The Beast of Salt (Saga of the Gods #1)

27. Avina

27

AVINA

November 7th, Year 100, 9th Era

Blackwood Inn, Salt Province

A fter two days of lounging around Blackwood, Avina is unsure if she wishes to leave. She finds Blackwood Inn cozy and warm, even if they are in the Salt Province during winter.

It is far more comfortable than the Sapphire Palace and infinitely more welcoming than the Scarwood Citadel. It is the most home-like she has felt in a long time.

Despite the odd situation she finds herself in, she often catches herself smiling or even laughing at Thora and Sigvid’s relationship. There is a carefree banter between them born of trust. Uncle Sig would do anything for his Killer.

When Avina thinks she is alone with her thoughts, she will catch him gazing intently in her direction. She meets his eyes with all the unspoken curiosity she can muster.

“Thora! If you hit the mead cask one more time, I shall force you to stand there all evening corking the holes,” he warns the girl while she struggles to remove one of her knives from the wood.

Avina observes from the long kitchen table as she slices vegetables for their evening meal. Sigvid is busy preparing a hunk of elk meat while Thora continues tossing knives at a bullseye she has rigged against the far wall.

Every strike of her blade’s edge against the board causes Sigvid to glance up in an approving or disapproving grunt. Avina can not help the amusement over this side of the bloodthirsty berserker.

Sigvid stops Thora. “Hey kid, do you have somewhere to live? Besides here,” he holds up a hand to stop her clear retort.

Thora’s shoulders slump as one knife misses its mark, reverberating off the stone wall. She kicks the floor with her big toe. “Thrain gifted Steinbjorn’s house to someone in his court. He had me evicted not long after.”

“He fucking evicted you?” Sigvid rubs his temples, “You should be the owner of the fucking house. What a dick he…” He takes a deep breath, “Could you live with Helga?”

Thora throws her head back and barks a laugh. “Last time I was in her home, I accidentally broke a ceramic mug, and she’s never let me forget it.”

“What about Kar? He has a larger, nice house in town.”

Why does he not invite her to stay here? Undoubtedly, he has at least a dozen or more bedrooms available.

Avina’s head rises when all she can hear is the fireplace crackling. Thora focuses on the flames, her lips in a thin line.

“Of course, you didn’t hear. Sven is missing, Uncle Sig. When he didn’t return one night, Kar refused to allow anyone, except family, to enter his house.” The young girl’s green eyes reflect the flickering flames.

Avina’s heart aches as Thora appears even more youthful and alone.

He sighs. “I am sorry, kid, I did not know he was missing. Has Thrain sent anyone looking for him?”

Thora shakes her head with a sniffle. “The Drengr had not even got back from the war when Sven ambushed a courier,” Avina observes that the girl’s eyes are anywhere but on Sigvid. “He was furious about whatever he found. He vanished a month ago.”

And this last bit is thoroughly rehearsed.

“You will stay here until I can sort this out.” He takes over meal preparation from Avina while she heads outside to assist Thora with feeding the animals.

“If anyone can find Sven, it will be your Uncle.” Avina offers the sentiment to a quivering Thora.

The girl stands in the center of frantic chickens, dropping handfuls of seed onto a growing mound. The single food source drives the birds wild as they peck around her ankles.

Avina continues when she doesn’t respond, “I know what it’s like to feel trapped and alone. It is as if you cannot escape the only situation you know of. No matter how hard you try, you feel contained, and those you care about are always at arm’s length.”

Avina finishes feeding the cows, goats, and Hest in time to see Thora watching her, still hovering over the chickens with a fist full of feed.

“The Drengr took me in when they didn’t have to. Steinbjorn is my father. I know that. Not just the man who took me in but my father in every sense of the word. Now he is gone, and so is Sven…” Tears fall as her pent-up emotion over the last couple of months unleashes.

Avina wraps her in an embrace, rubbing her back. Thora shudders, and her overgrown tunic grows wetter under her tears. She looks up to see the Salt Prince at the top stair of the wraparound porch.

His content smile worms its way into her heart, clutching her with a warmth that reaches her toes.

“Hey, you two, finish the feedings and come inside for grub.”

