The door on the shepherd's hut banged shut as the wind tore it from Haakon's fingers. Dust covered the floor, and there was a cold emptiness to the hut that hinted it had been long abandoned. Little wonder. It was right on the edge of Fáfnir's territory. He'd probably eaten any sheep that dared stray close enough.

Haakon tossed his bags and bedroll on the ground with a carelessness he'd never displayed before. He peered through the windows, frustrated at the renewing of the storm.

"Damn it," he muttered, locking the door. "We're so close. But we'll get nowhere today." The horses were both exhausted, the conditions were worsening, and both he and Árdís had ridden through most of the night.

Árdís turned in slow circles, surveying their surroundings. They'd left Fáfnir's territory an hour ago, and they'd barely spoken a word.

Perhaps she could sense his anger and frustration.

Or perhaps she was exhausted. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and she looked hollow, as if handing over the ring had drained her more than he'd have expected.

For a moment, a conflicting twist of sympathy curled through him.

You're imagining it. She didn't struggle to hand over the ring at all. She practically threw it at the ancient dreki.

"Tomorrow we should arrive at Dúrnir's. You'll have the bracelet off, and you'll be free to leave," Haakon said. There was a fire already laid out, thank goodness, and it flared to light with the swift strike of one of his matches. "You should get some rest while you can."

Árdís flinched. "What are you saying?"

He flipped the bedroll open, grateful for the oiled sealskin that kept it all dry, and rolled it out, while flames licked hungrily at the small pile of wood in the grate. "I'll give you a couple of hours sleep before we need to rejoin the road. Hopefully the rain will have died down by then."

"You're angry with me."

He paused, leaning forward on his knuckles. It wasn't as if the ring meant anything anymore, but... he'd still had hope. "You gave it away, like it didn't even matter."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know it was your grandmother's. I know I promised you I'd give it back to you—"

"I don't want the fucking ring back, Árdís." He shoved to his feet, his temper spilling through him. He'd been holding on to it for days, and today had only pushed him further over the edge. "I want it on your finger, where it damned well belongs."

She ignored that.

"I had no choice," she cried. "What would you have had me do? He wasn't going to allow us to leave without it."

"I had gold!"

"He didn't want gold!" Her face lit with beautiful fury. "He didn't even truly want the ring. He wanted to repay my father for overthrowing him, and I was the only option he had of restoring his pride."

Haakon drew up shortly.

"He was trying to get in my head, damn it." She turned and took three sharp steps, her fingers curling into claws. "Searching for a way to get at me. And there you were, just desperate to give him an excuse to hurt you! I had to get you out of there before you gave him any sign you might challenge him."

"So it's my fault?" He stepped in her path.

"No!" She raked her fingers through her hair. "What do you want me to say? Why does it even matter? I made a choice between the ring and you, and I chose you. Do you think it didn't hurt me to give it away?" One hand splayed over her chest, pressing the fabric tight across her breasts, as if she felt for it.

Those glorious breasts.

He refused to look down.

No, she was not going to tempt her way out of this one.

"I don't know," he shouted back. "I don't know if you give a damn about me, or my ring, or any of this. I don't know why you left me. I don't know what you—"

"I told you—"

"You've told me nothing," he snapped.

Her eyes turned wide with hurt. "Why are you yelling?"

"Because I missed you so fucking much it hurt to breathe." It came out choked. "You left me; you gave my ring away; you push me and pull me, and tear me in two. Do you even care? Do I even mean anything to you?"

"Of course you do." Her mouth worked. "I loved you. I-I...."

Loved.

Like an arrow straight to the chest. "Do you even know what that word means?"

Árdís glared at him. "I'm not going to continue to argue, if you're not going to listen to a word I say." She began to strip her wet cloak off, and draped it over the chair. No, tossed it. The movement made the wet wool of her tunic press tightly against her breasts. "Or denigrate me for it."

Oh, yes. He wasn't the only one feeling the bite of anger. And seeing her like this stirred his blood in ways only she ever could.

