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

42. Sigvid

42

SIGVID

November 30th, Year 100, 9th Era

Outside Toftlund City, Salt Province

E arly in the morning the next day, Sigvid’s boots pound through the crunchy snow carpeting the world on his way home.

After lending an ear to Grim and spending yesterday smothering figurative fires among his Drengr, he is only now returning home.

As the red morning sun crests the trees, he can feel in his bones that he made a grave fucking error in allowing Avina to leave without him.

He can still hear that monster’s voice taunting her. Typically, Samson’s retribution would have been at his hands. However, Grim’s plan of vengeance against the Duke sufficed in this case.

“...Why do you think the Salt Princes have you here? Hmm? Because they like your company?” Samson’s cruel voice nags at his conscience.

I should not have let her leave alone.

At some point in the Arena, Sigvid knew keeping her fate all to himself was the only course of action, even if it meant delaying her death at his hands.

And then, dammit, she almost died on him.

Every godsforsaken action that woman takes, her laughter, even the smile upon those perfect lips, has driven him into an unreasonable obsession. Sometime after the Ulv incident, he realized he relished every bit of her, from her mind to her cute little toes.

How fucking dare that miserable man suggest Sigvid kept her for any other reason than because she is his ideal woman.

Did she believe Samson’s words? That Sigvid would seize her hand all for control of Treland? Fuck, he had his fair share of chances to coerce her into a forced engagement. Even if he has known all along the importance of her blood to the country.

Why would she think I desired any of that now?

The front doors to his home slam open. A lonely crackling fireplace greets him in the central room.

“Avina?” His voice booms to the rafters.

He stomps through the lower part of his home, searching and calling for her yet finding no one. Not even Thora is home.

Why am I always chasing people down in my own home?

Nellie emerges to follow him with lazy eyes. “Where is your mother, Nellie?” He questions the furry creature, whose only answer is to rub against his boots and roll onto her back with a chirp.

If the cat is here, then she is, at the very least, in Toftlund. Where would she have gone if she left Blackwood?

“Sig? Darling?” His mother appears in the doorway to his library with a pair of glasses perched on her nose and a novel clutched in her hand. In the room sits a half-empty bottle of wine on a low table beside a full glass.

“Where the fuck is Avina?” He demands forcibly.

His mother straightens her back and looks severely at him from over the top of her glasses. The action is a familiar warning for him to retract his statement and restate himself. He feels ten winters old again, scolded for bringing his axes to the family table.

“I apologize, Mother. I cannot find her anywhere.” He hesitates and adds, “I am concerned.”

Frida softens as only a mother can. “She went to see your brother.”

“Why the fuck does she have any reason to see Thrain?” His knuckles whiten, and red flashes across his gaze, threatening to berserk in front of his innocent–at this moment–mother.

“Your brother mentioned he might ask her-”

“Ask her what?” He spits with a feverish animosity, barely allowing her to finish her sentence. A knowing sensation creeps along his spine. It aided in his reflexes in battle but, as with everything else with Avina, only twists his mental compass.

“Sig, my dear, I am old, not stupid. You stole her from that Arena against her will regardless of her sad attempts to defend your need for vengeance.” She sighs and sets her book on a table in the hall. “I watched you both at the party. I'm thrilled you hold some sentiment for Avie, but she is still your captive. Your abundantly declared intentions have swirled the entire country.”

“Speak what you mean, mother.”

“Thrain expressed interest in marrying Avina. She told me the other night while you and Slode moved Samson.” Frida taps her finger along the wall. “She represents the most lucrative marriage alliance the country has ever seen. You never understood her importance, did you?”

He is at the spiral staircase before she utters another word, taking each step two at a time as his mother beckons him from behind. He tears down the packed dirt road to the city. Stress slithers into his gut, squeezing his insides until they threaten to burst.

Only two other moments in his life have worried him to this extent, and both involved Avina.

No, this is more profound than simple worry.

Sigvid is fucking terrified.

Afraid of losing her forever.

And he can not just blame her missteps this time.

How often has he refused to confess the peace that the depths of her eyes give him? Now, he drives her into the arms of fucking Thrain.

Toftlund is not overly humming mid-morning, which allows him to slip through the streets. He does not bother to knock when he reaches his brother’s house. He finds the home empty except for Thrain’s young female servant tending to the hearth. She scrapes into a bow instantly at the sight of Sigvid’s hulking form in the doorway.