“I’m sorry.” Thora wipes her runny nose with the back of her hand.

“Never apologize for experiencing grief. For you or someone else.” She brushes strands of wild midnight hair from her wet cheeks. “I can’t imagine having someone as close to me as your father was to you. To lose him must have been heartbreaking.”

Thora’s fist flies out of nowhere, connecting like a light poke against Avina’s arm. The action makes her jump and cower.

“If Uncle Sig brought you here, looking like that as a Queen,” she gestures to Avina’s grungy borrowed attire, “then you are likely his prisoner.” She tilts her head as if fully seeing Avina for the first time. “You haven’t fought him. Which means you don’t want to leave.”

It’s Avina’s turn to swallow against the lump in her throat.

“Your Uncle will skin us both if we don’t ‘ooh’ and ‘awe’ over his elk roast.”

Avina watches Thora skip up the steps. When she is entirely alone, her hand flies to her mouth, and she gives a choked sob.

In another life, Sigvid and I are engaged and preparing for our wedding to unite our provinces. Am I finally worthy of someone's affection in this fictional life?

After their evening meal, they all sit around the fire of the central hearth, stuffed to the brim with delicious food. Thora perches upside down in one of the chairs, reading a book, while Avina is curled on the rug, watching the flames lick the logs she just added on.

Sigvid relaxes in an oversized black leather chair with his feet propped on a wooden footstool. He is smoking his pipe and sipping on a glass of Steinlund whiskey while he sharpens his blackwood axes.

“It is getting late, kid. You need to head to bed,” he says, his pipe balanced between his teeth.

Thora groans. “Why do I need a bedtime? I have taken care of myself for four months.”

Avina forces a yawn. “I wouldn’t mind a hot bath and turning in.”

She is exhausted from another day of exploring Blackwood and tending to the farm. Avina’s sudden desire to motivate herself toward bed immediately affects Thora’s demeanor.

“You’re right.” Thora leaps to her feet with a thud as she shuts her book. “I did promise Ingirid I would help her bake bread in the morning.”

“Avina, wait a moment,” He commands her as she stands to leave.

A man's dominance would have usually left her bristling and furious, but with the Salt Prince, it is different. His authority made her feel treasured, as if he would do anything to keep her safe and secure.

Why does that make me feel sexy?

Once Thora has vanished off the staircase to the left, his attention turns to Avina. “We will go upstairs, and I will bathe you. First, you will finish the dishes.”

Did he say, ‘I will bathe you?’

She doesn’t move except stare at the mighty Sigvid Thordsson, who orders her to clean dishes like a commoner.

“I’m sorry,” she chortles, “did you order me to complete a menial house chore?”

He slowly turns to her, his eyes widening. “Did I stammer? You will clean the dishes because I have commanded it.”

Snorts echo off the rafters as Avina laughs hard. After several moments of laughing and incurring a stitch on her side, she wipes the tears from her eyes.

“You are hilarious. People don’t talk enough about your sense of humor. You hire some staff tomorrow and have them do it.” She strides to the steps.

He grabs her by the arm, pulling her back to him. “Funny, my little Queen. I am not going to hire staff. We all assume roles in my home to ensure tasks are complete. One of your chores is cleaning the dishes. Something you have conveniently avoided the last two days.” He pushes her back toward the kitchen steps. “I have let this go, considering your recent near-death experience.”

Avina huffs. I have never cleaned a dish, and learning in front of someone will be humiliating.

After annoyingly cleaning the dishes until her fingers became pruny, she crosses her arms and glares at Sigvid, who reclines in an armchair beside the dying kitchen fire. “Have I earned a bath before bed?”

“Come with me.” He tugs her behind his back.

They enter the long corridor of his private wing lit with dying sconces. Sigvid has not allowed her out of his sight to explore the many closed doors, casting dark shadows crisscrossing the floor. Since arriving, she observed a few rooms, including a lavish study and an overflowing library.

The south wing, across the bridge under the A-frame windows, contains the original inn’s guestrooms. Thora has taken over two rooms, even carving her name into the wood grains.

He opens the door at the end of the hall, revealing his bedroom. The gigantic bed remains overwhelming despite her having slept in it while restrained for the past two nights. A massive quilt and a bear and wolf pelt cover the whole area.