"You're just saying that because you're losing the argument."

Her glare was a potent thing, but then her expression suddenly shifted. Turned devious. Árdís bit her lip. "Was I?"

"Don't you dare," he warned, as she took a step toward him.

"Why not? You're thinking about it. I'm thinking about it."

He refused to step back, every muscle in his body locking tight as she stopped in front of him, those catlike eyes tilting as she glanced up at him from beneath her wretchedly long lashes.

Árdís placed both hands on his chest, flexing her palms against him. Her fingers curled in the open collar of his shirt, as if threatening to tear it open.

He wanted her to.

His cock flexed. Damn his flagging self-control. His sense of preservation was shaky, but he knew if he gave in—just once—then he'd never be able to get her out of his mind.

Are you ever going to be able to get her out of your mind anyway?

"Do it," she dared him. "Kiss me. You know you want to. You know that's what's truly gotten your back up."

Of all the damned ways she could torture him....

"It won't change a thing," he warned.

Her fingers flexed on the heavy muscle of his chest. "No. It won't. But it will make both of us feel better. This doesn't have to be complicated."

"When the bloody hell is it not complicated?"

He breathed heavily through his nostrils, and glanced down.

A mistake.

Her breasts heaved with the force of her breath, smooth globes that thrust forth from her bodice. The neckline was modest, but at this great height, he could see straight down it. And wet wool clung to her figure, making his fingers itch.

Her voice softened. "Punish me, Haakon. You know you want to."

Jesus. He met her eyes.

"No," he said, and enjoyed the sensation.

Shock flared there, as if she simply couldn't believe he was denying his base self.

One thumb caressed her waist. He couldn't help himself. Acting on instinct, his hand slid over the curve of her hip, calluses snagging in the wet wool.

"Your mouth is saying no," she said, "but everything else is saying yes. Make up your mind."

"I'm not going to punish you," he said softly.

It was never about punishment.

But perhaps a little sweet torture....

It all came together in his mind. Why the hell was he arguing?

He began to strip his coat off. Árdís pushed away from him, a scalded sound in her throat.

"Well, I cannot continue like this!" she hissed at him, her eyes turning molten as the pupils shifted, becoming cat-slits as her dreki roused beneath her skin. "With you looking at me with eyes that want to eat me alive. Or your arms wrapped around me last night, driving me insane with want, before you simply walk away. I know you want me. I can feel it every time you look at me. And I want you. Just one last time."

One last time. Haakon tossed his coat aside.

She'd thought his "no" was a denial.

He began to roll up his sleeves. Just a change of plans. There was one way he could take what they both wanted, and emerge unscathed.

"Strip," he said, the word loaded with heat.

The word fell into the quiet of the room.

"What?" Her eyes blinked in surprise.

"You heard me. Take it all off." A ghost of a smile curled over his mouth. "But do it slowly."

Árdís looked him in the eye, and then her hands went to the buttons on her tunic. It buttoned up the front. She got halfway down and then her fingers paused. They fell away. "No."

Heat flared between them. She'd realized what he was about.

"If you want my clothes off, then you may remove them yourself," she said, defying him.

Despite his intentions, he felt a flare of heat. Stubborn dreki princess.

Haakon kept a good few inches between them. He reached for the lowest undone button. And did it back up, not looking away from her.

Árdís sucked in a sharp breath. Haakon's thumbs stroked up her rib cage. Tugged the next button closed.

A shiver slid through her.

"Is this plan working out the way you thought it would?" he murmured, and slipped the next button shut. And the next. All the time, he stole small touches of her, the rasp of his fingers darting over her pointed nipple before she captured his wrist.

"It... worked better in my head."

Haakon stepped back. "Then take it off. Do as you're told."

"Fine."

She began again, bending to strip her leather trousers down her legs. "What are you proposing?" The thought had her breathless, as she returned to the buttons on her tunic.

"I thought you were the one setting the terms." His hands itched to touch her as each inch of skin was revealed. Button by button, the mysterious curves of her body were revealed. "One night, wasn't it?"

