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NAVIGATION
Welcome to my blog!
I will post collections of fanfictions I like as well as my own works here.
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Ashes and Honey
Chapter 11
The world was still and soft when Elin opened her eyes. The early morning light barely filtered through the cracks in the wooden walls, painting faint gold ribbons across the fur-lined nest. The hearth embers glowed low and red, their warmth mingling with the steady heat of the two bodies curled close beside her.
She lay on her side, cocooned between Uhtred and Finan. Finan’s chest pressed lightly to her back, his breath slow and even against her shoulder blade. Uhtred lay facing her, his face in shadow, chest rising and falling in a slow, solid rhythm that reassured her even as her own breath hitched slightly with waking.
Elin stayed very still, her fingers curled loosely beneath her chin. Her body was comfortable, cocooned in scent and softness, yet her mind moved cautiously—like a rabbit sniffing the air before stepping out of its burrow.
It hadn’t been so long ago that she’d felt herself unraveling. The terror of waking and not seeing them had clawed through her like fire. She remembered the cold panic, the breathless dread, the ache of wanting to be near but not knowing if she was allowed. The fear that any moment of comfort would be stolen away.
Now, lying between them, that fear hadn’t disappeared entirely. But it had quieted. Muted, like a wound wrapped in soft cloth.
Her eyes drifted to Uhtred, his dark lashes still resting against his cheek, mouth relaxed in sleep. He looked younger like this. Kinder. She didn’t know how he did that—carry such fierceness and gentleness in the same body. He’d never demanded anything from her. Neither of them had. Not even in the darkest moments of her heat.
They’d touched her like she was precious.
Her throat tightened, and she swallowed slowly. She wanted—ache-wanted—to be close to them. Not from fear. Not to stop the dread. But because it felt good. Because it felt right.
Her hand moved before her thoughts could catch up, trembling faintly as she reached out and lightly brushed her fingers against Uhtred’s.
At first, he didn’t stir. Then his fingers twitched, caught hers gently in his grasp.
His eyes blinked open, heavy with sleep but already warm. His voice was still rough from the night. “Little one?”
She hesitated, heart fluttering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Her voice was barely a whisper. “Can you… hold me?”
Uhtred didn’t answer with words. He scooted closer, carefully. His arm slid beneath her neck; his other hand rested on the curve of her waist. When he pulled her close, it was not with demand but invitation. His warmth soaked into her chest as her face pressed into the bare skin of his shoulder.
She released a long breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. His scent wrapped around her, rich with earth and smoke and salt, grounding her. Safe. Safe. Safe.
He rubbed slow, steady circles on her back with his thumb, murmuring nothing at all—just small, instinctive sounds of comfort. Her body softened by degrees, each breath easier than the last.
Behind her, Finan stirred. His arm flopped over both of them, warm and heavy. “There we are now,” he mumbled sleepily into her hair. “Good girl.”
Elin closed her eyes, breath catching. She wasn’t sure why those words made her eyes sting—but they did.
She let her body go loose between them, safe in their hold, letting herself believe—just for now—that she could want this. That she could ask for it. That she could have it.
And as she drifted back into sleep, nestled in the space they’d made for her, her heart fluttered not with fear this time…
…but with something very close to joy.
_________
The sunlight filtered through the trees in gentle dapples, making the water sparkle where the stream curved just beyond the village edge. The breeze was warm and mild, rustling leaves above and bringing with it the clean, soft scent of soap and fresh linen.
Finan leaned against a crooked willow tree, sleeves rolled up, watching the small cluster of activity by the stream. Willa sat on a rock, her hands quick and practiced as she wrung out a damp tunic. Beside her, Elin knelt on a flat stone, sleeves pushed past her elbows, pale forearms damp as she scrubbed a strip of linen with a steady rhythm.
He couldn’t help watching her.
She was talking—softly, yes, always softly—but not just answering. Speaking. Her voice was low and lilting, and once—only once—she laughed. Just a small sound, quick and breathy, but bright enough to make Finan go still.
He hadn’t heard her laugh like that before. Not from ease. Not like it belonged to her.
His chest pulled tight with something sweet and aching.
Elin glanced up then, as if sensing him. Her eyes met his. She startled a little, shy as always, but… she didn’t look away.
Instead, she smiled—small, unsure, but real.
Finan’s heart gave a quiet, traitorous stutter. He dipped his head in a wink, grinning. She flushed and looked back at the cloth in her hands, but her smile lingered.
Later, they walked the narrow path back toward the longhouse. Willa had gone ahead, leaving them in the hush of the late afternoon. Finan was about to say something teasing, when he felt it.
A small hand, hesitant but determined, slid into his.
His breath caught. Finan stared at their joined hands. Her fingers were cool, soft, and trembling just faintly. But she’d done it. She’d reached for him. Not because she was afraid. Not because she needed to be held together.
Because she wanted to.
He curled his hand around hers, slow and sure, intertwining their fingers like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Well now,” he said, voice pitched low, teasing around the lump in his throat. “You’re gettin’ bold.”
Her blush bloomed instantly, crawling up her neck and painting her cheeks. But she held on tighter.
Finan sobered. His thumb brushed along the delicate rise of her knuckles, back and forth.
“I like it,” he said, voice rougher now, quieter. “I like you feelin’ safe enough to do that. To want that.”
Elin’s lips parted, a breath slipping out. She didn’t answer, but the way her fingers clung to his told him enough.
They walked the rest of the way hand in hand, and Finan didn’t stop smiling once.
________
The fire had burned down low, casting a soft amber glow across their room. The scent of roasted meat from down the longhall lingered, fading now beneath the warmth of woodsmoke and the quiet breath of the night. The fire crackled softly—gentle, rhythmic—like a heartbeat anchoring the stillness.
Uhtred sat near the fire with Serpent-Breath in his lap, a whetstone in his hand. Each pull of the stone along the blade was steady, deliberate. He didn’t need to sharpen her tonight. Not really. But the motion calmed him. Focused him.
And it gave him time to watch her.
Elin sat in their bed just a few feet away, curled under one of the pelts. Not sleeping—he could see that from the slight tension in her frame. Her fingers fidgeted against the fabric of the blanket, twisting a loose thread. Her lip was caught between her teeth again, and her eyes, wide and restless, kept darting toward him like she was fighting something inside herself.
He didn’t speak. Not yet.
He breathed in, slow and careful, letting her scent tell him the rest. It had changed since they were all in the room - still soft, still laced with the quiet wariness that never quite left her—but now there was something else. A ripple of need. Not fear. Not quite.
Longing.
She wanted to be close. He felt it in his chest like a tug on a tether. But she didn’t move. Her body stayed small and still, like she was afraid the moment she reached out, everything would vanish.
Uhtred rested the whetstone in his lap. His voice was gentle, deep and warm in the quiet.
“Come here.”
She froze.
He didn’t look at her when he said it. He just waited, letting her decide. The firelight flickered, dancing across the worn edge of his blade.
Slowly, cautiously, Elin rose from the bed. Her steps were quiet, careful, and she didn’t meet his eyes. But she came. He opened his arm just enough, and she tucked herself into his side like she was meant to be there—her head resting lightly beneath his collarbone, her hands gripping the fabric of his tunic like it grounded her.
She sighed. A soft, shaky exhale. Like something inside her had finally unclenched.
Uhtred laid his arm around her. He could feel the flutter of her breath, the tension bleeding out of her body one heartbeat at a time. He resumed his work with the whetstone with one arm around her, slow and measured strokes as her weight sank against him.
Across the room, Finan caught his eye. He sat sprawled with one arm hooked around a cushion, watching them with a faint smile on his face, eyes warm. Uhtred gave the smallest nod in return. They didn’t need words for this.
Elin didn’t speak.
But he felt her trust in the way she didn’t flinch at the scrape of the blade, in the way her fingers curled tighter around his tunic instead of pulling away.
He stopped for a minute, brushing back a strand of her pale hair with his thumb, then stroking along her scalp with quiet reverence.
“You’re a brave little wolf,” he murmured, voice barely more than a breath.
Her breath hitched. Her body jerked with it, like the words had struck something buried deep. And then—slowly—her eyes went glassy, gleaming with the weight of too many things she didn’t know how to say.
But she didn’t cry.
She pressed her face into his chest, holding on as though he were the only safe place in the world.
And Uhtred held her there, sword forgotten, letting her feel every ounce of his steadiness.
Letting her learn, slowly, what it meant to be safe.
_________
The storm rolled in without mercy.
Thunder cracked the sky open like a beast howling overhead, shaking the roof of the longhouse. Rain lashed at the timbers, wind screaming between the seams like it wanted in. The fire was low, casting flickering light against the wooden walls, but even the warmth there felt distant beneath the weight of the storm.
Elin lay in the nest they arranged in Uhtreds and Finans room, their room, alone, curled tight beneath a fur, but her body refused to relax.
Her chest fluttered with panic she couldn’t reason away. She wasn’t in the village anymore. No one would drag her out into the rain. No stones would fly at her. No fists. No cages. She told herself this over and over. But her instincts didn’t care about reason.
They only knew the dark, and the thunder, and the ache of being alone when the world felt loud and cruel.
