Taming the Wolves (Viking Omegaverse, #2)

by Lyx Robinson

“I know Aedan was not a good man,” she says, and tears break from the reddened rims of her eyes, running down her cheeks in long lines. “But he was my son.”

And this is a very realistic line. Atone for having a shitty child but also be aware.

I know I won’t ever find another man like him, capable of both calm composure and feral protectiveness, who forgives my own propensities towards excess. Who forgives me for everything. Who says my name with reverence.

“The crown of Alba benefits from this alliance, but we are the ones who must pay the price,” Lady Catriona goes on. “So far, I believe I have paid the price most dearly. My Queen, you stand before the body of my son. Do you really believe this is the time and place to throw insults?”

Talk your shit Cat

“You remind mankind that women are the ones who animate them. Not the hand of the carpenter.”

Interesting

“It’s a strange god that must birth himself a second time,” Thrain rumbles. “Perhaps he knew he would not be entirely real until he was birthed by a woman.”

That part

“Keep your eyes on your damn cocks!” I bark at them in Norse, and they jeer back at me. “Trust you to keep the view to yourself!” “Tell the princess to watch for crabs!”

I whisper the words into the crook of his neck: “Da garan.” The shimmer between us sings as those syllables weave into it. This time he doesn’t ask what it means; surely he knows, surely he can feel it just as keenly as the joining of our bodies, sweat and slick and sincerity tangled together. His response rises to his tongue without hesitation: “Ek ann Þer.”

“Can’t I just spit on them?” I bite out. Ivar laughs, while Thrain’s arm clenches tighter around me. “You could,” Olaf says with a small smirk. “But they would have to mark you in turn.” “I will break the neck of the first man who even thinks of spitting on her,” Thrain growls. Olaf nods tiredly, waving a hand as though to dispel the issue.

A girl bearing down on five grown men and getting the better of them. So many times I have wished for the same power that men have; the right to violence, the right to anger. The right to take and take without guilt. To devour. Last night, I devoured. Without shame. Without mercy.

I’m collapsing under the weight of what I’m capable of, all these new and unwelcome discoveries, the anger in me like a dormant volcano that Uradech ignited and now it won’t stop pouring, smoking, retching.

Well done Uradech

She is both things. The terrifying goddess and the uncertain, frightened girl. How can a woman manage to be both? How does she manage it in her head?

“We saw divinity,” I tell her, and she can’t meet my eye, her face flushing. “It resides in all of you. And we cannot continue to hide from that fact, when you and all your kinswomen are entirely capable of sitting it upon us. To take advantage of your ignorance and snatch you while you’re weak would be the work of cowardly, indecent men.”

We call this growth

I’m tired of demanding things. Of desiring things. My desires feel too big, too heavy; they drag at my feet.

Felt this one. Thank you.

“It would imply certain things that I take issue with. It would imply that the life I chose for myself was broken apart because it wasn’t meant to be. That those losses in my past were inevitable, that I did not truly belong to that life. That they had to make way for the fate that lay ahead of me.”

Awww

“She’s pregnant, Thrain.”

I hate this trope

The idea of journeying to Strathclyde makes me feel like a daughter coming to care for a sick mother; one who insults and curses, who pushes away the broth-filled spoon.

That is perhaps what a daughter’s love is; caring even after the one you love spites you, calls you cursed, tells you that you are what is wrong with the world. You can try and fold yourself into a good girl as much as you like, it will not earn you their love in return.

He loves me. He forgives me… he forgives me. He doesn’t think I’m monstrous. He thinks there is divinity in me.

“You’re a good man, Thrain. Do you want me to list your qualities? Because I can. We’ll be here all night, but I’ll do it.”

“Does my wife require a bath?” he rumbles, and then I’m smiling like an idiot, too.

It’s ooey gooey and I’m happy