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A warrior born but monster made, Changes fates of souls enslaved. Twins of sun and moon will rise, When one has lived a thousand lives. A circle of gold shall join two souls, And a debt paid rights wrongs of old. In a holy mountain the earth will heal, Then the dead shall live, and the curse will keel.
The primal need to survive made even the weakest of mice fight with all the fury of a god. When your back was against the wall, you found out what your soul was made of, and I’d learned long ago that mine had been forged in fire and ferocity.
Even the blackest of nights hold a glimmer of starlight.
Fantasy was my favourite way to escape this world, but life always dragged me back kicking and screaming.
My heart fluttered like a butterfly trapped in a jar, aching for the lid to be lifted. Freedom. It was like a whisper in the dark that had always called to me, and I hungered for it.
What if he was just some crazy asshole living alone out here who wanted my company in his crazy asshole shack?
I hadn’t ever met anybody like him before. It wasn’t just his powerful frame or that blazing look in his unusual eyes, it was something deeper than that, something fiercer, and I realised with a jolt what it was. He was fearless. Utterly, entirely without fear.
He was the most captivating monster I’d ever seen, and up close, the godly power he wielded was even more obvious. His face was a picture of masculine perfection, from the straight edge of his brow to the clear-cut diagonals of his cheekbones, and the silvery lacquer of his skin was punctuated by the fortress of iron in his gaze.
You don’t have to behave for the others, but you will behave for me. And if you do not, you will see the truth of me, the monster you fear so deeply, the one your heart is pounding uncontrollably because of. If you think you can guess the evil my exterior hides, I assure you, you cannot even fathom the depths of villainy that lurks under this guise.”
“Good girl,”
I sucked in a sharp breath as I gazed into his golden eyes, finding a pool of strength there, no fear at all, just pure, wicked violence, every bit of it aimed toward the creatures who hunted us.
If there was one thing that could make you forget your problems for a while, then it was looking your own death in the face and saying fuck you.
I had never seen a body like his. His freaking muscles had muscles. His body was a work of art, deep bronze skin marked with wicked-looking scars that depicted the warrior’s life he’d led. Intricate tattoos were painted beautifully on his skin, each with that Viking heritage to them, though my limited knowledge left me oblivious to their individual meanings. I itched to ask him about them, but I’d abruptly lost the ability to form words.
“Perhaps you’re the one who needs a good fuck, drakaina hjarta, you harbour a lot of anger in your soul.”
“Ah, there it is,” Magnar said, drawing my gaze to his back and briefly to the firm perfection of his ass. “There what is?” I demanded. “That silence I knew you were capable of. If only I had realised my nudity was the key to it, I might have removed my clothes days ago.”
This man was a crossroads, a junction between the life I had and the one I might claim. From the moment we’d met, I’d turned down a path I hadn’t ever imagined discovering, and there was something in the depths of his gaze which only promised more chaos the longer our fates remained tangled.
“You can buy my fear with threats, but respect is earned,”
“The fates guided you to my door, drakaina hjarta. I won’t let them call you from me so easily.”
He was arrogant, and stubborn, proud and infuriating, but I had never felt drawn to any man the way I did to the one who now held me in his arms like I was the only thing in this rotten world that even mattered to him.
