The terror that had paralyzed her moments before began to dissolve, replaced by a relief so profound it made her light-headed.
He had come. He hadn't hesitated, hadn't questioned, hadn't stayed behind the safety of his walls. She realized then that she wasn't afraid of the death Finley threatened—she was only afraid of a life where she didn't get to see that look in Harald's eyes every day.
She let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding, her body going supple against Finley’s arm, not out of surrender to her brother, but out of a total, soul-deep trust in the man walking toward her.
“Are ye hurt?” he asked, his voice low and steady despite the violence coiled in every line of him.
She shook her head once, barely daring to breathe.
“Let her go,” Harald said again. This time there was no room for defiance, his voice carrying across the yard with a calm that promised consequence.
Finley’s mouth twisted into a thin line. “This daesnae concern ye.”
Harald stopped an arm’s length away. “Everything about her concerns me.”
“Move aside,” Finley warned, his grip tightening at her throat.
Harald’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. It was a slow, agonizing curve of his lips, a baring of teeth.
Enya felt her stomach clench with a visceral, dizzying heat. She had never seen that side of him—the raw, unfiltered power of the Hawk. It was terrifying, yes, but beneath the fear, she felt a soaring, jagged pride. This was the man who claimed her.
Steel flashed.
Sound tore the night open as Harald moved, faster than her eyes could follow, his sword striking Finley’s blade aside in a brutal arc. Sparks burst between them, the scream of metal jolting through her bones. Finley swore, staggering back as his grip broke, the sudden absence of pressure leaving her dizzy.
Her legs nearly gave way as she pitched forward, the world tilting violently.
Harald was there at once.
He caught her without looking, his arm locking around her with solid strength, anchoring her against him. One arm wrapped around her shoulders, hauling her against him with fierce, unthinking force. Her face pressed into his chest, the solid reality of him slamming into her senses all at once and she felt his heart, pounding hard and fast beneath her cheek.
She clutched his tunic, fingers curling desperately into the fabric.
Behind them, chaos erupted. Harald’s men surged forward, blades flashing in torchlight as Finley’s companions scattered, some fighting, some fleeing outright. Shouts filled the yard. The clash of steel rang sharp and brutal.
Harald did not let her go.
He turned slightly, positioning himself as an unbreakable wall of iron between her and the chaos of the yard. She was tucked against his side, shielded by his body, and every time a blade clashed or a body hit the gravel too close to them, his arm tightened around her waist—a silent, fierce possessiveness that told the world she was his and he would kill any man who breathed too loudly in her direction.
She could feel the tension vibrating through his chest, a coiled, lethal energy that wanted to hunt held in check only by the fact that he refused to leave her side for even a second.
Finley broke away from the skirmish, sprinting toward the trees. Harald’s gaze followed him, cold and assessing.
“Harald,” she whispered, her voice frantic. “He’s?—”
“I ken,” he said, his jaw set so tight the words were a low growl. “He’s gone.”
The night had swallowed her brother whole.
Silence crept back in slowly, punctured only by ragged breathing and the low curses of men tending wounds. Harald stood there for a moment longer, his arm still locked around her, before finally lowering his sword.
Only then, with the danger truly gone, did the shock finally catch up to her.
A violent tremor ripped through Enya’s body, sudden and uncontrollable, rattling her teeth. The adrenaline that had kept her standing evaporated, leaving her hollow. Her knees buckled, her strength draining into the gravel.
Harald caught her before she could even fall. He swept her off the ground in one fluid motion, lifting her as if she weighedno more than a child and pulling her tight against the massive, steady heat of his chest.
She gasped, her hands bunching into the fabric of his cloak, clinging to him like a lifeline. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of woodsmoke, cold air, andhim. The safety of his arms was so overwhelming that the tears she had been holding back finally broke. She didn't just cry; she shuddered against him, her body seeking the sanctuary of his strength as the crushing weight of the betrayal and the rescue crashed down on her all at once.
