Page 9

The slow rise and fall of the longship lulled me into a dangerous and tempting sense of safety. Fabled and feared for drowning those who tried to cross it, Drukna was unusually calm. The wind didn’t thrash at my stinging cheeks, and water didn’t splash over the sides and drench us.

Best of all, the Grimward were placated with their spoils. The hundreds of men and women they captured to bring back as Silver’s sacrifices was a sickening victory, but they weren’t trying to piece out who’d returned with a captive and who hadn't, which meant they weren’t killing any of us. For now.

I’d stayed safe, just as Axel told me to.

And I was headed home with half of Drak’s soul buried deep in my pocket. I suspected the other half of this restoration lay in wait on the other side of the sea, in Vylheim, where most of Rune’s memories took place and where Drak had lived most of his life.

Each of these little victories warmed me like layers of wool beneath sealskin. Even though it was stupid to relax right now, I took the opportunity to rest, curling into myself knowing that my mother was safe in the middle of the ship where the rocking waves felt less intense. And Stasia sat nearby, alive and at Finan’s side; even Axel had been placed on the same ship as us for the return journey. I hadn’t been surrounded by this many people I cared for since I lived in Skaldir with Ragna and Rolf, long before my mother was exiled.

I let my eyes slide shut for the dozenth time. In the two days of travel since the raid, I was only awake long enough to drink from my leather pouch. Fighting always drained me, and with safety finally allowing me to rest, I found I could only remain alert for a few minutes at a time, even if I wanted to question Axel's cryptic remark about my freedom being their salvation.

Or talk to my mother.

Or express my gratitude for Stasia’s friend.

A gratifying hum escaped me as I sank toward unconsciousness again, thinking only of how grateful I was to be alive. Thank the fates for Finan. Never did I think a man in a wolf’s mask would be my savior. I didn’t expect to trust any of the executioners. Many hadn’t chosen a life of hunting witches for the Blood Council, yet they still cut off the heads of women I knew and loved. While I could understand their focus on survival and wouldn't fault them for it, my dislike for them remained.

But after Finan threatened the Grimward to accept me back onto the ship without a prisoner of my own, and late, too, I respected the Hel out of him.

He betrayed the other Grimward, and it could have cost him his life.

Drak would have been grateful for how Finan protected me, how all of them had. I couldn’t have made it back to the ship without Axel’s fighting and Stasia’s insistence. The soft waves pulled me under further, and for the first time since Drak last held me, I was almost at peace.

Part of me couldn't shake the unease about what awaited us in Vylhem, wondering where I could find the next shard. The first two had been simple enough: Drak’s fate and his mind, but his identity was trickier. Who was Drak, really? Not merely a man, not simply a monster, and certainly no mindless warrior for the gods. He’d been different from the others who wielded swords and axes in Odin’s honor.

These thoughts melted into fickle dreams, and the blurred shape of his face swam before me. Blinking, I tried to make out the details of his features. A single silver-blue eye as cold as the ice that coated the fjords in mid-winter, and his other eye, frosty-white and unseeing because of the damage done to it by a witch. The dark hair on the back of his head, still as long and untamed as it was before he died, was now full of life with its thick texture where the shaven parts of his skull had grown out. Black-ink tattoos peeked out from beneath the collar of his tunic like claws. The tips of Yggdrasil’s branches snaked up and over his collarbone, reaching as if to scratch at his neck, and though his beard was thick, it didn’t entirely hide the scars that cut along his jaw.

My heart fluttered as the dream shifted, and I suddenly felt his hard chest pressed behind me. I twisted and looked up at him, my eyes likely wide and as desperate as a small animal seeking shelter.

Behind him lay an indistinct world under a vast grey sky. Rising and falling, we moved with the sea’s flow, his body against my curled back, and his hand seeking to tip my chin back toward him. My neck twisted as I let the direction of his hand guide me.

Except I couldn’t feel it. He touched me, and I felt nothing but the brush of rough fabric, or perhaps a slice of scratchy sea wind. Still, I willed this dream version of myself to turn and straddle his lap, and I focused on nothing but what it would feel like to have his finger trace along my jaw, even if it didn’t work.

Though this was just a dream, I wanted to hope this was what the power our bound souls could do. I wanted to believe it was more.

“I’m here,” he said, his mouth cutting into a delicious grin. I said nothing back. What was I supposed to say to a fake version of my husband? This wasn’t him, but an amalgamation of my own memories and hopes. “Lux.” His eyes were steel, as sharp as a blade and glinting with ruthless determination. That was exactly how I remembered Drak, so it was no wonder that my dream created this. “I’m actually here. Our souls are bound to one another. Can you feel it?” His finger traced my jawline, and I only knew because I saw his hand moving out of the corner of my eye. A shudder coursed through me. “Not all of me, of course, but this is my mind. I’m here with intention, and this is how I’d touch you if my body were here too.”

I laughed, but it was raw and heavy in my throat. “This dream is going to get dirty, isn’t it?”

There was that delicious smile again, as wicked as it was inviting. “Do you want it to?”

“Why not? There’s nothing more to this.” A hitch caught in my throat. How badly I wanted a soul bond to be the truth.

“There is. Let me prove it to you. When you wake up, my soul will be burning hot. I’ll make sure of it by focusing my every thought on this.” Before I could respond, his fingers slid to my throat where they clutched firmly. Only the faintest feeling tightened at my neck, like his hold was that of a ghost.

Is it really you?

Yes. But I can’t actually touch you. That is a dream.

Tears pricked my eyes, but he didn’t let me dwell on it too long. I could hear him, but I couldn’t touch him, and maybe he wanted to save me from the torture of this realization. Somehow, I knew what he wanted me to do, so my body followed his pull, and our mouths crashed together. Like warm wind brushing over my lips, I soaked in every hint of ‌sensation from his kiss. His tongue traced the roof of my mouth, beckoning me into him as I perched on his lap, with my legs on either side of his hips and my thighs closed in around his torso.

The taste of salt and honeyed wine lingered from his kiss when he broke away long enough to slip the furs off my shoulders. Then he lifted the aproned tunic over my head, and I was left with nothing but a thin shirt with sleeves that draped over my hands. His palm brushed down the front of me, pausing on my tightening nipple, chilly and alert from his touch. A touch that grew firmer and more solid as I allowed myself to fully sink into this dream.

His cock hardened beneath me, evident by the firm growth pressing harder and harder against my stomach.

Instinctively, I ground myself against him. Slick warmth pooled between my legs, and I silently cursed ‌the damn trousers that separated us. I wanted to strip down to nothing, letting the wind that I could no longer feel wash over my bare body before I ripped his clothes off and eased onto his cock, one inch at a time, as I relished the heat of his body and his thickness spreading me more and more open.

“Eager, aren’t you?” he teased me. I didn’t realize I’d pushed with more force against him. My hand buried beneath the collar of his tunic with my palm splayed across his tattooed chest, and the other played with my own breast, my thumb drawing over my nipple to heighten the sensations since I could hardly feel him.