpent was attacking, but now he knew better.
“Archers,” he hissed, tracking movement in his periphery. The light streaming over Snowspear was near blinding, shadows in the burial grounds growing deep. “Take cover in the trees!”
“But I want to fight!” she protested, reaching for her sword.
Another arrow whisked past his ear. “Not this time.” Rey left no room for compromise in his words. “It is too dangerous. Get into the trees anddo notcome out until I signal.”
After casting him a scathing look, Silla rushed to the trees, and just in time—another arrow thrummed by, missing her by inches and embedding in a trunk. This arrow, Rey noted, was far smaller than a longbow’s, with curious red fletching.
Drawing his sword, Rey ducked low and rushed to the largest of the burial mounds, swerving side to side to confuse the archers. He was two steps away from the stones when warriors emerged from behind the barrow. Gritting his teeth, he quickly assessed. Eight of them, clad in boiled leather armor, greataxes clutched in both hands. His gaze fell upon their sigil and he cursed.
Wolf Feeders.
Rey dropped, rolling behind the barrow while simultaneously yanking his galdur with all the force he could muster. By the time he sprang up on his knees,the veins in his hands were oil-black, the prickling heat of his galdur building higher with each heartbeat.
He had only seconds for this to work—the archers would have to wait as he took on the warriors rushing around the mound. Flicking his palm open, he drew from the halda tattooed on his chest, expressing his smoke in a churning rush of darkness.
With an exhale, he split his power into eight wisps of smoke, channeling every fiery ounce of anger into his galdur. His smoke swarmed at the nearest warrior’s face.
The familiar anguished screams and spit of burning flesh filled the air, the warrior before him falling to the ground just as the churning smoke met the next one. An arrow whizzed by Rey’s ear, diverting his attention for the barest of moments. His galdur faltered, but he refocused quickly. Three warriors fell, but the rest were closing in on him.
“Shit,” he muttered, trying to maintain his focus. But they were too near, and his galdur was better used from a distance.
“’Tis a nice trick,” grunted a warrior from behind him. “But it is no match for cold steel.”
“Unfortunately for you, I have both,” growled Rey, drawing his sword.