Her hands trembled. Her breath hitched.
She couldn’t stay here. Not alone.
Slowly, her body still crouched low as if the storm might see her move, she slipped out of the nest and padded barefoot across the floor. The fur she wore around her shoulders dragged behind her, heavy with warmth she couldn’t feel. Her heart raced louder than the rain as she neared the bed.
Uhtred and Finan slept curled together beneath thick furs. Safe. Untouchable. Elin froze beside them, suddenly unsure.
What if she wasn't supposed to?
What if this was too much?
She was still debating when Finan’s voice, low and hoarse with sleep, broke the quiet.
“Come on, love.”
No hesitation. No question.
Uhtred shifted, lifting the fur and making space like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like she was expected.
Elin’s breath caught in her throat. She crawled forward slowly, every muscle tight, every instinct whispering fear. But they didn’t turn her away. Uhtred’s arm came around her shoulders, Finan’s hand rested on her hip, and they pulled her between them without a word.
Safe. The word pressed into her like a balm. Safe.
But her scent betrayed her.
Still laced with fear. Her shoulders shook against Uhtred’s chest as another crack of thunder split the air above them. She hated this—this weakness, this tremble in her limbs. She knew she was safe. But her body didn't.
Finan pressed a kiss to the back of her neck and murmured, “Storm can’t touch you here, love.”
Uhtred shifted closer, lips at her temple. “It’s only Thor riding across the sky, little wolf,” he whispered, voice thick with affection. “He’s up there, cracking the sky open to remind us he’s watching.”
Elin blinked, startled by the image. “Thor?” Her voice was barely there.
Uhtred nodded. “A god of strength. Protection. He rides the sky with his goats and his hammer, and when it thunders, it’s him keeping monsters away.”
She exhaled slowly. Not quite believing, but wanting to. The idea that the storm could be a protector instead of a threat was strange… but comforting.
Finan’s hand drifted along her side, slow and warm. His fingertips brushed over the fabric of her shift, light as a whisper. He traced patterns she couldn’t follow—just shapes and swirls and gentle lines. It made her shiver, but not from fear. It tickled. Distracted. Anchored her in her body.
She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
“Like that?” Finan asked, voice teasing but soft.
She nodded into Uhtred’s chest, smiling lightly, unable to speak for the knot in her throat. Her body relaxed by inches, muscles loosening one by one under their hands, their warmth, their presence.
Uhtred kissed her temple again, a silent vow.
Elin breathed in deeply, their scents wrapping around her like furs. They were comfort. They were home.
And for the first time, something deep in her stopped waiting for it all to vanish.
She wasn’t intruding.
She belonged.
And she was finally beginning to believe it.
_______
The mist curled around her ankles like trailing silk.
The air was cool but soft, the kind of stillness that made the world feel suspended in breath. Elin moved quietly along the narrow path near the edge of the woods, the dew-heavy grass brushing her skirts, dampening her boots. She didn’t flinch at the quiet creak of a bird overhead or the rustle of a squirrel darting through the underbrush. She didn’t scan the shadows for danger. Her shoulders were straight. Her pace was unhurried.
She walked alone. She wanted to remember her body not as something small and hunted, but something living, present, free.
Her hands no longer curled into fists at her sides. They were open, relaxed. Her head lifted. Her gaze followed the rising mist between the trees with quiet wonder.
For a long time, Elin simply stood at the edge of the clearing, the land stretching out before her. There was a kind of hush in the air, broken only by the occasional drop of water falling from a leaf. It reminded her of the mornings after her heats—raw but gentle. Open.
She didn’t hear Uhtred’s steps, but she felt his presence long before his shadow touched the grass beside her.
He didn’t speak.
She didn’t look back at him. She didn’t have to. She knew it was him—the scent, the weight of him, the steady calm in the air that only he carried. She let the silence breathe between them.
“I used to think the world didn’t want me,” she said, her voice quiet but clear. “That I wasn’t meant for it. Like I was a mistake it kept trying to erase.”
Uhtred didn’t interrupt. Behind her, he stood solid and waiting.
“But now I think…” she breathed out slowly, letting her eyes trace the line of the trees where gold morning light met silver fog, “maybe it was just waiting. For something else. For this.”
The quiet stretched, soft as wool. Then Uhtred stepped close, his hands settling gently on her shoulders.
She didn’t flinch. She didn’t brace.
“We were waiting too.” he said, his voice a warm rumble at her back.
“For you.”, she didn’t notice Finan coming to them, so taken by this moment. He stood at her side, wrapping his arms around her and Uhtred
She leaned into them slowly. Not seeking shelter. Not hiding from fear.
Choosing.
She chose to feel the warmth of his hands on her arms, the steady breath at her nape, the quiet protection that needed no words.
She closed her eyes and let herself feel it: not just safety, but belonging. The way the land opened for her now. The way her name would always be spoken gently in this place. The way Uhtred and Finan never made her ask twice.
That night, when she climbed into the nest between them, there was no trembling in her fingers. No aching in her chest. No dread that she'd open her eyes and find them gone.
Only peace.
Only home.
Ashes and Honey
Chapter 10
Elin’s bare feet sank softly into the dew-damp grass as she walked slowly across the village green. The sun was just beginning to paint the sky in soft hues of pale gold and rose, casting long, gentle shadows that stretched and shifted with the waking day. The thick fog of her heat—the dizzy haze of aching and need—had finally lifted, leaving her body sore and tender but her mind clearer than it had been for days.
She breathed deeply, the crisp morning air filling her lungs. Her limbs ached in a new way now, not from pain or hunger but from the aftershocks of what her body had endured. It was strange—like waking from a storm and feeling raw to the touch, yet strangely whole.
At Willa’s hut, the old woman stood waiting with a smile that was both warm and knowing. As Elin approached, Willa’s eyes softened, and she reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against Elin’s arm. The touch was gentle, steadying—a quiet reassurance that Elin hadn’t known she needed.
“Come, love,” Willa said softly, pulling her into the comforting rhythm of morning work. Together they mixed herbs, folded cloth, and arranged bundles of dried plants in neat stacks. The scent of lavender and rosemary mingled in the air, grounding Elin in the present.
Willa’s hands kept returning to Elin’s—resting briefly on her shoulder, a gentle squeeze at her elbow. Each small gesture spoke of a deep, motherly pride that words could not fully capture.
“You’re glowing, girl,” Willa said with a smile, eyes twinkling beneath her silver hair. “It suits you, being loved.”
Elin forced a smile in return, but beneath the warmth a sharp, quiet seed of dread had taken root in her chest. What if this feeling—the safety, the belonging—was only temporary? What if the pack, Uhtred, Finan, all of them, drifted away once the scent of her heat faded?
Her heart tightened, and a flicker of cold fear whispered beneath the rising sun. She had never allowed herself to hope for this before, and now that she had, the thought of losing it was almost unbearable.
Still, she folded the cloth with care and let Willa’s steady presence hold the fragile, aching part of her that wanted nothing more than to stay—safe, claimed, and loved.
_________
Elin moved through the village square with careful steps, a veil of quietness drawn tightly around her. Her hands were busy—carrying water from the well, sweeping the dirt near the longhouse, helping Willa arrange herbs—but every movement was shadowed by a desperate need to keep Uhtred and Finan in sight. Her eyes flicked toward them every few seconds, a silent compass that pulled her gaze back no matter how hard she tried to focus on the task in front of her.
Each time Uhtred stepped out of the longhouse, her chest clenched painfully, her breath hitching in her throat. The steady rhythm of his footsteps across the yard sent her pulse leaping in alarm. When Finan’s low chuckle reached her ears from where he spoke with the blacksmith, a sharp ache curled tight around her ribs, almost like a physical claw gripping her. The scent of them—the faint, comforting musk that still clung to the air around her—tugged at her senses, a tether she couldn’t loosen no matter how much she wanted to.
Her heart hammered so fiercely that it seemed to echo in her ears. She told herself she was foolish, that there was no danger here, that they weren’t going anywhere. They’re right here. They won’t leave you. But the dread lurking beneath her skin whispered otherwise, cold and unrelenting.
When the two men disappeared from view—crossing behind the hall, stepping out of sight into the shadowed alleyways—her body betrayed her. Her hands trembled violently, barely steady enough to hold the water bucket. Her breaths came fast and shallow, like she was drowning in air. A hollow dryness spread through her mouth, leaving it cracked and parched, as if she’d swallowed dust and forgotten how to swallow again.
A tight knot twisted in her stomach, growing heavier with every heartbeat. Fear settled deep in her bones, an ancient instinct screaming that what she cherished could vanish without warning. Her mind spun in frantic circles, grasping for logic but finding none. They can leave. They might leave. What if I lose this? What if I’m alone again?
Food felt like ash on her tongue, appetite shrinking away beneath the crushing weight of her anxiety. Nights offered no refuge. She slept in broken shards—startled awakenings, breathless moments of panic, afraid they may have left. Each time she woke, her first thought was a sharp stab of terror: Are they still here?
No one had said it aloud yet, slowly they noticed. Osferth’s steady gaze caught the faint trembling in her fingers when she thought no one watched. Sihtric sensed the shrinking quiet that wrapped around her like a second skin, the way she withdrew further into herself with every passing day. And Willa, whose eyes held a lifetime of knowing, saw the slow dimming of Elin’s spirit—the way she carried herself smaller, as if trying to disappear entirely beneath the invisible weight of her fear.