“Five people could sleep in your bed!” She blurts out, half-amused and half-annoyed at the prospect.

He shrugs. “It came with the house. Why would I throw out a perfect bed.”

“Yes, but,” shut up, Avina. Keep your insecurities to yourself.

A smirk twists over his lips. “My little Queen, are you concerned with how many people sleep in my bed?” He examines the growing blush on her cheeks.

“What? No. Of course not.” She rambles, curling a loose hair as her eyes scan over the bed, wondering how many women have woken up with him.

Stop caring! He forced you to his home. Who cares how many women he beds? All that matters is surviving him!

He takes her chin in his hand, his thumb slipping into her mouth. “No one sleeps in my bed.” He strokes her tongue before withdrawing and disappearing into the washroom.

She rubs her cheeks and takes an extra moment to compose herself.

The monster bed fills much of the space, far smaller than her Queen Chambers in Timber. He has an entire bookshelf that reaches the ceiling and two or three dressers cluttered with everything from empty mead bottles and dirty trousers to daggers.

Two seats grace the room–an old, rickety rocking chair and an oversized armchair upholstered in a hideous orange color stuffed in the corner by the bookshelf with a stack of books on the seat. Judging by the titles, the Salt Prince enjoys Endless Shore history, mead brewing, and carpentry.

“I will draw a bath for you. Remove your clothes.” He hollers from the washroom, where she hears running water.

I still cannot believe they have running water in Salt.

She peeks into the washroom, ignoring his order to undress. Regardless of having seen it before, her jaw drops. The Sapphire Palace and Scarwood are extravagant castles filled with luxury, but this is opulence at its finest.

The floor is polished blackwood, and the walls are a rich violet. Sigvid kneels beside a clawfoot tub large enough for two people. A polished stone counter with two sinks sets against the wall closest to her. She smiles, spotting jars filled with flower petals.

“I am quite capable of using the bathtub on my own. Besides, you seem to have many of my preferred soaps already.” She examines the full glass jars with her familiar lavender and rose scent.

Finding them is an odd coincidence. Are these the ones she sent to him in jest during the war? Surely not. He must have tossed everything.

“Are you still amazed at the washroom?” He must have noticed her obvious gaping. “Like I said, remove your clothes, and I will bathe you.” He grabs a fluffy towel from the cupboard and sets it on the counter.

“What do you mean you will bathe me?” She clutches her shirt to keep her hands from quivering.

He saw me naked, but that was to save my life. It should not matter if he tells me my body resembles livestock in the way Rendel would. We will be free of each other in two months.

“You heard me.” He tugs off her shirt, trailing his hands down her breasts and sides. Then he rips off her pants and massages her backside. “Get into the tub.” He swats her ass before settling on a stool beside the bathtub.

She is too desperate to feel clean and sinks into the water, moaning at the heat as she hugs her body.

“Why wash me? I promised you I wouldn’t leave until after the Solstice, and I mean it. Although I will not turn down a bath,” she mutters.

The more days like this, the harder it will be to justify leaving. His focused attention on her is intoxicating.

“Sit up. I am going to clean your back.”

She leans forward to wrap her arms around the front of the tub while the soft cloth massages her shoulders. “You didn’t answer me,” she presses.

Have I been wrong, and he has feelings for me? Or is there a fear I might escape again?

He lathers her back, pours soap into her hair, and massages Avina’s head with the tenderest of motions. All of her poking and prodding at his motive vanishes when his fingertips gently, albeit firmly, scrub soap into her scalp, carefully as if he is concerned he might tug her curls too hard.

The meticulous nature of his touch leaves her breathless and flushed. His actions overwhelm her, and she hiccups an emotional bubble in her throat. Despite herself, she sniffles, feeling a hot tear escape her eyes. Quickly, she dives under the water to conceal her emotions.

He needs to tend to his prize.

Avina repeats the reality. She should not allow an instant to savor this tenderness.

He softly pulls her above the surface, “It is not time to rinse yet. Lean back.” He pushes her against the tub and washes her chest.

“Stop, please!” She chokes as hot tears roll into the soapy water. “I cannot handle this. Please take mercy on me.”