One last night to see if there was anything left between them at all.

Firelight gilded her hair and skin as she gave a determined little wriggle, and the tunic slid all the way down her legs, pooling around her ankles. His mouth went dry; his cock hard.

His best intentions fled.

"One night, Haakon," she agreed, starting to slide the straps of her chemise over her shoulders.

* * *

Haakon's eyes locked on her, and suddenly heated with an intensity she hadn't expected. "Leave it on."

She didn't know who reached for who, but suddenly he was in front of her, and she reached up to kiss him, but he turned his head at the last moment, his lips skating over her jaw instead.

She knew how to drive him wild, but as she slid her hand down his abdomen, he caught her wrist, shaking his head.

"No."

For a second she thought he was denying her, but he simply turned her around, pressing both of her hands against the wall, and holding them there for a long moment, as if to show her what he wanted.

That hard body molded around hers, the press of his erection butting against her bottom. Árdís sucked in a sharp breath, anticipation shivering through her. Her body knew every inch of him. Welcomed the glide of his hands down her sides, where they rested on her hips with firm intention.

So many years since she felt his touch. Too many years.

It wasn't just his body that had changed. There was a thrill of dominance in his voice that ignited within her like brandy poured on pure flame.

"If we do this," Haakon rasped, his breath whispering over the sensitive skin of her ear, "then you will not be in control. Not this time, Princess."

She thought she understood. He was trying to protect himself. To hold himself back.

Challenge lit through her. One kiss, and she'd have him. She knew it. She'd always known it. But that seemed too easy. He demanded her surrender, and some part of her wanted to give it.

A means to say sorry.

Árdís bent her head forward, resting her forehead against the wall. "One night. Do what you want with me."

Soft lips skimmed the sensitive skin at her nape. "Don't tempt me."

A fist curled in the hem of her chemise, dragging it up until her thigh was bared. Her mouth went dry, and she must have moved, for his other hand was suddenly in her hair, pinning her there.

"No," he breathed. "I didn't give you permission."

She found herself splayed against the wall, her full breasts aching and her palms pressed flat. Árdís turned her head to the side, her cheek flush against the timbers. She didn't know why she liked it so much, but her breath came in sharp ragged pants, and she wanted so desperately to spread her legs. To invite his touch.

"Oh, gods." She couldn't move. Could do nothing but submit. "Haakon."

"What's wrong, Árdís?"

A mocking little whisper, as if he knew all too well what afflicted her.

Lips traced her hairline, his body pressed firmly against hers. "You know I'm a patient man," he murmured, his tongue tracing the shell of her ear and his breath hot. "I've spent days imagining what I'd do to you when I finally got my hands upon you."

"A bit presumptuous, wasn't it?" she teased.

A tongue darted out and stroked the lobe of her ear, and then he suckled it into his mouth.

It wasn't as though his mouth was between her legs, but her thighs clenched, arousal making her wet and needy.

A callused hand curved down over her breast, kneading it. Árdís's hips ground back against him, her breath coming with a short hitch.

"I don't know," he murmured, his stubble grazing her jaw as his straining erection pushed against her bottom. "You tell me."

Teeth nipped at her throat, and then his thumb was tracing slow torturous circles around her nipple. He pinched her there, rolling it between thumb and forefinger until she could barely see. Barely breathe.

Sweet goddess. Her mind went blank, and her spine arched. More. She wanted more.

An insistent knee pressed between her thighs. Finally. She cried out as the slick feel of his leather-clad thigh pressed against her.

"Beg me." His hips gave a teasing thrust against her, his palm sliding down between her body and the wall to cup her between the thighs, fingers rough against her naked skin. "Do you want this, Árdís? Do you need this?"

Sinking her teeth into her lower lip, she moaned, her hips flexing as she sought to drive his hand lower. Those fingers were a merciless tease.

"Beg," he repeated, slipping two fingers between her folds, parting her, but not quite giving her what she wanted.

Defiance flashed within her. She shook her head, feeling his palm come around to capture her mouth, as if to hold a scream within her.

