Wolfheart

"Where are we going?" She asked as he pulled her along over the slick stones.

Bjørn's lips curling into a sly smile. "You'll see."

Behind them came Thora and Ivar, who had joined as chaperones.

"We're stopping here!" Ivar said while bending over with his hands resting on his knees.

Bjørn glanced over his shoulder and gestured briskly to his younger brother. "Keep watch and make sure no one follows us."

They continued along the rocky shoreline until the path veered inward, swallowed by the dense embrace of the forest.

The scent of damp earth mingled with the fragrance of pine needles, and the light grew dim and golden as it filtered through the treetops.

Bjørn stopped and turned to her. "This is it."

She let her eyes wander over the hidden paradise before her. A clearing in the forest, encircled by towering, ancient trees. A gentle stream murmured along the edge.

With purpose, he strode toward an oak that stood like a king among the trees. Kneeling down, he dug into the earth with his hands.

He dug up a rusty little iron box. "It's still here. Come, sit down."

He smiled, seated himself beside her, and ran his fingers over the dusty iron box before lifting the lid. Handwritten pages were inside.

"This is something I kept after my aunt. I found it when she died. No one else knows I took it."

She turned her face toward him, her eyes dark beneath furrowed brows. "Honestly, Bjørn!"

"I know it sounds foolish," he said, his fingers tracing the box once more. "But I might have believed a little of what she said."

A brief pause preceded her settling onto his lap. With a firm grip on his shoulders, she leaned down and pressed a passionate kiss to his lips. The box slipped from his hands and landed on the moss with a muffled thud.

When she pulled away, her gaze was playful. "Be careful, Bjørn. Or I'll have to report you to the church."

He smiled up at her, his lips still warm and tinted by the kiss. But before he could speak, she leaned forward once more, pushing him back onto the blanket with a force that surprised him.

In a swift motion, he turned the tables, and she was beneath him. His firm grip trapped her hands against the rug. His breath came in heavy, uneven gasps, and his gaze burned as it met hers. "How can I prevent this?"

She leaned so close that he could feel the warmth of her words. "I think you know."

"I meant what I said to Ragnar." He closed his eyes, as if gathering his thoughts, before letting out a heavy sigh.

She ran her foot along his leg. "Ragnar doesn't need to know."

"Trust me, he will know. And besides, if you become with child..."

She leaned in towards him again, her lips meeting his in a desperate kiss. Her fingers tangled in his hair as he let his hands drift down, gripping the edge of her dress.

He pulled the fabric upward as though lifting a precious treasure, his fingers trailing over her skin, warm against his rough hands.

"But there are things we can do..." His gaze locked with hers.

His hands continued their journey, gliding upward with a teasing lightness that made her squirm. She let out a soft moan, a faint laugh escaping through her breath, and a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

His lips traveled downward, a movement that made her gasp with a trembling breath. His fingers tugged at the woven fabric of her dress, pulling it down to expose her upper body.

He kissed one breast while the other hand caressed the other, a gentle yet deliberate gesture. A low moan escaped her lips-not a sound she had control over.

He pressed his body against her bare skin. His fingers, rough like the bark of trees, moved over her with teasing caution.

And a groan escaped his lips as well.

"You are like the sunset," he said, his voice deep and gravelly. She fought to keep her breath steady, but it was in vain.

He continued his journey downward. The wind howled against the pine trees surrounding them, and she could feel the cold as a faint whisper against her skin, but it was his firm touches that claimed all her attention.

When a sharp cry threatened to escape her lips, he placed a firm hand over her mouth. His breathing grew heavier, and it was easy to see that he was battling an inner struggle.

After a while, he rose from her with a satisfied smile on his lips and his eyes glinting in the dim light. Leaning down, he pressed a breathless, intense, and wet kiss to her lips before settling beside her on the soft blanket.

Drawing her into his arms with a protective embrace. "I love you."

"I love you too," she smiled. "But what did you say about rebirth?" Her eyes half-closed in a hazy gaze. She rested her head against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin.

"My aunt used to explain it like this: Imagine the soul as a flame-one that never goes out. When the body rests, the flame seeks a new home. It's like laying aside an old, worn cloak and putting on a new one."

Sigrid tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as she pondered the thought. "But why would anyone want that?"

"The key is to grow and learn."

She allowed her hands to slide down to the waistband of his trousers.

He groaned, his chest rising. Drops of sweat clung to his temples like tiny pearls as his fists clenched.

She moved her hand back and forth while she continued kissing him.

She had no time to react before she heard him.

"Sigrid, oh dear God," he said, pressing the blanket against his mouth to stifle the sounds.

Sweaty and breathless, he pushed himself up onto his elbows, his gaze flickering with embarrassment, as though searching for the right words to explain.

A cautious smile played on his lips; "This, I've resisted for a long time."

She leaned over him, her hair-scented with wild herbs-brushing against his cheek.

"I understand." She settled back down, her hands gently pulling her dress back into place. He detained her before she proceeded.

"No, I will enjoy the sight of you for as long as I can."

She looked up, eyebrows raised. "Are you sure you can handle it?" She asked, her tone light but playful.

"No," he said with a smirk.

She took a deep breath, her gaze falling on him again, as if trying to understand. "But what does it mean? That we live many lives? If we don't remember them, what's the point?"

"That's it," he said, lifting a stack of yellowed parchments. His fingers, rough from labor, held the papers as though they were sacred. "There is a ritual, one that lets you remember. Everything."

She inhaled and took a step back, startled by the seriousness in his tone. "Everything? And you believe in this?"

He nodded, his gaze returning to the parchments. "Yes, but only those who bear a Wolfhart can remember."

"What does that mean? To have a wolf's heart?"

He flipped through the pages, his fingers trembling with anticipation.

"Here," he pointed to a neatly written passage. "Those who bear the Wolfheart are unlike any others. They are described as sensitive and perpetually restless. Their intuition cuts deeper than reason, brave in the storm yet as fragile as frost flowers under the morning sun."

She studied him. "Do you think you bear the Wolfheart?"

"I don't know, but I'm certain my aunt did," he said, meeting her gaze. "And you're just like her."

He handed her the parchment. "It's all here! But it must happen under the full moon. It's written clearly."

She leaned down, her lips meeting his. "You're so serious," she teased. "Do you really mean that we are to live together... for eternity?"

His hands rested behind his head, as if he were already dreaming.
"I wouldn't mind living forever-with you."

With care, he lifted the lid and took out two small, yellow-white teeth attached to their own leather straps.

She pulled back and wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, is that-? ..."

"They're from a wolf. I'm giving you this box, and if you want to read it, you'll understand the meaning. Or you can keep it as a memory of me."

Before she could protest, he leaned in closer and gently tied the strap around her neck. The teeth was cool against her skin. "Now you carry the wolf's strength as well."

She reached out for the strap but stopped. "Could this be madness?"

"Maybe it is. But what is love, if not a form of madness?"

A long silence settled as the wind howled through the treetops. Bjørn crouched and began building a fire.

"Is that all, then?" She asked, her eyes fixed on the tooth.

Bjørn's laugh barely escaped his lips, a quiet breath of amusement, before he closed the space between them with an urgent kiss. His voice lingered close to her ear. "This is just the beginning."

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