White Stag (Permafrost #1)(75)

I groaned at the name. All I wanted to do at the moment was snuggle deep down into the furs, into Soren’s body, and close my eyes and sleep. I hadn’t felt this relaxed in years. There was soreness in my shoulders that I’d never recognized before, like I’d been tensing for a century without realizing it. There was the rumbling sound in Soren’s chest that he made when he was content, like a cat’s purr but rougher and wilder. But this moment would end too soon. “When is he coming back?”

Soren made a noise in the back of his throat. “Do you think it’d be too much to ask for one of Skadi’s wolves to eat him? We’re never going to hear the end of it when he gets back.”

“We don’t need to tell him.”

“It doesn’t matter. The little bastard will know,” Soren said. “And then I might have to kill him.”

“If he doesn’t shut up about it, I’ll help.”

I sighed, breathing in deeply the smell of pine needles and woodsmoke that always clung to him. Would that we could stay here forever.

“It’s not enough time, is it?” he asked.

“No.” I sighed, back to strategy. “Are you planning on confronting Lydian or chasing the stag and hoping you catch it first?”

Soren looked away from me. “The latter would be nice, but I probably should expect the former. Either way, I’ll make sure—I’ll make sure you’re safe. No matter what I have to do.”

“What do you mean, ‘no matter’?”

But he cut off my question with another kiss, positioning his body so he leaned over me, the pale strands of his hair tickling my chest. “You’re beautiful,” he said, his eyes glowing with warmth. “Beautiful.”

“I’m glad someone thinks so.”

Soren took my chin in his hands, forcing me to look him in the eyes. They burned with a silver fire in the setting sun of the cave and kept me from looking away. If it were possible, I’d think he was looking right down into my soul.

“You are the most infuriating, pigheaded, stubbornly determined person I know, did you know that?”

I couldn’t help it, I laughed. “Strange, I thought you were describing yourself.”

“A perfect match, then,” Soren said.

There was a long silence before I spoke again.

“What did he do to you?” I asked. “Lydian, I mean.”

Soren looked away from me. “It’s not what he did to me, but to others.”

“Care to explain?”

Soren was silent for a beat, then turned back to me. His eyes locked on mine before lazily looking down at my body, seeing something I never would. “He’s my father’s older brother,” he started. “But he was never … right in the head. No one really talked about it when I was little or even now, but apparently one day he went out for a solo hunt as a youth and came back changed. He would mutter things under his breath and prophesize the doom that was about to fall over the land. He’d see people and think they were monsters. Sometimes he’d claw at his face until it bled.”

He took a deep breath. “So, obviously, my grandfather wasn’t about to let him inherit anything. You know most goblins inherit by killing their former lord or lady, but that’s not always the case. My grandfather simply disinherited him. He didn’t even kill him, which is what most would’ve done to ensure no revenge was taken against the clan. My father married my mother and she became pregnant with me.” After a long silence, he continued, “From the way my father tells it, Lydian came to visit one day. He and my father were on decent terms despite the circumstances. He saw my mother, heavily pregnant, and started rambling about the end of the world. That she would birth a demon.”

I shuddered. “He really is mad. If he weren’t so awful, I might even feel sorry for him.”

Soren closed his eyes. “According to my father, Lydian tracked down a draugr. However mad he was, Lydian was always a good hunter. Some draugrs keep their sentient minds; this one did. While my mother was in her garden, tending to the flowers, the draugr slayed her.” He let out a deep breath. “Tanya was her sister. She managed to save me, but not my mother. And by then Lydian was gone.”

“How did she manage to do that?” I asked, curiosity piqued. “You get burned just braiding my hair.”

Soren shrugged. “I’m honestly not sure. I never asked my father. He was never the same after her death. I think he resented me.”

“Lydian killed her then,” I said, “but used the draugr to do it. None of that is your fault.”

“I still dislike draugrs, but yes, she died by Lydian’s orders,” he confirmed. “And one day, I will kill him in turn.”

I closed my eyes, willing the coldness from my bones. Even wrapped in furs with Soren’s body against mine, I couldn’t chase the chill that came from his story away. I always tried to plant a garden when I first came here. Was it the same?

“I wonder,” Soren mused, “if that’s why he’s so obsessed with you.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Hmm?”

“He rambles about you too.”

“It never makes any sense.”

“Perhaps to him it does.”

“Then it’s his own damn fault.”