He kissed her more roughly, and she laughed against his mouth. But when he drew back, all traces of amusement were gone.I love you,he told her with his eyes, rocking inside her.
I love you, too,she told him back, squeezing his hands tighter.
Their lips crashed together, each of them pouring in their passion and love and utter adoration. Rey’s movements were choppy, his tempo quickly building, and Silla’s unfulfilled pleasure from earlier barreled back into her. The tension built to dizzying levels, andthen she was arching, inundated in wave after wave of exquisite sensation. The pleasure ebbed and pulsed until it had reached all through her.
Above her, Rey made a guttural sound, burying his nose against her neck as he found his own release. They lay in a tangle, twitching with the aftershocks as they tried to catch their breaths. After a long moment, Rey pushed himself up, then blinked. He rolled his lips together, as though trying to suppress a smile.
“What?” asked Silla.
“Your hair.” Rey laughed throatily. “It’s certainly tangled.”
Silla patted her mangled hair, a smile spreading wide as she stared up at the man sheloved.“You can apply a treatment of bear grease to it later.”
She made to pull him back down for another kiss, but Rey jerked back at a sudden scratching sound.
“What—” In the span of a heartbeat, Rey had leaped from the bed, retrieved his sword, and was striding—bare-arsed—to the source of the sound. Silla scrambled after him, wobbly as a newborn faun as she pulled a fur around her shoulders.
Rey hauled the curtain back, and together they stared into a pair of beady black eyes.
“The black hawk,” murmured Silla, peering through the glass. Her heart pounded as she tried to seek meaning from the bird’s presence. But without the god of chaos lurking in her blood, it seemed rather less ominous.
Rey reached for the window opening, lifting his sword, but she placed a hand on his wrist. “Wait,” said Silla, stepping closer. The hawk scraped its yellow beak along the glass, and for the first time, Silla realized the offerings plate was empty. “It’s only hungry.”
She felt Rey’s incredulous stare as she padded to the table where the leavings of their evening meal rested. Silla picked up a plate and carried it to the window. After hauling the pane open, she offered a leftover roast chicken leg to the bird. The hawk snatched it with its razor-sharp beak and, with a soft, throaty sound, took to the skies.
Silla turned back to Rey and shrugged.
Reynir Galtung shook his beautiful head. “Only you could tame the gods damned herald of death.”
Silla shrugged and set the plate aside. “I suppose I’m used to befriending the surliest of beings.”
His brows shot down, and he leveled her with his fiercestaxe eyes.
“Come now,Reynir,” Silla cooed, sauntering toward the bed. “Bring that glare back to the furs.”
Chapter 69
Hekla batted Eyvind’s hand away from where it squeezed her thigh under the feasting table, then winced as pain twinged from her ribs. Eyvind’s gaze whipped her way, and she felt him assessing her with concern.
“I’m fine, Hakonsson,” she muttered, breathing through the pain. “My broken ribs are healing.” It was true. With diligent application of Sigrún’s ointment each day following the battle in the heartwood, her ribs were well on the mend. Still, it would be several weeks before they were truly healed.
As for her prosthetic arm, well, Hekla had pulled it from Gjalla’s fangs to find it mangled beyond repair. It was silly, she supposed, to grow attached to a non-living thing. But this arm had saved her life on multiple occasions. And so she’d been a little sentimental about its demise. Hekla had buried it in the heartwood with murmured words of thanks.
Now her sleeve hung empty as she waited for the Tailor to finish crafting her new prosthetic arm with his strange, textile-manipulating magic. The Tailor’s promise of extra sharp parts and a few new tweaks had done much to assuage Hekla’s dismay at the loss of her old one.
Eyvind was also healing up rather nicely, though the man had milked his injury for all it was worth. From making Axe Eyes fetch his ale to asking Hekla to adjust his blanket, he’d become a thorn in everyone’s side. Though a part of her itched to defy his ridiculousrequests, another part couldn’t bear to have him suffer. And so, thus far, she’d begrudgingly relented.
Though she felt Eyvind’s smoldering looks, Hekla had managed to extract herself from conversation before he could bring up their interrupted kiss. Deep inside, she knew everything had changed on that riverbank, even if she wasn’t ready to admit it.
You can use those claws of yours all you wish,Eyvind had said.Can’t you tell I’m not going anywhere?
She had time. He wouldn’t rush her. And the thought made nervous flutters erupt low in her belly. She did not know what this was—whattheywere—but for the time being, that was all right.
When Eyvind had insisted she join him in House Hakon’s seats of honor, Hekla had nearly declined. But the curl of Jarl Hakon’s lip had made up her mind for her. It was clear Eyvind’s father thought her a terrible match for his son, and something about this had rankled Hekla enough that she’d taken the damned chair.
Now Hekla sat with Eyvind on her left, Gunnar on her right. She should feel on guard seated between the pair, and yet a casual sort of acceptance had settled between them. Of course, it could be the black-haired beauty on Gunnar’s right who made the seating arrangement tolerable.Kaeja,the woman had introduced herself, before laughing at each of Gunnar’s horrible puns.
Eyvind’s former betrothed, Liv, sat at the far end of the table, laughing with Runný, and Hekla found herself smiling at the pair. It was strange to see different worlds colliding, and even stranger to be done with the job in Istré, when it had been her solitary focus for so long. Hekla still had nightmares of the mist swarming her; of a giant spider looming over her. It was jarring to go from the horrors of the Western Woods to the fineries of Ashfall. To be seated among the most powerful jarls in the north, though…that, she could get usedto.
