Oath Breaker (Sons of Odin Book 3) (23 page)

Chapter 37

Alrik entered the longhouse through the kitchen door, quietly enough that Selia didn’t look up from the loom. She was weaving constantly now, it seemed. When he’d noticed her fingers were bleeding as they supped one evening, he’d questioned her about it, but had received a blunt response that it was the only way she could keep her mind occupied from the loss of her children.

He observed her from the doorway, her slight form swaying back and forth as she methodically worked the strands. Her gown seemed looser, as though she’d let it out. Selia wore her shoulder-length hair up in a simple twist. The sight of the dark tendrils curling against her white neck nearly sent him past his breaking point.

Alrik wanted her so badly. He wanted her body, and he wanted her heart. No amount of time spent with the dull slave girl could slake the desire he felt for his wife. His little Selia.

He remembered how they once were together; how she would look up at him with eyes filled with love, and desire. How she would writhe beneath him, begging for more. How she’d felt in his arms afterward, with her head on his chest as their bodies cooled and their heartbeats slowed.

Ulfrik had taken that from him.

The thought of Ulfrik’s hands on her made his blood boil. His mind supplied the image of Selia’s silky limbs wrapped around his brother’s body, and the darkness threatened to overtake him. His breath came out as a growl, startling Selia as she turned to face him.

“What are you doing?” She gasped. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Did you sleep with Ulfrik the night Gunnar’s men were here?” he demanded.

Her gray eyes grew large. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Just answer the question, Selia. Truthfully.”

“I did not. I was faithful to you. Even after I divorced you, my heart still belonged to you for longer than it should have.”

Alrik’s gaze narrowed, considering this. “You’re lying.”

“Believe what you will.” She turned back to the loom.

“If you loved me, you wouldn’t have left. You wouldn’t have given yourself to my brother.”

She opened her mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it. He watched her fingers comb over the weaving, looking for flaws. She was ignoring him.

Anger burned through his veins, and he stormed over to grab her shoulder. “Answer me!”

Selia’s face flushed with emotion as she stared up at him. “There was a time when I loved you more than life itself. I was a foolish, naive girl and I thought I could help you. Now I know nothing will help you. Only death will give you the oblivion you seek.”

He ground his teeth at her audacity. “Watch your tongue, woman.”

She shook free of his grasp. “Or what? You’ll kill me? You’ll kill Faolan? You’ll make good on the whispers that you’re no better than Ragnarr?”

“Enough!”

Selia’s laugh was bitter. “Your threats don’t frighten me any longer, Alrik. You have no hold on me. The only reason I ever loved you was due to a spell—a spell that is now broken.”

His hands clenched into impotent fists. Who was this woman who thought she could speak to him so? It was all Ulfrik’s fault, giving Selia ideas that her opinion was equal to his own.

A need to hurt her pushed harsh words from his mouth. “Faolan will accompany me on the fall trip. It’s time he becomes a man and not a suckling babe.”

He smiled with satisfaction as Selia’s face drained of color. “N-no,” she stuttered.

“Yes,” he assured her. “He is coming. Faolan Alrikson must learn what it means to be Hersir.”

“No!” Selia screamed, lunging at him.

Alrik grabbed her wrists before she could hit him, then spun her around as she struggled. Her body writhing against his made his manhood throb with desire. “If you give yourself to me, I might change my mind yet.”

Holding both her wrists with one hand, he leaned down, breathing in the scent of her hair, as his free hand slid over her breast, and lower.

He hesitated at her belly, feeling the hard swell that could only mean one thing.

Alrik roared with rage. “You carry his child!”

Selia twisted in his grasp, trying to protect Ulfrik’s bastard. It took every ounce of self-control Alrik possessed not to slam his fist into the mound below her ribs to make her bleed it out.

He pushed her away and she stumbled to the floor. Alrik seethed as she cowered at his feet. “I will kill it, Selia,” he vowed. “Before it draws a single breath.”

