Laurel
Ulf left me to my tears. Haakon held the rope tying my wrists and collaring my neck, but he was gentle and didn’t tease me. Every once in awhile, he stiffened and sucked in a breath. His body went rigid, sweat beading on his forehead. At those times I might easily break free of my leash, but shame kept me kneeling beside the suffering warrior.
Truly, I was a wicked girl. Compassion was one thing, but how did I come to care for such dangerous men? What was wrong with me?
“Are you frightened of Ulf, lass?” he asked when the worst of his suffering had passed. “He will not punish you, too much.”
I bit my lip. “He… he was a wolf.”
“Ah, yes. That is one of our forms,” Haakon said simply, as if that explained the extraordinary. “But even when we are the wolf, you have nothing to fear.
