Sorrow's Peak (Serpent of Time Book 2) (49 page)

“That isn’t what this is about,” she insisted, stretching against the push of his hands to reach him again. The warm pulse of her breath across his ear as she whispered was so delicious, he nearly forgot again why he was trying to stop her. “I want you,” she told him again. “All of you. I want to be one with you.”

“Lorelei, no.” The stiffness of his voice, the tension in his body tightened her in his grip, and after a moment’s hesitation she jerked free from his hands and scrambled back onto the bed leaving him feeling hollow and cold.

“I don’t understand you,” she hissed. “One minute you’re telling me you want me more than anything, and the next you’re telling me no.”

“I’m not telling you no,” he muttered. He brought his hand up to the stubble on his chin, fingers itching through skin still damp from her kisses. “I’m telling you it’s not right, not yet. I don’t want you just because you think I’m going to die and this might be the only chance we get…”

“If not while we have this time together, when?” There was fear in her voice, a deep sorrow that made parts of him ache because he didn’t know how to calm the terrifying things she felt. “What if there isn’t another chance, Finn? What if…?”

He was scared too; she had to know that, to feel it. Scared that no matter how many pacts they made to protect one another, he wasn’t going to walk away from Great Sorrow’s Peak. That he was never going to know what it felt like to be completed by her. She scrambled further back, toward the far end of the bed and the moonlight made her look so forlorn his heart ached.

“I don’t want to live the rest of my life not knowing what it could have been like to feel connected to you.”

And he didn’t want to curse her to a life in which she ached for him so deeply, she could never know happiness again. He’d watched his mother die of that kind of heartache.

“Hey.” Leaning forward, she was almost out of reach so he scooted a little until his hand rested firmly on her shoulder. “I already told you that isn’t going to happen. We made a promise to each other, all three of us, and all three of us are coming back from that mountain with the Horns of Llorveth.”

“What if we don’t?”

“We will.”

“You can’t promise that, Finn. You can’t just…”

“I can,” he interrupted before she could finish her thought, “and I will. I do promise it, Lorelei. Come on.” He brought his hand to her cheek, the backs of his fingers stroking downward along her tear-moistened skin. “You’ve spent enough time with me in the last few weeks to know all there is to know about me. If someone tells me I’m supposed to die, and I’m not ready to do it, it’s not going to happen because I won’t let it.”

“But…”

“I won’t let it. I won’t ever let anything hurt you, most especially not me. And besides, I have something amazing to look forward to. I’ve got you to live for.”

Dropping her head down, she folded her hands in her lap and stared at them. Loose hair fell in around her face, a thin curtain wavering in the exhale of her frustrated breath. “I feel so stupid.”

“What? No… Why?”

“I don’t know, I just feel like such an idiot.” There was a slight hitch in her voice; stifled breath fluttered through her lips again. “Like some stupid little girl who wants to be a woman, but doesn’t know how.”

“Believe me when I tell you, you are all woman,” he assured her. He’d be aching later, kicking himself in the ass over pushing her away when he’d been so close to satisfying an itch no amount of personal scratching was able to soothe. “Come here.”

She hesitated, head lifting into the moonlight so he could finally see her face clearly. So sad, so beautiful. It broke his heart to see tears in her eyes, to feel the sorrow swelling in her heart. They were tears she shed for him, a great sadness and fear that she would lose him before she ever had him. Didn’t she know he was already hers in the most intimate way, he’d belonged to her since the moment he first caught her scent on the wind what felt like a lifetime ago?

“Will you let me hold you?” he asked. “It’s hard for me to sleep without you near me now.”

The barest hint of a smile quivered at the corners of her mouth, and then she rose up onto her knees, edging across the bed until she fell into his arms. They lay against the pillows and he brought the blankets up around them both. She was naked, save for the linen undergarments she wore, but she was so warm in his arms, all snuggled up against him with her head nestled into the crook of his shoulder and her hair tickling his cheek. Her breasts were soft and warm against his skin, and as her fingertip traced through the scant black hair across his chest the beast inside him brooded.

