Stone Circle no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

ᚦ — the call reaches him in the marrow.

draugr had been overseeing the war circle—scarred backs slamming, men grunting with effort and the hiss of breath between bloodied teeth. but for her voice,

he leaves them without a word.

guided not by her scent—though it drives like fire into his lungs—but by the pull. the knowing. she waits. and he is not a fool. he had seen the tautness in her spine, the flint in her gaze when she looked too long at the fights. he had smelled the heat curling beneath her flesh. she was iron, but even iron must be tempered.

you burn. i smell it on wind. like pitch before fire. what do you need of me? he is not so foolish to believe she wanted him atop her yet. no.

he would resist until she decided she would have him.