Elin tried to hold onto the fragile safety she’d found, but every moment spent without their presence felt like slipping through a crack in the world—a fracture she feared might widen until everything she’d fought to keep was lost again.
________
Uhtred leaned against the thick timber of the longhouse doorframe, arms crossed over his chest as the last streaks of sunset bled across the sky. Gold gave way to fire, and fire to smoke-blue dusk. The earth beneath his boots smelled of damp moss and old ash, and somewhere in the distance a raven called once before falling silent.
He should have felt at ease. The village was quiet, the day’s work done. But something sat wrong in his chest, a low ache he couldn’t name. Restlessness had followed him since morning—an unease in his limbs, a tightness between his shoulders he hadn’t been able to stretch out. His eyes kept tracking the longhouse, scanning its corners without reason, like instinct searching for a threat that wasn’t there.
Behind him, laughter drifted gently on the breeze—Osferth’s soft chuckle mixing with Willa’s gruffer warmth. He barely registered it, eyes still fixed on the fading light, until her tone changed.
There was a hush in her voice now. Steady. Weighted.
“Have you seen the way she watches them?”
Uhtred stilled. His head turned slightly, just enough to catch the angle of their forms by the firelight outside Willa’s hut.
Osferth hesitated. “She’s been quiet, but… I thought she was tired.”
Willa’s answer came with the clarity of a blade sliding from its sheath. “No, lad. She’s afraid. She looks at them like she’s waiting for them to disappear.”
The words landed hard. Deep.
Uhtred blinked once. A slow breath escaped him, but it did nothing to loosen the knot forming behind his ribs.
Later, inside the longhouse, the fire crackling low between them, Osferth repeated Willa’s words. This time he looked straight at them—at Uhtred and Finan both. The hearth’s glow made his face seem older, drawn with concern.
Finan cursed softly, an oath bitten off at the edges.
Uhtred said nothing at first. He sat forward slowly, elbows on his knees, and stared into the flame. It danced golden in his eyes, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
Of course.
He saw it now—every fractured moment in sharp relief. The way Elin startled awake at the smallest noise. How her gaze leapt to him or Finan the second either of them shifted. How her scent only truly calmed when they were both within reach. He’d chalked it up to instinct. Fragility after heat. But no—this was deeper. Older.
This was fear rooted in a lifetime of abandonment. Of being used, beaten, ignored.
She had tasted safety for the first time in her life. And now her instincts screamed that it would vanish, just like everything else.
He swallowed hard. Guilt hit like a wave against stone. Not because he had harmed her—but because he had missed this. Because he should have seen it.
“We failed her,” he said finally, voice low and rough. “We didn’t see it.”
Finan shook his head. “We need to fix it.”
Uhtred nodded once, sharp and certain.
“She will not fear again,” he said. “Not in this pack. Not with us.”
___________
The longhouse was cloaked in shadows, the only light coming from the fire, now little more than a soft bed of coals. Its glow flickered faintly over wooden beams and sleeping furs, bathing everything in a gentle amber hush.
Uhtred sat cross-legged beside the pile of furs where Elin lay curled. She wasn’t asleep. He knew that even before she stirred—her breathing too shallow, too quick. She trembled with each breath, though she tried to keep still.
Finan sat on her other side, his thigh pressed lightly against hers, hands resting in his lap. The calm was deliberate—both of them had moved slowly, speaking little, surrounding her with presence instead of questions. Until now.
“You’ve barely eaten,” Finan murmured, voice low, the words tender but lined with worry. “You haven’t slept more than a few hours. Love, what’s goin’ on in that head?”
Elin stirred, shifting just enough to look at him. A faint smile tugged at her mouth, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She opened her lips to respond—probably some soft denial, some deflection—but her voice broke before it could fully form. The sound was raw, like a cut reopened.
Her hands curled into the blanket, white-knuckled. Uhtred noticed the slight tremor in her fingers, the way her shoulders rose as though she were bracing for a blow.
He exhaled slowly and leaned closer, voice low but firm. “You’re scared we’ll go. That this will end.”
She flinched. Not hard—but enough. Her body tensed like a deer before flight.
Her eyes found the fire. She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.
“You don’t have to say it,” Finan said gently, his voice rough with emotion. “We know. We see you, Elin. I’m sorry we didn’t see it earlier.”
Tears welled in her eyes. She blinked fast, trying to hold them back, trying not to let them fall. Her throat worked around a soundless apology.
But Uhtred was already moving. Slowly, with complete care, he reached for her—his large hands cupping her face, thumbs brushing the hot trails of tears before they could fall.
“You are ours,” he said, his voice no longer roughened with guilt but shaped by something deeper. Conviction. “This bond doesn’t fade. We don’t walk away. We don’t change our minds. We are bound now. .”
Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. Just a trembling breath, her chest rising sharp and shallow.
Then Finan shifted closer, wrapping his arms around her from behind, drawing her back against his chest. His chin rested lightly on her crown.
“And even when we’re not right next to you,” he said softly, “we’re near. Always.”
Elin gave a shuddering exhale, like something cracked open inside her. She didn’t speak—but slowly, she leaned into Uhtred’s hands, into Finan’s embrace, burying her face against Uhtred’s chest.
Her body was still shaking, but not from fear now.
Not entirely.
And Uhtred held her there, steady and warm, letting her feel it with her skin, her bones—proof that they weren’t leaving. Not now. Not ever.
__________
The smell of porridge and hearth smoke lingered in the morning air, curling lazily through the beams of the longhouse. The fire crackled low, casting a soft warmth as the sun filtered through the thatch in long golden stripes.
Finan sat beside Elin on the bench, a spoon in one hand and his shoulder lightly brushing hers. He felt her stillness like a pressure in the air—too stiff, too quiet—but he didn’t push. Not yet.
Instead, he lifted his bowl and said lightly, “Did I ever tell ye about the time Uhtred tried to impress a village elder and ended up knee-deep in sheep shit?”
Osferth choked on a laugh from across the table. Sihtric, perched by the hearth, smirked and shook his head.
Elin blinked, startled. Her spoon paused midair.
Finan grinned at her sidelong. “Aye, I see I’ve got your attention now.”
She gave the tiniest smile. It flickered and vanished—but it had been real. Finan felt it like sunlight on his skin.
He kept talking, telling the story with all the flair and exaggeration he could muster. Uhtred, passing by behind them, gave him a flat look over her head and tapped him lightly on the back with his knuckles in mock offense.
“Lies,” Uhtred muttered. “Exaggerated slander.”
Finan ignored him. “I’ll let you judge, love,” he told Elin, and nudged her bowl gently. “Eat. You’ve got to keep your strength if you’re going to survive more of my tales.”
She hesitated, but then her hand moved—slow and reluctant—and she lifted the spoon. One bite. Then another. Small, cautious movements, as though even the act of eating made her vulnerable.
Every few minutes, someone moved around her.
Sihtric brought over a mug of steaming tea and set it in front of her with a nod and a quiet, “It’s got honey. Willa says you like that.”
Osferth stayed across the table, leaning forward just enough to meet her eyes when she glanced up. “You look better today,” he said softly. “Stronger.”
Elin didn’t answer, but her gaze didn’t dart away either.
Uhtred passed again, murmuring something to Sihtric, and on the way back he let his hand rest on Elin’s back for just a breath—a warm, steady touch. Anchoring. She flinched at first, the old instinct to recoil, but then she leaned ever so slightly toward it. Just an inch. Finan saw it. Felt it.
And he knew.
She noticed.
She noticed all of it—the way one of them was always close, the way none of them strayed far, the way they folded her into the rhythm of the morning without question or demand.
They didn’t hover. They didn’t corner her. But she was never left alone.
Finan watched her closely, not with suspicion but with love. Her skin still looked too pale, and she moved like someone half-expecting the floor to drop from under her. But her shoulders were not quite so tight. Her eyes stayed open longer before darting down.
When she reached for the tea, her fingers didn’t tremble.
He smiled to himself.
It was small.
But it was something.
And for Finan—who had once knelt beside her half-dead body, who had held her hand through her first panicked heat, who had seen every scar in her eyes—it was everything.
They were rebuilding her trust.
One breath, one touch, one breakfast at a time.
__________
The sun was high, gentle and golden as it warmed the worn path between the longhouse and Willa’s hut. The village buzzed with quiet activity—children’s laughter, the clatter of pots, the occasional bark of a dog—and Elin stood just outside the longhouse, her palms damp with sweat.
It was only a few steps. Maybe thirty. But it felt like miles.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of her tunic as she forced her feet forward, one trembling step at a time. Each movement felt unnatural, too loud, like the ground might crack beneath her. The breeze tugged at her hair and the weight of open space made her ribs tighten. The absence of Uhtred or Finan—even Sihtric’s and Osferth’s quiet and easy presence—left her skin feeling too thin, her body unguarded. Exposed.
She walked with her head slightly down but not cringing. People nodded to her as she passed, some smiling, some simply curious. No one scowled. No one whispered. And yet, her mind conjured ghosts from her old village—taunts, stones, the sting of spittle on her cheek.