"You're so bloody stubborn," he snarled.

Likewise.

Sinking her teeth into his hand, she felt him laugh against her back, the rumble of it rocking through his chest. "You always did have to challenge me," he whispered, and she could feel his anger turning, becoming somewhat more playful. "Curse you, Árdís. But there are two ways to play this game."

Soft lips brushed against the sensitive area beneath her ear, even as his fingers changed direction. His index lashed up in a light flick, exactly where she wanted it. Her fingers curled into little claws as he wreaked havoc upon her. Oh, gods. Slow, torturous circles. Just enough pressure. She was dying a slow death, shifting against him, silently begging for more.

"Do you like that?" His hot erotic whisper burned in her ear. All the trappings of civilization had vanished from his demeanor, leaving her with a husband who intended to claim her.

The pressure intensified, as if he could feel the edge building within her, threatening to burn her to ashes on the inside.

Árdís whimpered, his palm wet with her muted breath. More. Oh, gods, more. Her hips rocked against him.

A shiver of violence and pleasure threatened to overwhelm her. A storm of his own making. Árdís cried out, her entire body tensing as he worked his fingers within her, delving and spreading the slickness there in small teasing circles. She wanted more. She wanted him to push her over the edge. But he always drew away, just as the knot within her wrenched tighter. Teasing her. Destroying her. Working her body as astutely as a puppet master flexing her strings.

He hadn't forgotten a damned thing about what she liked.

Master of storms.

The hand slid from her mouth, and then he fumbled between them.

Árdís gasped. "What are you—?"

The blunt head of his erection pressed between her thighs. Árdís stopped breathing. And he didn't move.

What was he waiting for?

A desperate shiver worked its way through her.

"Please."

The word stole from her treacherous lips.

A pause, the blunt head of his cock holding at the edge of her opening. She almost thought he hadn't heard her, but a faint hiss of breath escaped him, and then he thrust inside her.

All the way.

Árdís's breasts pressed flush against the wall, her cheek imprinting in the rough timber. She was trapped here. Held at his mercy. The angle meant he couldn't get as deep as he wanted to. She felt his frustration as he bit her earlobe, a harsh growl echoing in his throat even as his hips rocked against her. He held himself there, as if soaking in the sensation of her body around him. A soft groan escaped him.

There. Not as restrained as he'd have liked.

Árdís bit her lip wickedly, and tightened every muscle around him in a slow curl.

"Fuck." He slammed one hand against the wall beside her head, pushing inside her as if he couldn't get deep enough.

"Two can play these games," she whispered, and squeezed again, taking herself right back to that edge.

One arm slid beneath her breasts, and he hauled her back against him, his cock slipping from inside her.

"No." She caught his arm, but he simply drove her down onto her knees, and then she was on all fours on his bedroll, and his hands were settling on her hips again.

"I don't want you getting splinters. Are you ready for me?"

Lightning flashed outside the hut, highlighting the interior for one brief second. This was exactly what she'd wanted; Haakon undone.

"Yes."

His hips slammed into hers, driving her forward onto her forearms as he buried himself to the hilt. She screamed as the storm finally washed over her, sweeping her along in its wake. She couldn't breathe. Could barely see. Waves of pleasure broke within her.

Again and again, as Haakon fucked his way inside her.

Harder. Deeper. The intensity of it forced her teeth into her lip again, to trap a cry. Árdís curled her fingers into the blanket, holding on for dear life. Every single time he took her to bed, it had felt like a clash of passion between them, burning so fast and furious that they left marks on each other's skin, but she couldn't touch him here. Sweet goddess, but every slow withdrawal left her panting, begging, and every hard invasion only seemed to twist the tension within her tighter. Haakon's hands dug into the flesh of her hips, pinning her exactly where he wanted her. She was completely, utterly at his mercy, her breath turning to rough pants. Every thrust of his cock only spread the slickness between her thighs, as if to prove how much she wanted him.

It wasn't enough.

