“You gave me a hammer,” I whisper, as if it were that simple. “So I used it.”
I’ve left it out in the snow, but it’s not as if the ice can hurt it.
Erik’s responding smile is a little crooked. “You used your hammer.”
“I did.”
He looks pleased. “Do you like it?”
I burst into tears again. I can’t stop myself.
I press my forehead to his, openly weeping while his hands rub my back, then smooth down my arms, then rise to tangle inmy hair. His lips find mine, the lightest brush that I can’t return because I’m crying too hard.
“I made it for you,” he says, nudging my cheek with his. “It’s the right hammer.”
I swallow hard, needing to speak. “Loyalty, strength, perseverance, and hope.”
“And love,” he says, brushing his lips against mine. “Don’t forget love.”
When I don’t immediately respond, he cups my jaw with his strong hand, his expression solemn again. “Don’t forget, Asha.”
“I’ll never forget,” I promise him.
Chapter 17
We stay lying in each other’s arms on the forge floor for a long moment.
Too soon, I’m aware of the trickles of cold air defying the heat of the crimson coal smoldering in the forge.
Against my will, I shiver, and that’s all it takes for Erik to reach for my warm clothes. He uses his shirt to help me clean up, telling me he can get another tunic from the cabin soon—one of his father’s old tunics should fit him—and then we quickly dress.
I don’t want to leave this moment, but I force myself to take a step toward the front of the forge, stopping when Erik’s arms snake around me from behind.
It seems he doesn’t want to leave this moment, either.
He plants a kiss on my neck. “Can you halt time?” he asks at a low growl. “Preserve this heartbeat and the next?”
I wish I could.
I turn into his kiss, my whole body in a state of bliss that makes me want to return to the forge floor. Or maybe to the fur beside the fire inside the cabin…
But then his arms tense, and I’m aware that his focus is suddenly beyond me.
“My father’s statue,” he says.
I must have been his sole focus before, and he’s only now seeing how broken the statue is. I don’t know how he’ll feel about what happened to it, but I want to speak only the truth.
“I broke it,” I say, uncertain if I should feel regret or relief that it happened the way it did. “The rock released your father’s soul, and the Valkyries claimed it?—”
His focus flashes to me. “The Valkyries?”
“They came for you.”
“They?” He considers me warily. “More than one?”
“All three generals. Apparently, it’s an honor.”
His eyes are wide. He looks baffled, as if he can’t imagine why all three would come. “It is.”