Selia leapt up. “I will kill
you
,” she snarled. “I will slay you as you sleep—”

Alrik drew his hand back to strike her. Instead of protecting her face, Selia covered her belly. Alrik stopped with his hand in mid-air.

There was a shout from outside. The thralls, calling for him. Alrik sucked in a breath, willing his rage to subside. With shaking hands, he crossed the room to open the front door.

What he saw made his blood run cold. An Irish ship was maneuvering toward the dock. Ainnileas’ ship.

And standing at the prow was Ulfrik, very much alive.

Selia ran up behind Alrik and saw Ainnileas’ ship. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she scanned the rail desperately until her eyes found what she was looking for.

“Ulfrik!” she shouted. Selia ducked quickly under Alrik’s arm and sprinted toward the ship.

Even from this distance, she could tell something wasn’t right; an oddness to how he held his body. The sun gleamed against the hilt of his sword, and Selia realized he wore it on his right hip instead of his left. His right arm—his sword arm—hung limply by his side. He leaned heavily on a cane.

She heard Faolan calling out to her, his voice panicked. She slowed to see her son emerging from the forest. Then, her head snapped backward as she was grabbed roughly from behind.

Selia screamed, twisting in Alrik’s grasp, as he pulled her off her feet. With his fingers twined firmly in her hair, he dragged her back toward the house.

“Let go!” Selia fought frantically but was helpless against Alrik’s strength. He hauled her inside and slammed the door, latching it with an ominous snarl.

“I’m going to kill him, Selia,” he ground out. “You will watch my brother die today.”

Selia’s hand fumbled at her belt, searching for the small pair of scissors that hung there. She was allowed access to them only during the day, as they were necessary for weaving. Alrik took everything away from her at night that could be used as a weapon.

Selia pulled the scissors free. She couldn’t turn in Alrik’s grasp, so she stabbed blindly behind her, driving them deep into his thigh.

Alrik roared as he dropped her. She scrambled to her feet and raced for the door. Struggling with the heavy latch, Selia screamed in frustration, but just as she managed to wrestle it over, Alrik’s huge hand clamped down on her wrist.

He grabbed her roughly and Selia heard a snapping sound as a sharp ache shot through her wrist. She sobbed, writhing, as he dragged her toward the bedchamber.

“Ulfrik!” she screamed, twisting her head frantically toward the door. “Ulf—”

With a snarl, Alrik turned on her, snatching her up by the neck with one hand. His fingers dug into her throat, cutting off her air supply. She tried to scream but no sound came out.

She kicked and struggled, clawing at his fingers. Her right hand wouldn’t work properly. Her face felt hot as her heartbeat pounded in her ears, and everything else seemed to fade away.

Alrik was going to kill her. She was dying. Her mind screamed for Ulfrik. Selia made one last desperate attempt to pull Alrik’s hand from her neck, as her vision darkened and faded to black.

Something hot burned into Alrik’s hand where Selia grasped him, searing him to the bone. The pain was enough to reach him through his haze of rage, and he released Selia’s neck with a shout of rage. Her body crumpled at his feet, lifeless, as Alrik examined his hand for the wound.

There was no obvious burn, although his hand throbbed in agony; worse than when Ulfrik had broken his finger. He stared down at Selia’s unmoving form, his gaze narrowing in on the ring she wore.

The spell.

He’d had the ring spelled to keep Selia safe, and now it seemed that same spell would be his undoing. Fury ripped through Alrik anew. If he was to die today, he would take Selia with him. He reached for her, just as he heard a noise behind him. He whirled, drawing his sword.

“Father!” Faolan stood before him, dagger at the ready. He looked down at Selia, then back to Alrik. “Get away from her.” Faolan’s young voice shook with emotion.

Alrik hesitated. He’d made great strides with Faolan, just as he’d hoped to. In the absence of Geirr, the boy had begun to show an understanding of what it meant to be a warrior.
A Vikinger
. They’d spent time together every day, time Selia thought he spent with a sniveling thrall child. Faolan’s willingness to maintain the lie told Alrik the boy was well on his way to becoming the man he thought he’d be.

