Biting my lip to silence my moan, I reached down the neckline of my dress, finding my nipples hard and aching, wanting to be touched. Wanting to be sucked into his mouth.
I drifted further into my fantasy, feeling him slide my clothes from my body and settle in the cradle of my thighs, hardness pressing where my fingers currently sought climax. The thought of it nearly tipped me over the edge.
This was not dealing with my lust. It was making it worse.
I knew that. Knew fantasizing about Bjorn was only going to make me want him more, but I didn’t care.
Because I wanted. Wanted so many things, and it felt like I was fated to have none of them.
Release dangled just out of reach, and I plunged my fingers into my wetness, imagining it was his cock. Imagining how he’d fill me, my breathing growing ragged.
I was so close. So very close. My climax began to crest—
And Bjorn stirred.
I jerked my hand out from between my legs, irrationally certain that he’d sensed what I was doing. My face turned molten as I waited for him to leap to my side of the curtain and accuse me of pleasuring myself with his name on my lips.
But instead, Bjorn walked on near-silent feet to the front of the hall, the curtain blowing across my face and then settling as he closed the door behind him, leaving me alone in the hall.
Blowing out a long breath, I waited for him to reenter. Seconds passed. Then minutes, and my unease as to where Ylva and Bjorn had gone grew and grew until I could sit still no longer.
So I climbed to my feet.
Easing the door open a crack, I peered out, fully expecting to find Bjorn leaning against the wall, or at the very least in sight.
But there was no one.
While the hall was warded with runes to protect any inside from those of ill intent, it still didn’t feel right that he’d leave me alone and unguarded, especially given that Snorri had instructed him to remain.
What was going on?
My unease deepened, and I opened the door enough to lean my head and shoulders out. In the distance, countless figures moved about between bonfires, but in the area near the hall, no one stirred.
Stay within the wards. Snorri’s warning echoed inside my head. I shut the door, then leaned against it, but my pulse didn’t slow. Ylva, I suspected, had gone to find her husband, probably because she begrudged her exclusion from his conversation with the other jarls.
But where was Bjorn?
Fear soured my stomach as answers, each worse than the next, cycled through my head.
My life wasn’t the only one our enemies sought. King Harald had been more than clear that he’d try to take Bjorn prisoner again. What if he and his soldiers had been waiting outside? What if they’d waited for him to step out to take a piss and then cracked him over the head while he was watering a tree? What if they’d realized they couldn’t get past Ylva’s wards and decided to cut their losses with one prisoner? What if even now they were dragging him down the southern slopes of the mountain?
You need to stay in the hall, I told myself. It’s warded. Running around Fjalltindr by yourself is an idiot thing to do. Wait for Snorri to return.
Except that I had no idea when that would be. What if I sat here until morning while Bjorn was marched toward Nordeland?
I needed to get help before it was too late.
My cloak was draped over a bench, so I swiftly donned it as well as one of the antlered masks on the wall, praying that others enjoying the revels still wore theirs so that I might blend in. Then I stepped out into the night.
Moving through the trees, I searched the shadows, wanting to scream Bjorn’s name but knowing that to do so would bring unwanted attention. So instead I whispered, “Bjorn? Bjorn?” then out of desperation, “Ylva?”
Nothing.
I needed to find Snorri and the rest of the warriors. Needed to tell them what had happened so they could help in the hunt. But beyond knowing Snorri’s intent to meet with other jarls, I had no idea where to find him.
Stepping closer to the revels around the fires, I searched for familiar faces, realizing now why my parents had never brought me to Fjalltindr. Everywhere I looked, men and women staggered around, either drunk or intoxicated on other substances, and those who weren’t moving about were coupling in full view. Not only in pairs, but in groups of threes or fours or more, and if I hadn’t been in a full-blown panic, I would’ve gaped.
Such things pleased the gods, who delighted in the carnal. Yet I doubted the revelers were motivated by the gods, instead entirely consumed by their own pleasures. Which was good because it meant they paid no attention to me.
“Where the fuck are you, Snorri?” I whispered, though my heart was screaming, Where are you, Bjorn?