He stops his actions with a furrowed brow. “Have I hurt you? I was rinsing off the dirt.”

She sinks into the water until only her head is visible above the surface. “Please, Sigvid, I beg you to let me go.”

He grips her chin, forcing her to look at him. “I will not let you go.” He releases her and sets the soapy cloth aside, leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs, “What happened?”

“I know you hate me.” She shakes her head. “I know you need to parade me around Salt as your captive to justify our war and the Arena.” She licks her lips, focusing on her shriveled hands under the water. “I do not understand how you force yourself to…to touch me.”

He saved her life from the lake—a commendable act. Every other time his hands touched her body, it was to exert his violent vengeance. What was his motivation now? Why bathe her? Why touch her willingly? Why has he not tossed her in the pen with the pigs as Rendel had once done?

Sigvid grabs her chin with his thumb and forefinger. Pulling her face close, he growls, “Who hurt you?”

Avina’s lips tremble, and she tastes the salt from her tears. “Am I not a disgusting pig only good for breeding?” She repeats Rendel’s words, unable to meet Sigvid’s gaze.

“No, you are not.” His eyes narrow. “Who said this to you?”

She wraps her arms under her breasts. “Rendel and his companions. Samson on occasion.” She claps a hand to her mouth and leans over the opposite side of the tub. “I am accustomed to men not faking disdain for my bigger figure. Please, give me the respect as your adversary and show me mercy. You have no reason to feign interest in my body to keep me as your prize.”

The stool clatters behind him as he jerks to his feet. His piercing gaze holds a venom that does not reach the level of any fury he has shown previously. “That spineless shit excuse of a fucking man! I want to drag his ass from the Abyss and disembowel him slowly again and again in front of you.”

He wags his finger as if scolding the air for causing him to breathe. “And that fuck Samson, he will have the most gruesome death of all. Then I will return to the Abyss just to force his soul back into his body and do it all fucking over! They deserve nothing less.”

He paces, muttering to himself while seeming to swing an invisible axe. Avina sits straight against the ceramic side as she watches, transfixed at the berserker’s boiling rage.

“Nothing about you is worth my disgust, Avina.” He kneels beside the tub and grips the back of her neck. “You are mine and mine alone. Do not ever insult my property or speak ill of your perfect fucking body. Do you know what I see?” His hand plunges under the water, gently caressing the curves of her side. “I see a woman who can withstand my… twisted tastes.” His tongue licks her top lip, causing her to freeze as he licks her bottom lip before withdrawing his touch.

“Your beauty makes the gods envious, Avina.” He stares at her heavy tits just out of the water, and she blushes at the bulge in his pants. “Do you see what your sexy body does to me? I cannot stop myself from fucking you.”

Oh, my Goddess.

“Out.” His mood is tense as he provides her with the softest towel she has ever felt.

He yawns as he returns to the bedroom, leaving her to dry herself before padding after him.

“Thank you, Sigvid. I dearly needed that bath.” For more reason than one .

“I did say I would punish you for running away. Stand over there.” He gestures before sweeping past her and withdrawing something from one of the dressers.

Punishment? Now ?

She watches his movements with her heart thundering in her chest. He did threaten her with this. Why did she believe he may have forgotten it?

What classifies as ‘hurting someone’ in Sigvid’s mind? Where does the line between ripping Finn’s chest open and whatever punishment I shall receive fall?

He stares down at her with the rope in his grasp. “Hold your wrists out.” She obeys without a question despite every warning bell in her mind ringing in her ears.

Stoically, he removes the towel and drops it to the ground. With an intent focus, he wraps the rope around her wrists. Once she is snug, he tugs on the rope before tossing the long end over a rafter. She steps backward, worrying her bottom lip as he pulls it taut, forcing her arms to point to the ceiling.

Her tone shakes. “Are you going to kill me?”

Sigvid laughs deeply, raising the hair along the back of her neck. “No, my little Queen, I will not kill you. But I will discipline you.” He says while caressing her spine with his knuckles.

He ties the rope's end to the bedpost, signaling that Avina is at his mercy. The sound of his leather belt sliding through the loops of his trousers has her twisting against the restraint.