She kept walking.
When she reached Willa’s hut, her hand shook as she lifted the curtain of dried herbs strung over the entrance. Her heart thudded hard enough to ache in her chest. For a moment, she considered turning back. Crawling back into the nest and hiding under the furs.
But then she heard a voice.
“Thought I might find you here,” Osferth said with a warm smile, rising from the low stool beside the hearth.
She stared at him for a beat—breath caught, throat tight.
“I was just passing by,” he added casually, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve.
She didn’t believe him. Not for a second.
But she was grateful for the lie.
“Willa’s in the back garden,” he offered gently. “Said something about needing more yarrow.”
Elin nodded. She tried to speak, but no sound came out, so she simply sat down where he had gestured—on the cushion he’d clearly already set out for her. She didn’t need to speak. Osferth simply picked up a bundle of dried leaves and started sorting them, humming softly to himself.
No pressure. No questions. Just a gentle presence that filled the space with safety.
Later that evening, Elin curled up by the fire, a mug of tea between her palms. The longhouse was quiet except for the soft crackle of burning wood. Sihtric was nearby, working on his blade, but Uhtred and Finan weren’t in sight.
Their voices drifted in through the open door—low, familiar, talking to someone outside. She couldn’t make out the words, but she knew their tones, their rhythms. Still, her stomach clenched as if her body didn’t trust what her ears already knew.
They weren’t gone. They were just outside.
But her chest tightened anyway, a cold whisper curling up her spine: What if they don’t come back this time? What if this is the start of the leaving?
She set the mug down, hands trembling. Her legs twitched with the urge to rise. To go to the door. To find them, see them, make sure.
But she didn’t move.
She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. You’re safe. They always come back.
The minutes passed slowly. Long enough to raise sweat on her palms. Her instincts screamed, but she didn’t listen to them this time.
The door creaked open.
Uhtred’s boots crossed the threshold first. Then Finan’s laugh, low and amused.
She didn’t move. She didn’t leap to her feet.
Instead, she looked up, eyes wide and uncertain.
Uhtred’s expression softened instantly. “You didn’t come looking,” he said quietly, crossing the room in two strides. He crouched beside her, his calloused hand brushing over her hair, anchoring.
She swallowed hard. “I… I knew you’d come back.”
Finan was behind him, eyes warm and proud. He bent, kissed her temple with a smile that reached all the way to his eyes. “That’s our girl.”
Elin’s throat burned. The ache behind her ribs wasn’t panic this time. It was something softer. Warmer.
It was hope.
And it was growing.
Ashes and Honey
Chapter 9
Elin woke slowly, as if surfacing from a deep lake, the warmth of the furs anchoring her to the earth. Her limbs felt heavy, but not sore—just quiet, like her body had finally stopped bracing itself. The air smelled like wool, smoke, pine… and them. Uhtred. Finan. It was comforting and dizzying all at once.
She didn’t panic, not this time. But something was different.
Not wrong—just changed.
Her fingers curled against the fur beneath her cheek, and she drew in a deeper breath. The bond thrummed in her chest like a soft pulse, steady but inescapable. It didn’t hurt. It held. Like an invisible thread had wrapped around her ribs in the night and now gently tugged toward something—or someone.
She blinked toward the hearth and felt the ache of tenderness, of something she couldn’t name. Her heart wasn’t racing like it used to. But her feelings were closer to the surface than ever. Raw, exposed. The way she used to feel after crying, when her chest was tender and swollen with too much.
Footsteps. She turned her head.
Uhtred stepped inside the room with quiet ease, hair still damp from washing, his shirt open at the throat. As soon as she saw him, her whole body exhaled.
It was instinct—unthinking. Her shoulders eased. Her stomach unknotted.
When Finan followed behind him, carrying a mug of something warm, her breath caught again—lighter this time. The space felt full now. Settled.
She realized with a jolt that she was seeking their scent without meaning to—turning slightly into the air where Uhtred had passed, breathing deeper when Finan leaned closer.
It frightened her a little. How quickly her body responded now. Not with fear. With need. Not lust, either. Not like the heat.
Just… need.
Finan knelt beside the furs, smile easy, gentle. “Mornin’, mo chroí.” He brushed her hair aside, slow and careful, fingers trailing over her temple like a blessing. Then he pressed a kiss there, soft as breath.
Her whole body stilled.
Then softened.
Something inside her melted, like snow thawing under spring sun. Her chest ached with the closeness of it. With the terrifying, beautiful reality that she wanted this.
Wanted them.
And maybe… she always had.
________
Elin sat nestled between him and Finan on the bench beside the hearth, her knees drawn up beneath one of the thicker furs, her body pliant with sleep but not fragile in the way it had been before. Not scared. Just quiet. Still healing.
Uhtred didn’t need to look at her to know she was calm—he could feel it, the bond humming in his chest like a tether pulled taut. Not tight. Just… present.
She smelled like pine smoke and linen and clean skin. And them.
Finan`s and his scent were laced through her now, not just from proximity but from the mark—subtle, but unmistakable.
Mine. Ours.
His hand rested lightly on her knee, not even thinking about it, but her muscles stayed loose beneath his palm. That was new. She didn’t flinch anymore when he touched her. She leaned in. Trusted.
Across the fire, Osferth sat cross-legged on the floor, a book unopened in his lap, gaze fixed quietly on Elin. There was no tension in his scent. Just warmth. Devotion.
Uhtred’s eyes narrowed, but not in suspicion.
He recognized it.
Not a mate’s love—but a pack brother’s oath.
Osferth wasn’t watching her like a man. He was watching her like a sword-brother on guard. Her safety had become his instinct.
And Sihtric—
Leaning against the wooden post beside the hearth, arms folded, eyes sharp. He didn’t speak, but Uhtred could read every twitch in his stance. The way his gaze tracked Elin when she shifted. The way his weight shifted when she winced softly while sitting.
The bond hadn’t just sunk into Uhtred. It had bled into all of them.
A knock sounded at the door—firm, abrupt.
Elin flinched.
Only the barest twitch, but Uhtred felt it ripple through her body before she masked it.
His own jaw locked—heat surging low and protective. But he hadn’t even moved before—
Sihtric was already up.
A silent blur of movement. Tension thrumming through his frame like a drawn bow.
The door opened.
A villager stepped in—one of the older men from the western fields. Harmless.
Still, Elin leaned in toward Finan, close enough that her shoulder brushed his chest.
Uhtred felt Finan’s scent shift in response—warmth and earth and cedar wrapping around her. He murmured something too low for Uhtred to hear. She nodded, her body easing again.
Uhtred rose to his feet slowly, his voice even but low, edged with unmistakable authority.
“What is it?”
The man bowed his head slightly, speaking with casual ease. “The repairs you asked for on the grain stores are done, lord. The timber held well after the storm.”
Uhtred gave a single nod. “Good.”
He didn’t thank him. Didn’t need to. The man took the hint and left.
But Sihtric didn’t sit.
He stood watching the door even after it closed—eyes narrowed, spine rigid.
The air didn’t settle until long after.
Later, outside, the wind carried the scent of ash and woodsmoke across the compound. Uhtred stood with his arms crossed, watching the villagers work—half his attention still turned toward the longhouse where Elin rested.
Sihtric stepped beside him in silence.
They stood there for several heartbeats before Sihtric spoke, his voice low, rough like gravel over stone.
“I feel it,” he said. “Like a thread pulling me toward her. I’d kill anyone who touched her.”
Uhtred didn’t answer at first. He just nodded, slow, deliberate. Then:
“She’s ours now. Like blood.”
He could feel her even now, tucked inside with Finan, safe and warm.
His chest swelled—not with heat, not with instinct.
With purpose.
“She is,” he said. “And the bond’s not just mine. It’s shaping all of us.”
He turned his head to look at Sihtric, then across to where Osferth now stacked firewood in the distance.
All of us.
They would die for her now. Kill for her.
And for the first time in years, something old and sacred settled in Uhtred’s bones.
This wasn’t just protection.
It wasn’t just heat, or sex, or instinct.
It was pack.
It was home.
______________
The air was still in the nest, thick with soft heat from the fire and the faintest drift of pine and cedar, salt and smoke. It wrapped around her like a second skin, like breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
Elin sat on the edge of the furs, her fingers trembling in her lap, her body too aware of itself—of the press of her ribs against her shift, of the way her skin tingled when Uhtred moved even slightly behind her.
There was no pain. No fear.
But her chest ached. Not sharp like before—no panic clawing up her throat. Just this… this ache. Longing.
She wanted to be close.
She needed it.
It was different. She wasn’t in heat. She knew that. But her body reached anyway, drawn toward the deep, steady calm of Uhtred’s scent, the warm earth of Finan.
It wasn’t arousal.
It wasn’t hunger.
It was home.
She flinched at how tightly her hands had curled in her lap.
Uhtred moved then, quiet and sure, reaching into the bundle by the hearth. He pulled something free and unfolded it—soft, worn linen, the faint color of sun-aged bone. He didn’t say anything at first, just held it out.
She looked at it.
Then at him.