“Prince Sigvid-” her words sputter as his runed hand tightens around her neck, cutting off her breath.

“You have three seconds to tell me where exactly Avina and Thrain have gone.” He hisses just before relinquishing his grasp. Her feet crumble underneath her as she collapses to the floor.

“Center.” She coughs. “Toftlund Center.”

Sigvid does not pause to consider the implications of Avina and his brother engaging in anything together.

His boots thump along the cobblestone. When he turns the corner toward the city's heart, he pauses in his stride to gape at the sight of nearly all of Toftlund gathered around a raised dais.

He shoves through the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd packed to the brim along the streets. Sigvid slips against a brick tavern, the establishment still closed from the previous night’s escapades.

Taking advantage of the lack of people on the block, he leans against the outer wall. From his spot, he watches the persons standing atop the raised dais.

Thrain’s new Second, Gunter, seems to be managing the crowd while Thrain is stroking a strand of Avina’s curls with that fake smile. As for his little Queen, her lips form the contour of a smile that does not reach her beautiful eyes.

“I now present your King.” Gunter steps aside so Thrain can take center stage amidst polite applause.

“Good people of Toftlund. Today is monumental and exciting for me, Salt, and Treland. Our divided country has existed in parts for far too long. As we prepare to embark on the tenth era, this singular act will mark a true dawn of an era of unity.”

Thrain steps to the side and spreads his arms out to Avina, who stands straight with her head held high.

A proper Queen.

That sad smile still twists upon her lips, driving Sigvid mad with desire to see an honest one on that perfect mouth. She offers a gentle wave to the crowd.

He has never seen her look more defeated.

“The Queen of Timber and the heir to the Ridge Province throne has agreed to my marriage request. We seek to unite our country for the first time in almost a millennia.”

Thunderous cheers erupt from the crowd that extends down the main street, filtering down every back alley. Yet, the words of Thrain carry like a disease, infecting everyone with something that can not be true.

It should not be true.

A burning in Sigvid’s eyes and a gasping from his lungs force him to question if his body is attempting to drown him.

She belongs to Sigvid, not Thrain. Her life, her body, her fucking spirit are his! After everything he has done to mark her, to hide her away from the likes of his brother. How in the fuck did she end up on that stage?

Why did she not tell me of this?

“We will be wed after the first of the new year. At that time, the people of Salt will finally want for nothing!” Thrain bellows to a chorus of cries. He continues his speech, professing his plans for the future. Never once mentioning her name to the people she will supposedly rule.

Samson’s words about one Salt Prince were accurate.

The Treland throne means more to Thrain than her.

My little one, what have you done? Come to me, and I shall fix this. We can undo this mistake together.

His chest aches as if someone clutches his beating heart with the force of ten men.

Once Thrain has drank enough power from the poor, ignorant citizens of Toftlund, he kisses Avina’s cheek to a shrill of excitement from the women watching. A sudden urge to rip his brother’s lips off and shove them down his throat takes root.

As she steps off the dais, her vacant, deep blues look desperately to Sigvid.

“You wish to move in with me?” Thrain asks with far more authority than a simple question.

She quickly shakes her head. “I made a deal with Sigvid, which I will honor. Thrain, do you not think this announcement is too early?” Her voice quivers with fear .

“I’m sorry.” He cups her cheek, but she flinches the tiniest of movements. “I can offer you better than a dungeon, broom cupboard, or where you sleep at my brother’s lodge.”

“I have lived alone all my life. It’s not too bad.”

Why hide you slept against my side since our arrival to Toftlund?

Gunter waves to Thrain, gesturing for him to join him around the front of the dais, where several citizens wait to speak with him.

“I will call upon you later, my Queen, to check on you.” A hidden warning is shrouded in Thrain’s seemingly innocuous words.

She nods, inching down the alley beside the tavern, away from Thrain.

Sigvid reclines against the tavern's side, watching her back away almost within his grasp. The rough masonry rubs enough against his back to keep him grounded. Red twinges his sight, an imminent threat that he might berserk and steal her away to another fucking country.

He hears Skalor is nicely uninhabitable this time of year.

Once she nears him, he begins a slow, sarcastic clap. “What a great fucking show, Queen Avina.” Sarcasm oozes from his pores as he strides closer to her, still clapping. “When did you and my dear brother have time to rehearse such a display?”

Her arms wrap around her chest protectively. Her cheeks have a haunted, hollow look about them as if someone has beaten her. “Not now, Sigvid.”