Alrik had been pleased with Faolan’s quick progress, although not surprised. He’d given the boy the mark of the wolf, after all. Faolan Alrikson was destined for greatness.

But now his son stood before him, brandishing a weapon. The storm of fury inside Alrik’s mind exploded anew at this insult. His hand twitched on the hilt of his sword as he stared down at Faolan.

“Do you think you can kill me, boy?” He bared his teeth in a smile, his rage churning within him like a living force, urging him toward bloodshed. “
Do it
. Try to kill me.”

Alrik took a menacing step toward his son. Faolan’s small face paled in fear, but he stood his ground.

An unexpected emotion emerged from the chaos of Alrik’s thoughts, pulling him back from his anger.
Pride.
Pride in his son for standing up to him.

Time seemed to slow, then stop. An old memory surfaced, unbidden, slamming Alrik back into the body of himself as a small child. He hadn’t been able to stand up to his own father. He’d watched helplessly as Ragnarr had slain his mother, then his brother Jorulf. Standing in this very room, he’d pissed himself in terror as his father stood before him with a sword.

The curse.

The curse of Ragnarr lived on; now returning to claim another sacrifice for Odin. Alrik could feel the Norse god’s power pulsing through his veins, demanding the blood of his wife and son.

Ragnarr had given himself over to Odin in trade for power and riches. Instead, he’d gotten despair, madness, and a violent death at the hands of his own war band. But not before he’d marked Alrik as one of Odin’s own.

And now Alrik had perpetuated the curse by marking Faolan. What had made him do it? To willingly subject the boy to the same darkness that had plagued his own mind for as long as he could remember?

Had Odin forced his hand?

Selia moaned softly, still unmoving. Alrik stared at her, seeing instead a vision of his mother Evja, body crumpled in an unnatural angle as her sightless eyes looked through him. Alrik twitched, blinking hard, and the figure on the floor was again Selia.

His wife. How he had loved her, cherished her above all else. His eyes focused on her wrist, swollen and discolored, as well as the bruises rapidly arising upon her neck.

Remorse bit deep, threatening to choke him as the taste of bile filled his mouth. He had done that to her, had hurt the woman he loved. He’d nearly killed her.

Selia drew in a breath, coughing, and a sob arose in Alrik’s throat. How could he live with himself, knowing what he’d done to Selia and Faolan?

His thoughts swirled in a confusing flurry of anger and shame, rapidly growing intolerable. The curse of Ragnarr must be stopped. There was only one way to make that happen. Alrik knew he must end it, today.

Alrik stared at his son as everything became suddenly clear to him. The oath he’d made to Odin was held sacred above all others. He’d taught it to Faolan, hammered it into his mind relentlessly. A Vikinger never surrendered, under any circumstances; to fight to the death was the only honorable way to die.

There was no greater oath to break than to turn one’s back on the gods. To refuse to fight, to lay down arms like a sacrificial lamb, would make a man an Oath Breaker of the worst kind.

Yet he would break that oath today. He would spare his son the curse of Ragnarr.

Alrik dropped the sword. He stepped toward Faolan with a quick motion, wrapping his hand around the boy’s small fist where it gripped the hilt of the dagger. Faolan tried to wrestle his hand away, but Alrik held tight.

Faolan’s eyes grew wide with understanding as they met his. Alrik saw sorrow in his son’s gaze, and knew the boy did love him. Selia’s words echoed in his mind.
Loved him as he didn’t deserve to be loved
.

Pain seared through Alrik’s body as the blade sank to the hilt in the softness of his belly, just under his ribcage. A wheeze escaped Alrik’s lips as his own hot blood bubbled over his hand. He sank to his knees, still staring at Faolan. The boy cried out and again tried to pull his hand free from the slippery hilt.

“You saved your mother, Faolan Alrikson,” Alrik rasped. “Always remember that.”

Alrik jerked the blade from his belly and the blood gushed forth. With his last vestige of strength, he crawled toward Selia. He lay beside her, grasping her small hand, and traced his finger over the familiar rune carvings of the ring he’d given her so long ago.