His expression was soft but certain, the corners of his mouth turned faintly up. His eyes held something solid and warm—trust.
“From me,” he said simply. “I wore it yesterday. It’s for you. The scent will soothe your anxiousness.”
Elin reached out before she could question it.
The cloth was warm from his hand, and the moment it touched her skin—her breath hitched.
Salt and sun and something older—something alpha. It smelled like safety. Like a storm at sea and the promise of calm.
She clutched it without meaning to, tucking it under her chin like a child with a talisman.
“Good girl,” Finan murmured, and she blinked up at him.
He’d shifted closer without her noticing, crouched beside her, gaze gentle.
“Come here, love,” he said, arms already open.
She didn’t think—just moved. Let him pull her into his lap, her body curling under his arm like it had always fit there. His chest rose slow and even beneath her cheek, and she breathed him in, the scent of woodsmoke and sun-warmed wool, soap and skin and something just Finan.
Her nose brushed the curve of his shoulder.
She pressed closer before she realized what she was doing. Her lips grazed his shirt. She was nuzzling. A flush crept up her throat—hot and bright—but her body didn’t try to flee. She stayed. Because it felt right.
He chuckled, low and fond, one hand rubbing slow circles along her back.
“You’re bonding, love,” he said. “It’s meant to feel like this. No need to blush.”
Uhtred shifted behind her, the solid press of his body against her back grounding her further. She was cradled between them—Finan’s chest and Uhtred’s strength, the bond threading between their scents like a living thing.
She was trembling. She hadn’t even noticed. But not from fear.
From feeling.
Uhtred’s hand came to rest on her thigh, firm and steady.
“Let your body trust it,” he said, voice low and sure. “We already do.”
She turned her head just enough to look at him.
And she saw it.
In his face. In Finan’s.
Happiness.
Not duty. Not pity.
Joy.
They were happy because of her.
Because she was here.
Because she was theirs.
Her eyes burned. She blinked quickly and tucked her face back into Finan’s shoulder, letting the warmth settle deeper into her bones.
She was wanted.
She was safe.
She was home.
___________
Finan lay still, but not asleep.
He could feel her—Elin—tense beside him. Not rigid with fear like she once had been, but restless. Like her thoughts were circling too fast for sleep to take root.
Her breath wasn’t even. Every few seconds, it hitched. Caught.
He opened his eyes and turned his head slightly, careful not to shift too much.
Uhtred lay on her other side, the rise of his chest calm and steady, one arm curled protectively around Elin’s waist. She was nestled between them again, this time with her back curved against Uhtred’s chest, her knees drawn slightly toward Finan’s.
He reached over and brushed his fingers gently along her arm.
“Still awake, lass?” he whispered, voice low so it wouldn’t startle her.
A breath. Then another.
“Yes,” she whispered back.
He waited. Let her speak first, if she wanted. It always worked better that way.
“Something feels different,” she murmured finally. “Inside. I feel like. Like I need to… stay close.”
Finan smiled softly.
“That’s the bond, love,” he said. “It pulls. Makes us want to be near one another. It’s normal for you to feel anxious after the bonding. It settles with time.”
She didn’t answer right away. Her silence was heavier now, her fingers curling slightly against the fur beneath them.
Then, almost too softly to hear:
“Does this mean I belong to you?”
Finan’s heart squeezed. He swallowed.
But it was Uhtred who answered, his voice a low rumble against the back of Elin’s neck.
“It means you belong with us. You always have a choice, Elin. We would never force you.”
His hand moved slowly across her belly, not possessive—protective.
There was a long silence after that. The kind that trembled with meaning.
Then Finan felt it—her fingers brushing against his under the blanket. Small. Colder. Seeking.
He threaded his hand through hers and held tight.
A moment later, she shifted again. Slowly, cautiously. She slid closer to Uhtred’s chest, pressing back.
Shy. But not afraid.
Finan exhaled through his nose, eyes burning with something hot and sharp.
This wasn’t instinct anymore.
It was trust.
“You’re not alone, Elin,” he said quietly. “Not anymore.”
“I’ve always been alone,” she whispered.
“Not here.”
Uhtred’s voice again. Solid. Certain.
Finan felt her begin to relax. Not fully—she was still learning—but something in her had softened. Her scent was calm. Not quite peaceful yet, but… steady. Anchored.
They lay like that in the dark, the fire burned low. Her breath deepened gradually.
And when sleep finally took her, it was while held between them.
Not because she needed to.
Because she wanted to.
Because she was theirs.
And they were hers.
______________
Elin walks carefully, her boots soft against the damp grass. The sun is low but warm, soft against her cheeks. Her legs still ache—deep, low, from days of tension—but she welcomes the pull. It means she feels again.
Osferth is beside her. Always gentle, always steady.
She walks closer than she used to. Close enough that her shoulder brushes his arm sometimes, and she doesn’t apologize for it.
He says nothing, just stays with her. A silent presence.
It’s enough.
She notices the way villagers glance her way—quick flicks of the eyes, curious. One older woman even nods at her in passing. Elin doesn’t flinch, though her throat tightens. Not used to the attention, having been always invisible and if not, that never meant something good. She knows nobody would dare to hurt her here, despite it…she edges slightly closer to Osferth.
His scent surrounds her like wool. Calm, sun-warmed parchment, iron dust and prayer. She leans into it, lets it settle in her lungs.
And then—
She feels it.
Someone’s eyes. A boy—barely a man—watching her from across the clearing. Not cruel, not dangerous. But lingering.
Her body tenses without her permission. That familiar, scraping fear rising.
But before she can move—
Sihtric is there too.
Like smoke and shadow, he steps into her line of sight, slipping between her and the boy. Not a word spoken, not a gesture made. Just standing.
Still. Solid. Protective.
Osferth moves around her, flanking her on the side. She feels it—the shift, the silence that surrounds them.
Her breath catches. Her heart skips.
She is enclosed.
Not trapped. Protected.
And then Uhtred’s hand finds her shoulder, firm and grounding. His thumb brushes her collarbone—over the mark. Her mark. His.
His voice comes quiet, but full of steel.
“This one’s mine,” he says.
A beat.
“Ours.”
Not just telling the boy, but telling everybody in hearing distance.
Elin feels the echo of it in her chest—something low and wordless.
The boy’s face pales. He looks down and walks away fast.
She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t move. Just stands still and listens to the humming in her bones.
Sihtric turns toward her, eyes steady.
“You’re pack now,” he says. “No one touches what we protect.”
Something in Elin breaks open at that. Not with fear—with knowing.
She swallows once, twice. Then whispers, “I never had a pack before.”
Osferth doesn’t hesitate.
“Now you do.”
Elin looks between them—Sihtric, Osferth, Uhtred—and she feels it again.
Not heat. Not instinct.
Belonging.
The bond thrums softly behind her ribs. Warm. Alive.
Mine, it whispers.
Theirs.
She walks back toward the longhouse with them, her steps lighter.
Ashes and Honey
Chapter 9
Elin woke slowly, as if surfacing from a deep lake, the warmth of the furs anchoring her to the earth. Her limbs felt heavy, but not sore—just quiet, like her body had finally stopped bracing itself. The air smelled like wool, smoke, pine… and them. Uhtred. Finan. It was comforting and dizzying all at once.
She didn’t panic, not this time. But something was different.
Not wrong—just changed.
Her fingers curled against the fur beneath her cheek, and she drew in a deeper breath. The bond thrummed in her chest like a soft pulse, steady but inescapable. It didn’t hurt. It held. Like an invisible thread had wrapped around her ribs in the night and now gently tugged toward something—or someone.
She blinked toward the hearth and felt the ache of tenderness, of something she couldn’t name. Her heart wasn’t racing like it used to. But her feelings were closer to the surface than ever. Raw, exposed. The way she used to feel after crying, when her chest was tender and swollen with too much.
Footsteps. She turned her head.
Uhtred stepped inside the room with quiet ease, hair still damp from washing, his shirt open at the throat. As soon as she saw him, her whole body exhaled.
It was instinct—unthinking. Her shoulders eased. Her stomach unknotted.
When Finan followed behind him, carrying a mug of something warm, her breath caught again—lighter this time. The space felt full now. Settled.
She realized with a jolt that she was seeking their scent without meaning to—turning slightly into the air where Uhtred had passed, breathing deeper when Finan leaned closer.
It frightened her a little. How quickly her body responded now. Not with fear. With need. Not lust, either. Not like the heat.
Just… need.
Finan knelt beside the furs, smile easy, gentle. “Mornin’, mo chroí.” He brushed her hair aside, slow and careful, fingers trailing over her temple like a blessing. Then he pressed a kiss there, soft as breath.
Her whole body stilled.
Then softened.
Something inside her melted, like snow thawing under spring sun. Her chest ached with the closeness of it. With the terrifying, beautiful reality that she wanted this.
Wanted them.
And maybe… she always had.
________
Elin sat nestled between him and Finan on the bench beside the hearth, her knees drawn up beneath one of the thicker furs, her body pliant with sleep but not fragile in the way it had been before. Not scared. Just quiet. Still healing.
Uhtred didn’t need to look at her to know she was calm—he could feel it, the bond humming in his chest like a tether pulled taut. Not tight. Just… present.