“I cannot leave this alone.” He growls, moving until he dominates her form.

How can she do this to him? After everything they have gone through, he thought she had begun reciprocating his feelings. “Where did this come from?”

She head tilts away from him, her focus on the snowy ground. “Because you and I are different people. When will you not understand that?” Her words are breathy and distant, as if spoken by someone else.

“That does not suggest you run to Thrain instead of me.” He can hear the ringing hurt in his tone. He could give a fuck if he sounds like a weak fool chasing after a woman.

How could she do this to me?

She shakes her head, still not meeting his gaze. “You talk of duty and honor. Well, I have a responsibility to the people of Treland. The King of Salt asked for my hand, and I accepted.”

Lies!

Sigvid’s eye twitches. “You are with the wrong man. He cannot be what you need. Thrain will never be a strong enough King of Treland.”

“What choice do I have?” She hisses. “The people have been told.”

“You still have a choice, and the people can be told again. You belong to me! Not to Thrain.” He squeezes her shoulders until his knuckles whiten, and she whimpers. “What is making you do this?”

Her top teeth bite so hard into her bottom lip that blood drips down her chin.

Anger and desire morph within his chest, and he reacts. Sigvid grips her throat with one hand and pulls her close. His tongue runs along her lip, savoring the blood pooling at the puncture point.

His hand slides over her mouth, covering most of her face with his size. She tugs on his wrist, her lips mumbling adorable yet futile pleadings.

After ensuring no one is paying attention, Sigvid pushes her toward the tavern's back door and wrenches it open to find the place empty. With a final check over his shoulder, he shoves her inside, moving his grip from her mouth to the back of her neck. He walks her to the bar, tossing her back against the counter, evoking an “oof” from Avina.

“What are you going to do, Sigvid?” She taunts, shoving against his chest. “All you care about is yourself! I am your mere prize from the Arena. Remember? You conquered the Timber Queen, aren’t you happy? Aren’t you proud?” She shrieks. “We have reached the end of this messed up relationship. No more teasing. No more threats. I need to grow up and be the Queen Treland expects of me. I am no longer your whore.”

Her hands curl into fists when she finally stops speaking. Sobs wreck her chest as they stare down one another.

“Am I supposed to let you go?” He growls.

“Yes.”

Her words sear his cheeks as if she has struck him with all her might. He closes the distance between them, clutching her neck in a vicious grip, relishing the hitch in her pulse as her heart pounds beneath her skin like prey caught in the grips of a predator.

“Let us understand one thing, shall we?” He hisses, spraying her face in spittle. “You are mine. You always have, and you always will be.” His eyes are wild with a fury beyond anything he has known.

You are my woman, not Thrain’s! You cannot leave me like this, Avina. The gods made your soul and mind for me and me alone, and I will be damned if anyone steals you from me.

Growls reverberate through his chest.She meets him with burning defiance and a softer emotion filled with pain. He spins her body around to better bend her over and slaps her ass.

Hard.

Her mewls he rips from her lips should fuel him with an inferno to devour her body whole. Instead, all he feels is his icy anger toward the one person in this entire existence he should wish to spend every waking moment beside.

He gathers her dress to her waist. “Did you forget, whore? Did you mis-fucking-remember who owns this?” He seizes the apex between her legs in a sudden, unrelenting grasp that has her crying.

“Cry! Cry for me, Avina!”

“This endeavor is pointless.” Her voice strains as if she does not believe her own words.

And neither does he.

Sigvid will write on her behalf and lead the damned Timber army against Thrain. Fuck, he will raise the Drengr army and take on all of fucking Treland.

All for her. Because it has always been about her.

He removes his stiff cock from his trousers to rub his head of precum between her thighs. Sigvid takes a handful of her golden hair, yanking her head back so he can look into her lovely face.

His eyes and chest burn as he beholds his woman. Avina is his equal when no man, woman, or god has ever come close.

“With every touch, your body betrays your longing.” He slides two fingers into her soft flesh, relishing the little moans. “Look at that. I knew you wanted me.”

He forces his member inside her pussy, feeling her soft walls flex against his shaft, pulling him deeper.

Binding her wrists in one hand, he yanks her arms behind her back. Sinking his free hand into her curls, he pulls her soft hair at the base of her neck until she screams. With a steady rhythm of his pounding pelvis, he leans over her back to bite around the shell of her ear.

“You are my filthy fucking slut, Avina. I will not allow you to go so easily.” He grinds down on his teeth when his trembling lips threaten his vulnerability.

