CHAPTER 20

Halvar scratched at his sword arm. The damned thing wanted to swing a sword, vaettir inside him too. Soak the walls of Skorradalr with Wodanar blood. Give these cravens the honorable death they fled from.

Not one seemed to want to fight their own war. They'd made the oath, Jarl after Jarl, to raise swords against any refusing the sacrifice to break winter. But now they thought that oath fulfilled by offering shelter and a lavish night meal.

What had happened to Arvid? In his youth, he held great reputation, raiding into lands farther south than even Sirkland and around the All-Storm sailing around half the realm to not be crushed under its waves.

Once it had been Arvid men spoke of as a possible king, twice so after taking Skorradalr.

But that had been nigh onto 50 winters past. He'd been married, took the fortress for a home, and never left, only braving the mist to cast away winter with the other Jarls.

Maybe Halvar should take Skorradalr for himself. The place was a wonder. Up close its walls seemed like the Midgard Wall, sprawling across the entire realm as a barrier against the chaos of the other worlds. To have it as a home for children and mothers while raiding-.

Halvar's jaw tightened. It would have them all weak, falling for the same trap left by Jotnar when they still roamed this land. Or he could leave the fortress empty, let ghosts and vaettir fill its halls.

“What’s got you in such a foul mood?” Gry said, her fingers tracing across his bare chest.

“I want the Vargr Tribe to attack,” he admitted. “A man shouldn't have so much time with his thoughts.”

Gry laughed at that, immediately bringing a calmness over Halvar. Might have been a trick of magic but he didn't care. Any respite from the spirit turning his gut was welcomed.

The woman quieted his mind, gave him a piece he hadn’t known since coming into his shifter nature. Any plans Arvid and his wife may have had for him amounted to naught unless their daughter was willing to share him, not that any noblewoman would be willing to do so without making a fuss.

Gry rose from the bed of furs speaking as she dressed. “And I want to cut down these gods damned Wodanar. They might as well be slaves with the amount of fight still in them.”

“Should we?” Halvar asked.

“No,” Gry said, sighing. “We aren’t oath breakers.”

Halvar’s mood fell as he looked at the door to the room. A moment later knocking resounded, the woman just beyond the portal still fixing her hair and holding a drinking horn.

Syn, Halvar already knew it was her and after being told not to disturb him.

A chill ran through Halvar’s neck. How the fuck had he known any of that? He breathed in deeply but caught no scent of the woman but he knew it was her, could even see the uncertainty on her face through the closed door blocking her way.

Halvar pushed off the bed and strode forward. This hadn’t been the first time such a thing had happened and he already knew why, whether or not he spoke it allowed.

The sight was in him now and would stay there as long as he bedded Gry. No ghost or Vaettir filled his vision yet but they would come, he knew all too well for Gry knew and her mind was bleeding into his with each tumble they had.

The things he saw were strange but there was more. In the throne room, Arvid spoke and his wife’s voice came instead of his own. When he neared Aslaug whispers like they were deep in the mist came from her and laughter on rare occasions. Still better than turning into a feral beast.

Gry put on the last of her clothing and opened the door. As if not seeing Syn she walked past her forcing the other woman back and causing her to spill some of the mead she held.

“Jarl Halvar,” Syn said and paused, eyes widening as she breathed in the remnants of lovemaking still in the air.

An accusation came upon her face but Halvar spoke over the woman, her disapproval meaning less than naught to him.

“Your mother sends you to seduce me.”

Syn's shock only grew, her mouth opening and closing several times. Whether through his own intuition or the sight he knew and had no time for such schemes.

“Tell your mother you have failed and be done with this,” Halvar said. “You shame us both thinking I would bed my son's promised woman.”

“So you'd rather share warmth with a Völva or has she already stolen your mind?” Syn accused but the steel she tried to hold in her voice faltered as Halvar neared, towering over her, a hand on his sword.

Halvar leaned over her forcing Syn back several steps. “My mind is clear, girl. Now leave before I find reason to take your father's home.”

A flash of anger came over the woman, then she calmed and smiled, her voice echoing. “Love me.”

Halvar scoffed. She’d lost her fucking mind for sure. Beauty that she was, did she really think mere words could overcome his resolve? But her beauty was a rare one, greater than even Gry’s. Fuck! Halvar couldn't remember a woman so perfect.

“Love me!”

Halvar shook his head. The echoing was growing worse.

“Stop it,” he said but his words were slurred and tasted wrong in his mouth.

Why was he denying her? Because he had someone else, who? His wife. No, she was taken by the mist. So why not. Did he not deserve the greatest beauty in all of Midgard. Hadding would understand.

“Love-”

Halvar kissed Syn, silencing her words. He lifted her, hand roaming as she tore at her dress.

“Wait,” she said as they came to the bed.

By the gods, there were flowers growing out of her hair and the skin of her shoulders. Her once blue eyes were now an emerald green and the scent of her lust sweet like honey.

“Drink,” Syn said, handing him the drinking horn and he did in one motion, his vision blurring like a blow to the head.

When Halvar’s mind cleared he found himself pounding into Syn, her legs high as he thrust away. More flowers had bloomed across her chest, each swaying. Their lips met and the taste was like the strongest of mead.

“Do you love me!” Syn screamed.

“Yes!” Halvar shouted. “Gods yes!”

Both groaned as they reached climax. It was like nothing Halvar had ever felt as if he was being drained of more than his seed. Symbols flashed before him a few the same as he saw with Gry but hundreds more; too many as to drown him.

Halvar cried out. It was too much, but his body kept thrusting away. These flowers he now knew, those of a huldra, a tree wife.

The vaettir would steal men away, fucking them until their minds were gone leaving hollow shells more than willing to obey every command. That would be his fate too if he didn’t pull away, but he couldn’t.

The pleasure was a chain around his throat only growing tighter. He pulled in closer always wanting more, the only apprehension coming from the heat burning his chest.

Soon it grew painful, but still not enough to free his mind. Slowly it built up, growing from severe to absolute agony. By then Syn was screaming too, but not in pleasure. The flowers decorating her were smoldering, small flames appearing as they wilted. Smoke filled the room with her cries as she fought from beneath him, but he couldn't stop until all at once his mind returned, love turning to hate, betrayal, and disgust.

Halvar roared.