She wanted to touch him, wanted the connection. Somehow she reached back, her hand covering his. "Haakon."

Fingers slid over her thigh, pushing her knees wider, as if he fought to get right to the heart of her.

His hand curved up her throat, drawing her upright until her breasts were splayed obscenely, and her spine bent. Her back met his chest, as he gave short, hard little thrusts.

"Árdís, oh gods, you torture me so."

She bit her lip, reaching up to twist her hand through his hair. "Come for me."

A hand speared down her soft belly, slicing unmercifully through her curls, and pressing exactly where she liked it.

"You first."

A second wave of pleasure overwhelmed her. Árdís lost herself in the wake of it, feeling his body jerk as his own pleasure overtook him. Teeth sank into the muscle of her shoulder, and Haakon grunted softly as he came.

I've missed this.

I've missed you.

She fell forward onto her hands again as he gasped and ground himself within her one last time.

The pair of them collapsed onto the bedroll, Haakon melting over her. His chest heaved, and his weight forced her into the blankets. Not unpleasantly. Árdís shuddered as her body kept clenching, little shivers of aftershock lighting along her nerves.

He withdrew in a wet gush of seed, and fell beside her, dragging her back into his arms. Árdís's hips ached, but she drew her knees together and curled her arm over his, pressing a kiss to the smattering of blond hairs along his arm.

If she'd hadn't been exhausted before, she was now.

A soft laugh shuddered through her. "I finally concede. You've destroyed me."

He rolled her onto her back, leaning over her. Panting. She'd quite forgotten the storm outside, but lightning flashed again, highlighting the stark ridges of his face. In that moment, he wasn't hiding anything, and she saw it painted across his face in a mixture of raw pain, hope, and something else.

Longing.

Árdís sucked in a sharp breath, her fingertips pressing gently against the stubble on his cheeks. She was grateful the world fell into darkness again, for her eyes were flushed with sudden heat.

"Best get some rest."

"Why?" she whispered.

His hand slid between the skin of her breasts, and she sensed him leaning closer, as he bent to kiss her throat ever so gently. "Because tonight is our last night together. And I plan on taking advantage of every single moment of it."

* * *

The fire crackled in the grate, and the smell of roasting meat made her mouth water. Árdís dragged her boots on, her body a mess of heated bruises and bite marks.

She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the ache of the loss of the ring still. It felt like something was missing. A piece of her, perhaps.

But... she'd somehow been able to hand it over.

She'd been physically incapable of throwing it away for years. Haakon had demanded its return and she couldn't even give it to him.

The heat of blood draining from her face made her lips tingle. You are mated. She felt like that bell was ringing in her ears again.

You are linked somehow, but there is a chasm between where your souls touch.

I'm not talking of his odor, you foolish kit....

What did he mean?

Could it be? Had she somehow imprinted upon Haakon? Started forming a mating bond with him years ago, but never finished it?

The stormy afternoon slipped by in a burst of lovemaking and sleep, the questions haunting her. Haakon had left at some stage, and only returned hours later, shaking the water from his oiled cloak as he slicked back his hair and delivered dinner.

"Dare I ask where you found a goat?" She settled beside him at the grate, tucking herself against his side and resting her head on his chest, as he turned the makeshift spit.

"It was tethered out in the middle of a rocky plain."

"A tithe for Fáfnir." Some of the villagers in Iceland had arrangements with the local dreki, to keep their livestock safe. "He's not going to be happy."

"Good."

He offered her a joint, and Árdís picked at the meat hungrily with her blunt teeth. She hadn't been eating enough since she'd been trapped in this mortal form. While her energy requirements weren't as significant as the dreki's, she still needed to consume more than she had been.

Her stomach grumbled as she licked at her fingers. Haakon sliced another piece of goat for her, and offered it to her on the flat of his blade, their eyes meeting. Árdís leaned forward to take it from the blade, her teeth closing carefully around the meat.

"Are you trying to tempt me again?"

"Is it working?"

