“General,” he said, voice stern.
“Prince,” she replied, matching his tone, some life returning to her face.
“I’ve been thinking ...” he trailed off.
“Oh no,” she muttered, her eyes dancing with amusement.
“We really don’t know how many days we’ve been here,” he started, squeezing her hands in his.
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s true.”
“And though our bond wouldn’t be completed, since Hel has no magic—or very little magic ...” he amended.
Solveig raised her brow. “Is that what you’re getting at? Here? In the middle of Helheim?” she asked, gauging how serious he was. He was dead serious, and by the way her scent was changing, he knew he may have a chance.
“I’m only half serious, mostly because when I’ve imagined this”—he took a step closer—“we were never in Hel.”
“You’ve thought about this, have you?”
“Solveig, I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve imagined your skin against mine,” he whispered to her. “And if you told me you haven’t thought about it, I would call you a filthy liar.”
Her voice lowered. “Of course I’ve thought about it.”
Energy sparked between them as they stood with their bodies pressed together. “That still doesn’t change the fact that wearein Hel, and in case you haven’t noticed, there aren’t a lot of comfortable places around us.” She gestured to the rocky landscape surrounding them. Jagged back crystals jutted from the ground, the barren wasteland of Hel as dead as the souls it captured.
“It’s not ideal, but all I need is a rock to hold you up against. It may help us take our mind off everything going on.”
That must have been the wrong thing to say, because she took a step back.
“You want to mate because we’re suffering? To distract yourself?”
He wished she would’ve yelled, not used this calm, violent tone.
“Fuck. No, Solveig, that’s not what I meant.” He scrunched his brow, trying to figure out a better way to say this. He was messing it all up.
Then she laughed. “I know, I was just teasing you.”
He growled and without warning, launched himself towards her, tackling her to the ground. “I loathe you,” he snarled in her ear.
“No, you don’t,” she hissed right back. He stretched her arms above her head, knowing she was letting him pin her down. She wasn’t even struggling.
“No, I don’t,” he agreed. “I also don’t want to bed you right in the open here.”
He pushed his hips into her so she could feel how much he wanted to anyway. She pressed her own hips up and he groaned.
“Fuck, Solveig, I need you.” All traces of teasing vanished. “I need you. I need to feel you alive and warm. I want to banish those shadows in your eyes, fill them with joy instead.” He loosened his grip on her hands and threaded his fingers through hers.
She looked at him sadly. “I know, West, I need that too. Being here—”
“I know. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“How many people are here because of me? My people, the Southern Wilds, Laeknir.” Her voice cracked on his name and Westley bent down to press a soft kiss to her lips.
“This is not your fault.”
She shook her head. “Isn’t it? I was their general and yet here they are, their souls trapped in this awful place. This is not what Hel is supposed to be.”
“We’re going to fix it.”