He wrecks her from behind. Each thrust represents the unsteady ground on which he now walks. At any moment, Thrain can rip her away. Sigvid growls deep in her ear over her wanton grunts.

He wants this to fucking hurt.

She cannot marry him. That fucking asshole thinks he can take her from me? Fuck you, Thrain! You will not take the only part of my life I will kill to keep. Father took my throne long ago. Let me have Avina!

Sigvid withdraws from her cunt, his shaft slick from her wetness. In a swift move, he flips her to her back. The tops of those beautiful, heavy breasts heave from his brief assault on her cunt. Her body convulses in aftershocks.

We have barely begun.

She dives to the side, stumbling over her feet when his dagger unsheaths from his hip. His blade tickles her neck, halting her steps.

“By now, you should know I will take you the hard way, Highness .” He shoves his two fingers, covered in her arousal, into her mouth. His cock twitches at her hollowing cheeks, sucking on his command.

While she chokes on his fingers, he slices the lovely violet gown and underclothes until they ribbon around her boots, leaving her exposed.

Gods, he wants her to hurt as badly as he needs to revel in her flesh. He is addicted to her like she is a godsdamn drug.

“I will make you wish you never accepted Thrain.” He removes his belt and uses the leather to bind her tiny wrists.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, Sigvid.”

Her pleading is cute.

He grabs a bit of her sliced dress and stuffs it in her mouth. Then, he ties a longer strand around her head, holding the ball of fabric inside her puffed-out cheeks.

“I cannot have you yelling and bringing people down on us. How would that look, little one? You splayed out for me in this pub when you are to marry my brother?” He tisks bitterly.

Sigvid lays her on her back across a nearby table. He forces her legs apart until her pussy shines under the morning sunlight streaming through the warped front glass. He shoves his cock in her to the hilt and fucks her tightness with all of the pain gripping his chest after that damned announcement.

He clutches her bound arms so painfully that she wails. The table creaks from his force as he fucks her more roughly than he ever has with anyone. All in his need to alleviate his teetering fury.

To think I forgave you for everything: the torture and the Arena. I was ready to give you everything until you went behind my back and said ‘yes’ to Thrain.

He roars as he rips his cock from her pussy, and flips her onto her stomach. He finds a jar of oil and returns to find her beautiful blues blinking up at him with sweet curiosity.

“You godsdamn whore.” He shackles her legs apart with his knees as he pours the oil onto her asshole.

Her body twists and bucks when the oil trickles down her thigh. Inevitability creeps over her back in the form of goosebumps.

Sigvid’s cock rubs against her, “This will hurt. I promise you that.” He growls.

He lines the head of his cock along her puckered asshole. He presses inside until his head fills her. Damn, she is fucking tight.

She mumbles fearful pleadings.

“I should have done this carefully,” he snarls. “I should have prepared this snug hole for my cock. Instead, you are going to take all of me, and you’re going to fucking thank me for it like the slut you are.”

He lubricates more of his cock and edges his way in. Momentarily, he hesitates, reconsidering his action. Then, the fictitious image of Thrain taking Avina from behind while she mouths a wordless moan paints his eyes crimson with rage. His berserker power trickles just beneath the surface.

He takes five pumps to fit inside fully. Each section of his shaft elicits a choked sob from Avina’s lovely, gagged mouth. Once his balls slap against her drenched pussy, Sigvid pulls her hair as he enjoys her tight hole for however much time his member can withstand before unloading his seed inside her.

You are everything I could have ever needed in a partner, and I will remind you every moment of your life who loves you in this gods forsaken kingdom.

His orgasm is explosive when he finally relinquishes his self-control and cums deep into her third hole. He could give a shit about her pleasure. Her betrayal cuts him like a knife to his heart.

She releases a strained cry when he rips out of her hole. He can no longer control his lips trembling or the burning in his eyes that unleashes a single tear down his cheek.

“I cannot lose you.” Fuck his wavering tone and this fucking heartbreak. He throws a chair into the bar, shattering it.

He falls to his knees, punching the floorboards until his knuckles bleed and the wood splinters from his force. He has denied his love for her for too damn long.

Red flashes his eyes, and his berserker power restricts his reasoning. He leaves Avina bound and sobbing as he devastates the inside of the tavern, succumbing to the rage of his seidr .

No more playing nice with his brother. She will be his if it means burning down the entire Endless fucking Shores to keep her.