The faintest of smiles curled the corner of his mouth up. "Always. Despite my best intentions, despite the past." His eyes filled with sudden shadows. "Despite the future."

His face shuttered.

The past. The future. All of it knotted into one tangled web she didn't think she could ever undo.

"I never wanted to hurt you."

The words were raw, stripped from her soul. In them, she could hear the quivering loss of all those years, all those moments when she'd been alone and hollow, and wished she could reach for him, just once.

It was only in his arms that she'd ever felt whole. Or safe.

And he stopped talking.

Stopped breathing, in fact.

But he was listening, as if he sensed the sudden shift in the air between them.

And suddenly it all seemed to want to spill from her. Every last damning word. Every dark secret. Árdís curled her fingers into her palms. She didn't dare. This was only the lingering aftereffect of passion. He'd brought her undone in so many more ways than merely the physical.

"Let's not think of the future tonight. Or the past." Árdís leaned up to kiss his cheek, before easing back onto her bottom. "Please."

He'd refused to kiss her on the mouth, and she didn't dare push for it.

One night. Those were the terms she'd set herself.

And if it hurt, then it was her own damned fault.

Haakon sat stiffly, as if he knew she'd been on the verge of confessing, and had chosen cowardice instead. But he looked away, staring into the flames, his fingers toying idly with the fabric covering his knee. "As you wish."

Just like that, the moment was gone.

"You've lost weight," he muttered.

"It happens."

Such inconsequential words. Safe, nothing words.

Árdís ate swiftly, ignoring the long, slow looks he gave her, as he fed her more and more of the delicious meat. Eating it from his knife and hand felt somehow intimate. As if he needed to provide for her. Protect her.

"Why didn't you tell me you were hungry?" A faint frown crossed his brow. "You always had an appetite, but it didn't seem as strong back in Viksholm."

"It was, but I hunted," she admitted. "When you were working the fields, or away. I managed to keep the worst of the hunger at bay, and your mother always fed me."

Because she wanted me to be fit and strong enough to bear your children.

Suddenly, her appetite vanished.

Árdís wiped her fingers clean on the rag Haakon handed to her. She was recognized as an adult in the dreki world, but she'd never felt the press of the mating urge before. And it wasn't as though she'd hoped. Birthing a drekling would have been catastrophic for both her and the child, but sometimes when his mother had spoken of grandchildren, she'd felt this peculiar twisting deep inside. She was seventy years old, and few dreki females had ever felt the mating urge so young.

Haakon would have been an old man before she'd ever have delivered him a child. If they were bonded, he'd age as she would, but they weren't. Even time seemed to weigh against them.

"What's wrong?" he asked, clearly seeing it on her face.

"Nothing," she said sharply, and pushed to her feet. All of a sudden she couldn't handle this idle conversation. This nothingness. Guilt weighed so heavily upon her. "I need some fresh air. Perhaps dinner disagreed with me."

Stumbling out into the darkness, she paused at the edge of the river they were camped by. She would have stolen his future from him—the joy of having a family—if she'd stayed with him. Within a handful of years, his mother's gentle good wishes would have become a little sharper.

And she couldn't have borne seeing the eventual disappointment in his eyes.

She'd never felt lonelier in her entire life.

The door to the hut creaked as Haakon followed her. The rain had slackened into a fine mist, and she turned her face to the sky so he'd hopefully think the tears in her eyes were just that. Rain.

"You're upset."

"No, I'm not," she whispered.

"I swear you would say the sky was green, if I said it was blue." He made a growling sound deep in his throat as he joined her. "Do me the courtesy of presuming I know you."

"Do you?"

"Yes," he said shortly. "I do."

Cool wind blew past both of them. She had no words. Everything she wanted to say caught within her throat. And if she let a single word out, she was frightened more would follow. A spill of emotion she couldn't contain. Being in his arms had broken down her defenses too far.

"Here." Haakon slipped the enormous wolf fur cloak from his shoulders. He draped it around hers, and Árdís couldn't help snuggling into the heated folds.