She smelled like pine smoke and linen and clean skin. And them.
Finan`s and his scent were laced through her now, not just from proximity but from the mark—subtle, but unmistakable.
Mine. Ours.
His hand rested lightly on her knee, not even thinking about it, but her muscles stayed loose beneath his palm. That was new. She didn’t flinch anymore when he touched her. She leaned in. Trusted.
Across the fire, Osferth sat cross-legged on the floor, a book unopened in his lap, gaze fixed quietly on Elin. There was no tension in his scent. Just warmth. Devotion.
Uhtred’s eyes narrowed, but not in suspicion.
He recognized it.
Not a mate’s love—but a pack brother’s oath.
Osferth wasn’t watching her like a man. He was watching her like a sword-brother on guard. Her safety had become his instinct.
And Sihtric—
Leaning against the wooden post beside the hearth, arms folded, eyes sharp. He didn’t speak, but Uhtred could read every twitch in his stance. The way his gaze tracked Elin when she shifted. The way his weight shifted when she winced softly while sitting.
The bond hadn’t just sunk into Uhtred. It had bled into all of them.
A knock sounded at the door—firm, abrupt.
Elin flinched.
Only the barest twitch, but Uhtred felt it ripple through her body before she masked it.
His own jaw locked—heat surging low and protective. But he hadn’t even moved before—
Sihtric was already up.
A silent blur of movement. Tension thrumming through his frame like a drawn bow.
The door opened.
A villager stepped in—one of the older men from the western fields. Harmless.
Still, Elin leaned in toward Finan, close enough that her shoulder brushed his chest.
Uhtred felt Finan’s scent shift in response—warmth and earth and cedar wrapping around her. He murmured something too low for Uhtred to hear. She nodded, her body easing again.
Uhtred rose to his feet slowly, his voice even but low, edged with unmistakable authority.
“What is it?”
The man bowed his head slightly, speaking with casual ease. “The repairs you asked for on the grain stores are done, lord. The timber held well after the storm.”
Uhtred gave a single nod. “Good.”
He didn’t thank him. Didn’t need to. The man took the hint and left.
But Sihtric didn’t sit.
He stood watching the door even after it closed—eyes narrowed, spine rigid.
The air didn’t settle until long after.
Later, outside, the wind carried the scent of ash and woodsmoke across the compound. Uhtred stood with his arms crossed, watching the villagers work—half his attention still turned toward the longhouse where Elin rested.
Sihtric stepped beside him in silence.
They stood there for several heartbeats before Sihtric spoke, his voice low, rough like gravel over stone.
“I feel it,” he said. “Like a thread pulling me toward her. I’d kill anyone who touched her.”
Uhtred didn’t answer at first. He just nodded, slow, deliberate. Then:
“She’s ours now. Like blood.”
He could feel her even now, tucked inside with Finan, safe and warm.
His chest swelled—not with heat, not with instinct.
With purpose.
“She is,” he said. “And the bond’s not just mine. It’s shaping all of us.”
He turned his head to look at Sihtric, then across to where Osferth now stacked firewood in the distance.
All of us.
They would die for her now. Kill for her.
And for the first time in years, something old and sacred settled in Uhtred’s bones.
This wasn’t just protection.
It wasn’t just heat, or sex, or instinct.
It was pack.
It was home.
______________
The air was still in the nest, thick with soft heat from the fire and the faintest drift of pine and cedar, salt and smoke. It wrapped around her like a second skin, like breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
Elin sat on the edge of the furs, her fingers trembling in her lap, her body too aware of itself—of the press of her ribs against her shift, of the way her skin tingled when Uhtred moved even slightly behind her.
There was no pain. No fear.
But her chest ached. Not sharp like before—no panic clawing up her throat. Just this… this ache. Longing.
She wanted to be close.
She needed it.
It was different. She wasn’t in heat. She knew that. But her body reached anyway, drawn toward the deep, steady calm of Uhtred’s scent, the warm earth of Finan.
It wasn’t arousal.
It wasn’t hunger.
It was home.
She flinched at how tightly her hands had curled in her lap.
Uhtred moved then, quiet and sure, reaching into the bundle by the hearth. He pulled something free and unfolded it—soft, worn linen, the faint color of sun-aged bone. He didn’t say anything at first, just held it out.
She looked at it.
Then at him.
His expression was soft but certain, the corners of his mouth turned faintly up. His eyes held something solid and warm—trust.
“From me,” he said simply. “I wore it yesterday. It’s for you. The scent will soothe your anxiousness.”
Elin reached out before she could question it.
The cloth was warm from his hand, and the moment it touched her skin—her breath hitched.
Salt and sun and something older—something alpha. It smelled like safety. Like a storm at sea and the promise of calm.
She clutched it without meaning to, tucking it under her chin like a child with a talisman.
“Good girl,” Finan murmured, and she blinked up at him.
He’d shifted closer without her noticing, crouched beside her, gaze gentle.
“Come here, love,” he said, arms already open.
She didn’t think—just moved. Let him pull her into his lap, her body curling under his arm like it had always fit there. His chest rose slow and even beneath her cheek, and she breathed him in, the scent of woodsmoke and sun-warmed wool, soap and skin and something just Finan.
Her nose brushed the curve of his shoulder.
She pressed closer before she realized what she was doing. Her lips grazed his shirt. She was nuzzling. A flush crept up her throat—hot and bright—but her body didn’t try to flee. She stayed. Because it felt right.
He chuckled, low and fond, one hand rubbing slow circles along her back.
“You’re bonding, love,” he said. “It’s meant to feel like this. No need to blush.”
Uhtred shifted behind her, the solid press of his body against her back grounding her further. She was cradled between them—Finan’s chest and Uhtred’s strength, the bond threading between their scents like a living thing.
She was trembling. She hadn’t even noticed. But not from fear.
From feeling.
Uhtred’s hand came to rest on her thigh, firm and steady.
“Let your body trust it,” he said, voice low and sure. “We already do.”
She turned her head just enough to look at him.
And she saw it.
In his face. In Finan’s.
Happiness.
Not duty. Not pity.
Joy.
They were happy because of her.
Because she was here.
Because she was theirs.
Her eyes burned. She blinked quickly and tucked her face back into Finan’s shoulder, letting the warmth settle deeper into her bones.
She was wanted.
She was safe.
She was home.
___________
Finan lay still, but not asleep.
He could feel her—Elin—tense beside him. Not rigid with fear like she once had been, but restless. Like her thoughts were circling too fast for sleep to take root.
Her breath wasn’t even. Every few seconds, it hitched. Caught.
He opened his eyes and turned his head slightly, careful not to shift too much.
Uhtred lay on her other side, the rise of his chest calm and steady, one arm curled protectively around Elin’s waist. She was nestled between them again, this time with her back curved against Uhtred’s chest, her knees drawn slightly toward Finan’s.
He reached over and brushed his fingers gently along her arm.
“Still awake, lass?” he whispered, voice low so it wouldn’t startle her.
A breath. Then another.
“Yes,” she whispered back.
He waited. Let her speak first, if she wanted. It always worked better that way.
“Something feels different,” she murmured finally. “Inside. I feel like. Like I need to… stay close.”
Finan smiled softly.
“That’s the bond, love,” he said. “It pulls. Makes us want to be near one another. It’s normal for you to feel anxious after the bonding. It settles with time.”
She didn’t answer right away. Her silence was heavier now, her fingers curling slightly against the fur beneath them.
Then, almost too softly to hear:
“Does this mean I belong to you?”
Finan’s heart squeezed. He swallowed.
But it was Uhtred who answered, his voice a low rumble against the back of Elin’s neck.
“It means you belong with us. You always have a choice, Elin. We would never force you.”
His hand moved slowly across her belly, not possessive—protective.
There was a long silence after that. The kind that trembled with meaning.
Then Finan felt it—her fingers brushing against his under the blanket. Small. Colder. Seeking.
He threaded his hand through hers and held tight.
A moment later, she shifted again. Slowly, cautiously. She slid closer to Uhtred’s chest, pressing back.
Shy. But not afraid.
Finan exhaled through his nose, eyes burning with something hot and sharp.
This wasn’t instinct anymore.
It was trust.
“You’re not alone, Elin,” he said quietly. “Not anymore.”
“I’ve always been alone,” she whispered.
“Not here.”
Uhtred’s voice again. Solid. Certain.
Finan felt her begin to relax. Not fully—she was still learning—but something in her had softened. Her scent was calm. Not quite peaceful yet, but… steady. Anchored.
They lay like that in the dark, the fire burned low. Her breath deepened gradually.
And when sleep finally took her, it was while held between them.
Not because she needed to.
Because she wanted to.
Because she was theirs.
And they were hers.
______________
Elin walks carefully, her boots soft against the damp grass. The sun is low but warm, soft against her cheeks. Her legs still ache—deep, low, from days of tension—but she welcomes the pull. It means she feels again.
Osferth is beside her. Always gentle, always steady.
She walks closer than she used to. Close enough that her shoulder brushes his arm sometimes, and she doesn’t apologize for it.
He says nothing, just stays with her. A silent presence.
It’s enough.
