Perhaps some women would be frightened by this man’s intensity, but Saga only leaned into him—this man who had become the only solid thing in her life. This man who had reminded her what it meant to be spontaneous—that to reap rewards, one must take risks.
And this felt like the biggest risk of all.
But she could not think of the future, not when he held her as though she was the cause and the cure to his madness. Despite the roughness of his touch, she could sense Rurik’s barely leashed restraint, and she wondered what would happen if it snapped through. Saga’s hands grew bold, sliding down his neck,along the bunching muscles of his shoulders, then back up his chest. Her hand came to rest over his heart, thundering as though it was trying to break free. The realization that Rurik was as undone as she made her wild with need.
“Saga.” Rurik’s voice sounded scratched as he pulled away from her lips. He dragged his mouth along the column of her throat, breathing her in. “Kak ya mogu otpustit’ tebya2?”
“What does that mean?” Her lips parted in surprise as she tilted her neck, gasping as his lips trailed rough kisses downward, his close-shorn beard scratching along the sensitive skin of her neck.
“It means you are beautiful.”
“You’rebeautiful,” she breathed, the scrape of his teeth and the slide of his tongue along her neck stealing all thought from her mind. Hands skimming back into his hair, she held him there, wanting this moment to extend forever.
“Mozhet ya ne otpushchu tebya3,” he said in a low growl that reverberated through her entire body.
“And that?” Her chest rose and fell with each rapid breath.
“It means I wish to do wicked things to you.”
His hand gripped her waist, and his mouth dipped to hers. This kiss was desperate—urgent, anguished. Rurik kissed her as if he were starving—as if he knew this was the last taste he’d get.
She already mourned its ending—this kiss which had transformed her soul. How could she go back to a time before she knew what it felt like to be kissed like this—like she was the sun and moons and all the stars in his sky?
But gradually the voice clawed its way back.You fool!it screamed, setting her heart hurtling.You’re outdoors. In danger. You must find safety.
Saga drew back, trying to shake the voice free. Just a little longer…
Come with me, Saga wanted to scream.Come with me to Midfjord. But she couldn’t drag him into her troubles more than she had already. Couldn’t have any more blood on her hands.
Rurik looked like a wild creature; his hair wet and mussed, eyes wolfish and far too bright. He looked like he wanted to consume her—like he was holding himself back by the very finest thread. A warm rush spread through her, and for a moment, Saga wanted nothing but for the thread to snap through. But as Rurik blinked, the ferocity eased, as did the muscles beneath her fingertips.
And then he was looking at her mischievously. “Is wonder enough you have been outdoors so long. Let us return to castle, Winterwing.”
The air between them was heavy with unspoken words, but neither wanted to break the spell.
“Yes,” said Saga at last. “I must return to the castle.” A pang of alarm tightenedher chest. Her sodden gown clung to her body, her braids drenched with rain. “I cannot return to the feast.”
“I know a door,” Rurik said, his voice touched with amusement. “Is secret.”
“Oh?”
“A woman more beautiful than forest fairy showed it to me. I was so enchanted, I set fire to my own boat to stay longer by her side.”
Saga shook her head slowly. “Brash man.”
“Hands were doing without permission,” he replied, reaching for her.
As his hand closed around the back of hers, he hesitated. His palm slid against her skin once more, eyes flickering down.
Saga’s heart stumbled, and she tried to yank her hand back, but his grasp was ironclad. His eyes locked onto hers, dark brows furrowed as he lifted her hand, holding it up to the light trickling from the palace.
“What…”
Her heart beat like a war drum, and she squeezed her eyes shut.Danger!her body screamed. Saga forced in deep breaths, as Rurik tilted her hand, sliding his thumb against her disfigured skin.
“What is this, Saga?”
Saga’s lips parted, but no sound came out. Her chest was squeezing, tighter, tighter. Forcing her eyes shut, she tried not to think of what he’d find on the backs of her hands.