She could scent him in the fur, and turned her nose into the collar to breathe it in, like a guilty thief.

She wanted to press her face there, to drink in the heat left from his body. To cling to something she'd thought long lost.

"Something's gotten into you tonight." Slowly, his hands drew the cloak closed, and he pushed the pin through it to hold it in place. His knuckles rested there, holding the cloak. "I didn't hurt you, did I? I wasn't gentle, but I tried...."

"Of course not."

Her head reached almost to his chin.

If she lifted up onto her toes, and he bent his face down, their lips might meet. She wanted that kiss so badly.

The night seemed so quiet around them. They were alone out here, miles from anywhere. And the gathering darkness seemed to wrap around them like some sort of conspiratorial cocoon, tempting her to whisper her secret confidences.

"It's not...."

He waited.

"I...."

Soft hands cupped her face, slowly lifting her eyes to his. Haakon stroked her cheeks with both thumbs. "I was angry before, because I thought you were throwing everything away. No. I thought you were throwing me away. I didn't understand."

"It's just a ring," she said swiftly.

It's not the ring, you fool. It was never the ring.

She'd finally figured out what she'd been holding on to so tightly. She'd never dared give in to her feelings for him, so she'd somehow transferred that to the ring. If it belonged to her, then there was a part of him with her at all times. But now it was gone, and then he would vanish too, and she'd be left with nothing.

It hurt. It hurt so badly.

Árdís slowly looked up, feeling the truth unfurl within her, like a flower blooming. She'd never stopped loving him.

She never would.

"I would have ruined you," she blurted, "if I'd stayed."

Haakon's eyes, dark in the night, sharpened intently.

"Did you think leaving hurt me any less?"

No. She'd made an utter mess of it all. Pressing her hands to his to hold them there, she shook her head.

"I'm so sorry. For everything." The words tore free from her. "I should never have married you. I knew that. I always knew that. And I'm sorry I didn't have the strength of will to walk away before things grew too far. It was too late by the time I realized what was happening. I didn't want to hurt you. I couldn't see any way not to."

"You could have told me."

"What?" Her voice sharpened. "That you had married a dreki princess who could never give you children? That she would never grow old, while you did." If he'd grown old. If he'd escaped the vengeance of her mother. "I brought you into a world you didn't belong in, and I did it carelessly. I didn't think of the consequences."

I didn't want to think.

For you were everything.

Somehow she was still cold, even within the cloak. Árdís tore away from him and wrapped her arms around her waist, but he wasn't going to allow that. Arms wrapped around her, drawing her back into a warm embrace. Árdís finally let the tears slip down her face, crying silently as he held her.

"You couldn't give me children?" he asked hoarsely.

She slumped against him. "It's rare that a dreki female goes into heat so young."

"But not impossible?"

She didn't want to give either of them any false hope. "Not impossible, no. But such children would never be welcomed in my world. They'd feel the call of their fellow dreki, a siren song on the winds, but they'd never be accepted."

"Árja." He turned her in his arms.

He'd wanted to give her children. But she'd always smiled and shrugged, and changed the conversation when he brought it up. He'd thought it was because she was young, and they were so newly married, and she'd never dared enlighten him.

"It wouldn't have mattered, if I'd had you. And if it had happened, then I would have taken that as a blessing. If not, I would have loved you anyway."

She pressed her closed fists against his chest.

"You would have been enough—"

"Please don't." She buried her face against his chest, her shoulders shaking with her sobs. "I just wanted you to know." Her voice held the desolation of all those lost years. "That I never meant to hurt you. I never meant any of it. But we could never be together and it broke my heart to leave you."

A hand stirred through her hair, clasping her against him, and that only made it harder.

She didn't deserve his forgiveness.

"We only have tonight," she whispered hoarsely, lifting her tearstained face to his. "I don't want to waste a single second of it on tears."

Clasping his cheek, she pressed her mouth to his, begging for his kiss.

And this time he gave it to her, burning away all the sadness as he lifted her up into his arms, her legs around his hips, and strode back inside the hut.