White Stag (Permafrost #1)(49)

“I know you won’t hurt me.”

His gaze softened as he looked down at me. “No, I won’t.” He reached out and brushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear. For once, I didn’t recoil from his touch. I knew what I was now; I knew what I wanted.

“I’m staying,” I said. “I know where I belong now. And I know what I need to do.”

Silence hung heavy after I spoke, as if Soren knew exactly what I meant. A small smile graced his features, but his eyes turned grave at my words. As if we’d made a silent agreement, understanding passed through his eyes and he nodded.

It was silent for a few moments more before I spoke again. “Did you think I was dead when I fell?”

He shook his head. “Not for a moment. I would know if you died. The bond. I went searching for you after I buried Rekke.”

My heart gave a painful tug. “Normally you don’t bury the dead on a hunt. We left Helka out to rot.”

“Yes,” Soren said. “Well, Helka knew what she was getting into. Rekke was a child and shouldn’t have been involved in the first place. The only satisfaction is that Elvira didn’t survive. Her entire clan will fall into ruin because she killed off her only heir. Rekke deserves to go to the afterlife, and she wouldn’t if no one buried her.”

It eased the heartache a little to know that Rekke would have her revenge in death, and she would be reunited with her father, but it didn’t replace the memory of the young girl with light twinkling in her golden eyes.

“How long did you search?”

“A few days, I think. I ran into that svartelf who led me around in circles. Have you ever met one? Nasty little creatures.” He curled his lip in disgust.

I held back laughter. “I did, actually. And I’d never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad I spent a hundred years with you and not them. I’d be talking in circles.”

“Even though I lied for all those years?” Soren asked.

“When it comes to thralldom, I think I was quite lucky,” I said.

Soren closed his eyes for a brief moment and took a deep breath before opening them again. “Janneke, I don’t know how to say this. I’m not very good with heartfelt dialogue,” he said softly. “But I want you. I want you to be mine. Not, like, in ownership, not like a thrall. But like … like how people are when they’re close. When they feel something. When…” His eyes closed in frustration.

Something came over me, and I took his hand, clasping it tight. “I know what you’re trying to say.”

Be his. The words clung to me. It would be all too easy for him to make me his, but a hundred years had passed without that fear ever creeping up inside me. Be his. That strange, terrified feeling came back. I swallowed to try to calm the butterflies in my belly as they fluttered and spread heat down my navel. During the battle at the mountainside when he raced and fought with unbound hair and sharply defined muscles, he’d been more handsome than terrifying.

Be his. Soren was arrogant, infuriating in the way he turned his head and his permanent scowls. He was surly and childish and argumentative and never knew when he was defeated. And I liked that; I liked knowing I could break through that surliness to the rare smiles he showed, I liked that I could throw him off when he thought too highly of himself, and when we exchanged words like others exchanged arrows, I found I enjoyed it. Whatever his faults, no one could deny that he was passionate and strong and that he cared about me. I knew if I told him no that would be the end of it. He would let me leave. My choices were my own and my wants and desires were on equal ground with his.

Be his. The thought scared me. The thought petrified me. But not in the way it should’ve. Not in the way a human should feel about having the love of an apex predator, a goblin, a cruel merciless monster. No, it scared me because for once I was walking out onto thin ice. But maybe he’s worth the risk.

“Janneke,” he said softly, “are you afraid?”

“No,” I said. “Not of you.”

He turned sharply until he was facing me, blocking my path. He reached out and stroked my hair. Our braids were long gone, our perfect hunting clothes near ruins, but none of it mattered. “You were never afraid of me,” he said, his thumb stroking the side of my cheek. So gentle, so soft; I’d never imagined a goblin’s touch could be so soft.

I leaned into his hand, ignoring the human instincts that screamed at me to stop. Even now, knowing what I felt, knowing what I wanted, my body responded like it always did. A rabbit didn’t easily trust a wolf, after all. But I wasn’t a rabbit, not entirely. Not anymore.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

I nodded. “I’m fine, it’s just … memories.”

His thumb skimmed my bottom lip. When he spoke, his voice was husky. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know,” I said, though it did nothing to stop my racing pulse. “I know.”

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, “and I will. I promise.”

“I trust you.” The words were barely louder than a breath.

One of his hands cupped my cheek. The other roamed against my skin until it reached the small of my back. My eyes closed and my lips parted as his brushed against mine. Softly at first, so soft I melted into him, my body burning with a desire as new as it was fierce. My hands tangled in his silky hair.