She has a hint of what is about to happen. Part of Avina trembles in terror, knowing Sigvid’s beast side is often destructive. Yet, another darker piece yearns for the prospect of his sinister actions, which awakes something deep within her core.

His fingers trail across her neck and down across her breasts. She moans as they explore her curves, making her shiver before stopping on her clitoris. He rubs her bundle of nerves while she moans, her pleasure sounds reaching the high ceiling.

Suddenly, his touch ceases. Avina hears him step away, and all of a sudden, the belt cuts through the air and hits her backside with a loud snap.

She screams, tears filling her eyes from the sudden pain. As quick as the sting sears her tender flesh, it evaporates into a dull ache.

“How did that feel?” He asks in a calm, collected tone.

“Dammit, Sigvid! What in the Goddess’s name is that for?” She demands, using her ‘Queen’ voice to deflect the conflicting thoughts raging inside her like a violent storm on the South Sea.

He chuckles. “Answer me, Avina. How did that feel?” He mocks her tone with his own ‘Lord Commander’ voice.

Before she can retort, she hears the leather slice through the air and smacks her ass again. This time, she hisses through the sting that mingles oddly into a feeling she is unsure she wants to vanish.

His belt connects with her behind ten more times in rapid succession. Each is as torturous as the last. After a while, she abandons all sense of control, and her moans dance with her shrieks in a strange cadence around them.

“If I am hearing correctly,” he leans over her shoulder with a crooked smile. “You seem to be enjoying this.”

All she can do is breathe. Her backside feels tender enough to cook an egg while the area between her legs aches with a need.

Gods, why do I desire his member as if it is necessary to live?

He bites over the shell of her ear. “I am going to strike you, Avina.” He growls. “I will whip you for every minute I was forced to question whether I would see you alive again.” His hand curls around her neck. “You ran from me, and now you will pay the price.”

Chills creep over her bare skin.

“Do you care why I needed to escape you?” She chokes around her tightening throat.

“After I cut open one of my own Drengr for threatening your life, what makes you think I would ever allow harm to befall you?”

Her own protection has never been the primary concern. Not when she was a little girl growing up in the Sapphire Palace or as Rendel’s Queen. And especially not as Sigvid’s whore. But she loathed the idea of living as his trophy from the war he could tug around like a pet. No matter how secure her life will become.

Her long silence only infuriates him. “Answer me!”

“Your strength of arms was never in question.” She spits.

“Then what?” Each intonation of his gruff voice has her cowering.

“I am still your captive!”

“You and I both know that’s bullshit, Your Highness .” He sneers the honorific. “I agreed to your deal to be released at the Winter Solstice. Two months. I have given you my bed, my food, and soon clothes fit for a fucking Queen.” His face is so close to hers that she can hear the quiver of his inhale. “Why did you try to leave me?”

She huffs, wondering how he can not see it. Humiliation burns her cheeks as she refuses to admit the truth. “Because you cannot give me what I need.”

Companionship, affection, respect.

All things she desperately wants yet is never worthy enough to claim.

He meets her gaze for several heartbeats. “I will allow you one chance to get out of the pain you will suffer at my hands.” His lips press against her neck, his teeth scratching along her column. “One chance to end your punishment. Apologize for your disobedience and admit who owns you. Say those little words, and you will stop my hand.”

What? Apologize? After everything we have gone through, and he expects me to drop to my knees? Say sorry for escaping captivity?

“What will it be, Avina?”

She spits in his face, and his eyes darken.

“Want to try that again?” He squeezes her cheeks together, pushing her lips out as he lowers himself until his breath caresses her mouth.

“Give me your best shot, Sigvid.” Avina’s shaky courage falls flat from her quivering knees.

His mouth devours her lips. Their teeth clack together with a fierce, savage desire. With her head a giant haze of passion, he pulls away to spit onto her tongue. She can feel the inside of her thighs growing stickier by the moment.

“Taste me.” His order seeps into her soul, hooking her with the intensity of his longing.

Her yearning for this man overtakes her senses. Watching his piercing eyes, she swallows his spit. The inferno in her abdomen burns bright.

“Your punishment has only begun, my little Queen,” Sigvid smirks as he raises his belt again.