He could have had her. Just once she could have been his before death took him, and though he’d promised her he wasn’t going to die, that they would walk down the mountainside hand in hand when all was said and done, he wasn’t quite sure he actually believed it.

He wouldn’t curse her though, leave her feeling empty and filled with longing for him, and if he died never knowing the depth of the bond they were meant to share she would be heartbroken, yes, but it wouldn’t devastate her. She’d find a way to go on, give her heart to another when she was ready, and though it broke something inside him to even think of her with someone else, her happiness was all that really mattered to him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Vilnjar once looked forward to the changing seasons, most especially the coming of autumn. The colorful display of leaves alight in the trees, falling to the ground like a carpet that glittered with frost each morning. The aroma of decay was intoxicating, memory-inducing in its power.

But there were no trees, no brittle, brilliant leaves to stir in the swift wind. Only ash stretched for miles through the Edgelands, dampening the earthy scent until all he could smell was smoke. At night a mist of toxic rain swept in from the western sea, spilling in slow patters atop their tent and making it hard for him to sleep.

Even in Frigga’s arms, he shivered through the night, head always cocked, ears attuned to the world around them for sounds that might tell of predators. There were none. No life lingered there, and feeling utterly alone the despair pressed his shoulders further downward until it was as though he barely dragged himself through the ashen ruins of the place he’d once called home.

Despite the darkness he felt, Frigga thrived when the wind blew cold; it invigorated her and gave her hope in ways he couldn’t quite understand, but he was grateful for it in the end. Her hope sustained them both as they traveled further north through a desolate and ruined land.

As they lay together in the crude, sheltered hills below Drekne, Vilnjar took comfort in her arms and unyielding optimism. Despite the growing emptiness in their bellies and the endless destruction of the land around them, everything would be okay. They would find his sister; she was still alive. She had to be. Though how the three of them would get back to Dunvarak once they did find her, he had no idea, but he believed Frigga when she told him it would be all right.

They brought only enough food to see them through a handful of days, foolishly relying on the hope he would be able to hunt the land and forage for autumn nuts and berries when their pack was empty, but the scourging of the Edgelands sent the wildlife running into Leithe, and what nuts and berries might have remained burned to bitter ash along with endless miles of trees and crops.

Their horse was starving, and come morning he planned to end its misery and take advantage of what meat remained on its bones. It wouldn’t be much, but it would be something.

Beside her in the dark, he listened to the unrelenting silence of a night devoid of life save for the depth and continuity of her sleeping breath. Vilnjar’s arm draped across her chest, his hand curved around her bare shoulder as he buried his face into the soft waves of her loose hair. The overpowering scent of smoke was so prevalent he could barely smell her anymore, but that small, pure thread of her fragrance lingered beneath, and it comforted him as he closed his eyes and let troubled sleep draw him in.

It was a risk, allowing himself to give in to sleep. Their small tent was barely sheltered among the hills and with no tree cover they were hardly hidden at all. They traveled for days and saw no signs of life. There were no survivors, as he’d hoped to find. No animals dared return while smoke still clung to the air and hung like low veil of cloud as far as the eye could see.

Only the monstrous carrion birds swooped in from the skies on black wings to peck at charred bones littering the devastation. It sickened him when he found himself contemplating eating those birds, far more than the thought of eating their horse. He had no desire to feast on the flesh of creatures that sated themselves of on the corpses of his people, but a hungry man could not afford to be picky. And still he continued to stay Frigga’s hand each time she drew her bow from her back, shaking his head stiffly. His pride would only hold out for so long. Soon they would have no choice if they wanted to survive.

The level of destruction, the senselessness of so much death made him feel sick and anxious. His people, already so few, were all but gone from the world, and for what? He knew the reasons, but they didn’t make sense. The people of the Edgelands followed King Aelfric’s decree. They never broke the treaty. They lived peaceful lives, barely eking out a meager living and denying their own nature until they nearly forgot who and what they were.