She notices the way villagers glance her way—quick flicks of the eyes, curious. One older woman even nods at her in passing. Elin doesn’t flinch, though her throat tightens. Not used to the attention, having been always invisible and if not, that never meant something good. She knows nobody would dare to hurt her here, despite it…she edges slightly closer to Osferth.
His scent surrounds her like wool. Calm, sun-warmed parchment, iron dust and prayer. She leans into it, lets it settle in her lungs.
And then—
She feels it.
Someone’s eyes. A boy—barely a man—watching her from across the clearing. Not cruel, not dangerous. But lingering.
Her body tenses without her permission. That familiar, scraping fear rising.
But before she can move—
Sihtric is there too.
Like smoke and shadow, he steps into her line of sight, slipping between her and the boy. Not a word spoken, not a gesture made. Just standing.
Still. Solid. Protective.
Osferth moves around her, flanking her on the side. She feels it—the shift, the silence that surrounds them.
Her breath catches. Her heart skips.
She is enclosed.
Not trapped. Protected.
And then Uhtred’s hand finds her shoulder, firm and grounding. His thumb brushes her collarbone—over the mark. Her mark. His.
His voice comes quiet, but full of steel.
“This one’s mine,” he says.
A beat.
“Ours.”
Not just telling the boy, but telling everybody in hearing distance.
Elin feels the echo of it in her chest—something low and wordless.
The boy’s face pales. He looks down and walks away fast.
She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t move. Just stands still and listens to the humming in her bones.
Sihtric turns toward her, eyes steady.
“You’re pack now,” he says. “No one touches what we protect.”
Something in Elin breaks open at that. Not with fear—with knowing.
She swallows once, twice. Then whispers, “I never had a pack before.”
Osferth doesn’t hesitate.
“Now you do.”
Elin looks between them—Sihtric, Osferth, Uhtred—and she feels it again.
Not heat. Not instinct.
Belonging.
The bond thrums softly behind her ribs. Warm. Alive.
Mine, it whispers.
Theirs.
She walks back toward the longhouse with them, her steps lighter.
Ashes and Honey
Chapter 8
She woke slowly, surfacing from a place without time or shape. The world felt too quiet, like it was holding its breath. Her body ached—deep, low, everywhere. Her hips throbbed dully, and there was a stretched soreness inside her that made her wince just breathing. Her thighs trembled faintly when she tried to shift. Her skin burned with leftover heat, her limbs heavy as stone.
Elin blinked up at the low ceiling of the nest, a blur of shadow and golden light from the fire’s dying glow. The furs around her smelled of alpha and beta—woodsmoke, pine, musk, and warmth. But there was something else beneath it, faint but unmistakable: her. The remnants of heat. Of bond.
Shame rose fast, a cold flush beneath the fever still prickling her skin. She felt… used up. Weak. She couldn’t even remember when she’d last stood on her own legs. How could they bear to look at her now?
Her throat was dry. Her chest tight. Her eyes stung.
Then she felt a hand—warm and sure—cup her cheek, callused thumb stroking gently along the bone. A touch that didn’t demand anything. Just there.
“Elin,” Uhtred murmured, voice rough with sleep and something softer—concern, maybe. “You’re awake.”
Her gaze flicked sideways. He was crouched beside her, shirtless, the muscles of his arms tense, his hair tousled. His eyes searched her face like she might disappear.
Her lip trembled before she could stop it.
“I’m—” Her voice rasped out, raw. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” he asked, already leaning closer, already shifting a fur to check the angle of her body, the bend of her legs. He wasn’t rough—he was gentle. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”
“I… I can’t even move,” she whispered, humiliated. “My body—”
“Did what it was meant to,” he said firmly. “You made it through, little one. You’re safe.”
A quiet rustle at her other side.
“Easy now,” came Finan’s voice, sleep-soft but alert. He appeared at her shoulder, kneeling with a small wooden cup in hand. “You’ve not had water since yesterday. Let’s fix that, aye?”
She wanted to shrink away from them both—but her body betrayed her, leaning instead toward their warmth. She didn’t have the strength to run, even if she wanted to.
Finan slid an arm behind her back, propping her up gently. His body was warm and solid, his touch steady as stone. She felt the cup pressed to her lips. She drank. Slowly. Carefully.
It wasn’t until the cool water hit her tongue that she realized how desperately she’d needed it.
“Good girl,” Finan said softly, one hand bracing her spine as she finished the small cup. “That’s better.”
Her heart beat too hard. Not from fear—but from something else. From being seen. Held. Cared for.
Uhtred stayed crouched, watching her face closely. She knew that look—sharp alpha instincts scanning for any sign of pain, any twitch or flinch - like he always did.
When she shifted and winced—barely a breath—his hand was already there, adjusting the furs under her hips, lifting the pressure, shielding her from even the smallest discomfort.
“You did everything right,” he said, voice low and serious, but so, so kind. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Elin.”
She couldn’t help it then. The tears welled up without her permission, spilling silent and hot down her cheeks.
Not from pain. Not from fear.
From something she didn’t have words for.
Confusion. Gratitude. The ache of being seen. The weight of being held.
She reached blindly for the first thing she could find—and felt Finan’s hand close around hers. He didn’t speak. Just anchored her.
And for the first time since her scent had broken loose in the dark, Elin let herself lean. Slowly drifting back to sleep.
____________
She drifted in and out of sleep—patches of dark and light, warmth and weight, touch and voice. When she woke again, the fire had burned low, but the room was full of quiet golden light, filtering through the cracks in the shutters. The nest smelled of pine and something faintly sweet. Her muscles ached, deeper than before, her body slow to respond as if even her bones were tired.
Her limbs felt like wet cloth, heavy and drained. Her mouth was dry again. Her thighs ached from the inside out. Even the weight of her own body was too much. She didn’t try to move.
A gentle hand brushed her hair back from her face.
“Still with us, then?” Finan’s voice was soft, laced with quiet warmth.
She blinked up at him, her eyes blurry. His face was close, kind, framed in sunlight. He looked tired, but he was smiling.
“I brought something,” he said. “Not much, but enough to start.”
He lifted a small cloth bundle and opened it: torn bits of bread, soaked in something glistening gold.
Honey.
The scent hit her, warm and thick and almost cloying.
Her stomach turned.
“I—I’m not…” Her voice was hoarse, her body already flinching. “I don’t think I can…”
Finan didn’t push. He just shifted a little closer, balancing on his side so she could see both his hands and his face.
“I know,” he murmured. “But just a little, mo chroí. For strength. You gave everything, Elin. Let us help you get your strength back.”
She felt her cheeks heat, her skin prickling with shame again. She hated how limp she was, how she had to be held up and fed like a child. She hated that they were seeing her like this. Uhtred, especially—
Her gaze drifted to him.
He sat just behind her, quiet and solid. One broad hand rested low on her waist, thumb gently rubbing back and forth in a rhythm she hadn’t noticed until now. He didn’t speak. But he watched.
And not in the way Finan did—soft, coaxing.
No. Uhtred watched like a storm kept barely at bay. His whole body was tense. Coiled. She could feel it in the way his fingers held her—not rough, never—but ready. Protective. Like something in him was still braced for danger.
And she—
She flinched inward.
“Did I…?” Her voice barely made it out. “Did I do something wrong?”
Uhtred’s head snapped up. The look on his face shattered something in her chest.
“No.” His voice cracked. “No, Elin. You were brave. You let us care for you. That was everything.”
His fingers tightened gently on her waist, grounding her, pulling her back from the edge of that hollow feeling.
Finan reached forward with a piece of honeyed bread. She hesitated. He didn’t move, didn’t rush her—just waited, the offer open, the warmth of his patience somehow louder than words.
She took it. Slowly. Bit into the soft bread, the honey clinging to her lips. The sweetness was rich, almost overwhelming—but it curled around the ache in her belly like a balm.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Finan said, his tone more serious now, though still soft. “It’s Uhtred’s instincts, love. Stronger now, after the bond. He’s meant to watch you. Protect you. Doesn’t mean you’re weak. Just means you’re his.”
The words caught in her chest. You’re his. It should have scared her. Should have sent her running again.
Instead… her stomach quieted.
Uhtred leaned closer, brushing a kiss to her temple. “He is right. You’re mine,” he echoed quietly, “and Finan’s. You’ve always been stronger than you know.”
Another bite. Her lips sticky with honey, her heart sticky with emotion she couldn’t name. She was tired—so tired—but she didn’t feel like crying now. Not quite.
Their voices. Their warmth. Their hands. They weren’t angry. They weren’t ashamed.
They were here.
She swallowed, the bread thick in her throat. But her body took it. Her body wanted it. Her body was healing.
And somewhere, deep beneath the fear and the scars, her heart… started to believe them.
Just a little.
__________
The nest smelled of pine, smoke, and Elin. The aftermath of her heat still clung faintly to the air—warm, musky, bonded—but it was softer now, folded into the honeyed quiet of late afternoon. The fire crackled low, glowing hot, steam curling gently from the wooden basin Finan had just finished filling.
He wrung out the cloth from his arms and looked over to where she lay, cocooned in layers of fur, her pale face barely visible.
She was awake. Watching him. But not speaking.
Not moving, either.