He joined with the Council of the Nine in hopes of preserving the U’lfer, believing they could find a way to thrive and grow again. What a fool he’d been, falling into the trap of self-denial more deeply than anyone he knew. He’d learned to ignore the wolf inside, pushing it so far beneath the surface of his skin it almost cowered, but no more.

It paced within, shoulders drawn, teeth gnashing, spirit burning like fire to be free. If he were to let go and allow the beast to overtake him, what vengeance he might claim over any who might dare to stand in his way. It made him restless, sleepless, bitter and… afraid.

Every time he trembled, Frigga tightened her grip on him, as if she sought even in sleep to comfort and assuage his fears. Without her beside him, he would not have come so far. He would have turned back, run screaming for the southern mountains, even as he knew he’d never make it. Sometimes the only thing that kept him moving forward beyond the encouragement he felt flowing from his mate was the gnawing sensation in his gut reassuring him Rue was still out there.

He dozed, gentle hands drawing him from consciousness. He tried to fight it, jerking awake each time Frigga’s breath changed or the smoke-tinged wind shifted and rustled the flap of their tent. Whenever he jolted awake with a start, she reached for him in the darkness and drew him back into her arms. She held him until the slow, relaxing sound of her breath calmed his racing heart and led him back down the dark path of nightmare dreams.

The wolf chased through those dreams, a stream of fire at his back and unending darkness on the path before him. Billowing smoke filled his lungs with every rasping breath. His thoughts frantic as the pace of his heart, he barreled onward, searching, always searching with no end to the darkness in sight.

Somewhere through the haze another answered—a rich, steady howl that made the muscles of his stomach tighten and clench.

Vilnjar shot from the dream like a bolt leaving a crossbow, Frigga’s hand slipping from his tunic before she had time to tighten her fingers. He attuned his hearing until he picked up the distinct sound of rustling in the scorched grass beyond their tent. She started to reach for him, her emotions suspended between hope and fear. He gripped and squeezed her fingers in warning, lowering both of their hands over her mouth to keep her from speaking.

Lifting his face, he tried to sniff through the heavy scent of smoke, but it dulled his senses and whatever came their way spent much time among the soot and ash. Its scent heavily disguised, Frigga’s hope spread through him. Still holding his hand over her mouth, he loosened his fingers and began to withdraw, half-leaning upright and still listening as he disentangled himself from the blanket they shared and sprung silently to his feet.

He heard her stir behind him. He reached his hand back again and relied on their shared bond to tell her to stay still while he listened. She heard it too. An almost playful yip echoed through the silent night, followed by a low, guttural growl that broke into a hoarse, chastising howl.

Footsteps padded and crunched through the charred grass, growing closer and closer. Frigga’s fear nearly froze him, but it subsided as quickly as it rose.

He knew that howl. Was he still dreaming?

The beast was already restless and enraged, and the low, throaty keen prompted it to action. He sprang forward, changing as he moved and bursting through the rustling tent flap to spring on all fours in the direction it came from. He felt her thoughts, familiar but tentative as his own. She knew it was him, but she was afraid. Afraid it was some trap or trick designed to lure her in.

Charging toward the looming shades on the crest of the hill, five wolves stood proud against the night. The hopelessness that gripped him as he’d watched his homelands burn faltered.

Ruwena?

Had she found him? Had she known he was coming?

He watched as the wolf in the center cocked her head in a familiar gesture, and then without warning she began to sprint toward him, the pads of her feet thundering across the earth until she was just feet away, then the black wolf leaped at him, knocking him over and pinning him to the ground as she dragged her cold, excited tongue across his face like an overzealous pup.

They rolled in a playful dance, yipping and whining as their thoughts mingled. Her mind was a wild, scattered place filled with relief, terror and confusion. Images of her running through smoke and fire flashed through him, paining him as he suffered through the memory of her trials in the north. Then she was elated, angry with him all over again, but relieved he’d come back for her.