He dried his hands slowly, crouched by the hearth, giving her time. Giving himself time.
Because his heart still hadn’t settled—not really. Not since the moment she’d cried out between them and gone limp with exhaustion. Not since he’d felt Uhtred’s bond settle like a second heartbeat over them all.
She was theirs now. And Finan felt it—not just in his mind, not just in the protectiveness humming in his blood—but in the marrow of him. In the peace that clung even to the worry.
“Love,” he said gently, voice low as he approached the nest. “The basin’s ready.”
Her gaze flicked to the tub. Then back to him.
She stiffened.
Her hands twitched, clutching at the blanket across her chest. A flush crept into her face, not from fever but shame.
“I—I don’t think I can…”
Finan knelt beside the furs, level with her eyes, stroiking her hair.
“There’s no shame in needing care, love,” he said. “No shame in being helped after what your body’s been through. You’ve nothing to hide from us.”
Still, she didn’t move.
He heard Uhtred shift behind him. The big man had been silent, waiting. But now he stood, crossed the nest, and moved with deliberate slowness to her side. He knelt, not like a warrior, but like something gentler—solid, reverent.
“Elin,” Uhtred murmured. “Let us take care of you.”
Her eyes welled then. Not with heat or need—but something quieter. Fragile. Something that made Finan’s chest ache. She nodded.
Uhtred slipped his arms beneath her like she weighed nothing. She did not flinch—though Finan saw the tension ripple through her shoulders. She let herself be lifted, curling almost instinctively against Uhtred’s chest.
Her legs dangled limp. She trembled a little.
Uhtred held her like she was something holy. Pressed a kiss to her crown. Walked them to the basin like the ground might break beneath them if he wasn’t careful.
Finan steadied the edge of the tub, testing the water again. Still warm. Steam rose gently between them.
Uhtred stepped in first, boots off, trousers rolled. He lowered himself into the bath slowly, cradling Elin the whole time until he was settled with her in his lap, her back against his chest. Her legs floated slightly in the water. She winced. Then sighed.
Finan knelt beside them.
“Tell me if anything hurts,” he said softly, dipping a cloth into the basin. “Don’t be brave now. You’ve already done that part.”
Elin didn’t speak, but her head tipped slightly in acknowledgment.
He began with her back. Gentle, careful. The cloth passed over her shoulder blades, her spine. She was thinner than he’d realized—he could feel the knobs of her bones, the long cords of muscle tight from holding herself rigid. He moved slowly. Reverently.
Her breath evened out.
Uhtred’s arms never stopped holding her. His big hands cupped her thighs, fingers splayed in a way that said I am here. I will not let go.
“Your hair’s a mess,” Finan said lightly, dipping the cloth and pouring water down the back of her head. “Hope you weren’t hoping to impress anyone.”
A soft sound escaped her. Not quite a laugh. But close.
Her body slumped a little more.
“You smell better already,” he added. “Still like an omega in heat, but at least not like you were dragged through the mead hall.”
She turned her face slightly, cheek resting against Uhtred’s shoulder. “You’re terrible.”
“I know,” Finan grinned.
He worked his fingers gently through her hair, lifting out the tangles. Uhtred shifted behind her just enough to keep her steady, murmuring something too soft to catch. But Finan saw her lips part—then close around a sigh.
She was melting into him.
And the scent of her—it was shifting again.
Calm. No more fear. Still fragile, yes, but not braced anymore. Her scent was settling, weaving itself more tightly with Uhtred’s and his. A new thread was in it now too, though. Not quite bond. Not yet. But Finan felt it just the same.
When she spoke again, it was barely above a whisper.
“This feels… safe.”
Finan met Uhtred’s eyes across the tub.
The big man’s expression was unreadable—stoic, maybe—but his gaze burned. Not with lust. With something deeper. Fierce and tender and forever.
Finan smiled, small and steady.
“We’ll keep it safe.”
He rinsed her hair one last time. His hands never rushed. Not here. Not with her. And not with Uhtred watching like she was something sacred, something he’d bled for, would bleed for again.
Finan would too.
Whatever this was—whatever they were building—it had changed him.
He loved her.
He loved him.
And he would keep them both safe.
As long as he breathed.
____________
The quiet was deep now.
Not the quiet of fear or aftermath. Not the kind that came after pain. This was something else—soft, sacred. A hush that seemed to settle over the furs like a blessing.
Uhtred sat with his back against the wall of the longhouse, one arm wrapped loosely around Elin where she lay between him and Finan. They remade the nest, it was dry now, clean. Her head was tucked beneath his chin. She smelled of fresh soap and honeyed bread, her scent no longer frantic or frightened—just… steady. Warmer. Calmer.
He had never known an omega to smell like this.
She still flushed hot sometimes, her cheeks pink against the pallor of her skin, but her breathing was even, no longer hitched with pain. Her body was lax where it rested against his chest. Not from exhaustion alone, but from trust.
And it undid him.
She was smaller than his arm span. Lighter than his sword. Yet she had endured days of fire without running, without breaking. He’d watched warriors cry out in battle and beg for mercy with wounds less punishing than what she’d just come through. She hadn’t cried once. Not until after.
And even then, she’d cried softly. Like she didn’t believe she was allowed.
Uhtred didn’t move. He barely breathed. He just watched her—counting the steady rise and fall of her chest beneath the linen shift she wore now. Her hair was still damp. He ran his fingers through it slowly, combing back the soft white strands from her forehead.
Spun glass, he thought. Fragile. Beautiful. Mine.
His instincts still bristled, even in the calm. Still wanted to scent her, claim her again, wrap her tighter in his arms until no one could ever touch her again. But he reined it in. She didn’t need that now.
She needed this.
Warmth. Safety. Peace.
“You’re here now,” he whispered, so quietly even Finan might not have heard. “We’ll never let them near you again.”
She stirred at that—just a little—and nuzzled closer into his chest. Her fingers brushed over his ribs, hesitant but not fearful. Her voice was soft, thready.
“I don’t want to lose this.”
His heart clenched.
Finan’s arm came around her back from the other side, his voice a murmur near her shoulder. “You won’t, love. Not ever.”
Uhtred glanced up, met Finan’s eyes across her.
There was something unspoken there—deep, wordless understanding. They were already bound. But this… this was something new. Something shared.
He reached across Elin’s waist, past the soft linen and fragile bones, and found Finan’s hand. Clasped it tight. Not as a command. Not even as a claim.
As a promise.
Elin let out a soft sigh and curled further into the space between them. Her scent fluttered, changing again—softer still, like clover and warm milk and pine after rain.
Uhtred’s chest ached.
He could feel the bond humming now, not in his head, not even in his groin—but in the very center of his being. A low, rhythmic thrum that echoed in his bones. Not the burning hunger of heat. Something steadier. Constant.
He closed his eyes and rested his cheek against the crown of her head.
Finan’s thumb brushed along the back of his hand.
Elin’s breath evened. Sleep took her gently.
Uhtred didn’t follow—not yet. He stayed still, every muscle of his body tuned to the warmth of the two people in his arms. His pack. His bonded. His heart.
He had spent a lifetime losing things—kingdoms, homes, kin.
But this…
Mine, he thought.
Ours.
Ashes and Honey
Chapter 7
The air inside the longhouse is thick—too warm, too still, like the world is holding its breath. Finan sits with his back against the wall, head tilted back against the timber, eyes half-closed but not asleep. He hasn’t slept. Neither has Uhtred.
The scent from behind the curtain is like a storm gathering—ripe, feral, seething with heat. It rolls over him in waves, laced with omega pheromones so potent they feel like claws dragging down his spine.
But this isn’t like before. This isn't panic.
It’s instinct now—bare and blind. Hunger shaped like a girl. And it’s killing her.
He draws a breath through his nose and lets it out slow, steady, even though his chest feels too tight to hold anything. His beta nature isn’t drawn the same way Uhtred’s is, but still, the scent digs into his gut, into his heart. She’s unraveling.
Uhtred stands nearby, silent and tense, eyes fixed on the curtain like it might fall apart at any moment. His hands are braced on his hips, his jaw locked so tight Finan can hear the occasional grind of his teeth.
Finan doesn’t need to ask what he’s thinking. He already knows.
“She’s close,” Finan says quietly, breaking the silence that’s stretched too long. “Her body’s burnin’ through her.”
Uhtred doesn’t answer. Not right away.
But Finan watches his throat work, a single hard swallow. His nostrils flare as he breathes her in again, and his whole body reacts—a twitch of muscle down his arms, a restless shift of his weight like a predator trying not to pounce. His alpha is loud now. Too loud.
Then finally, Uhtred speaks. Low. Guttural. “If we wait longer, we’ll lose her.”
The words are bitter in Finan’s mouth, even though he agrees. Completely. She doesn’t have another sunrise in her. Not like this. Her body has crossed a threshold she doesn’t understand, and if they let it go on, her body will break even if her mind doesn’t.
Finan pushes himself up slowly, rubbing the heel of one hand across his face. His bones ache with exhaustion. His heart aches worse.
“She needs you,” he says. Then, softer, “She needs us.”
He steps beside Uhtred and lays a hand on his arm. His skin is hot. Tense. Barely leashed.
Uhtred turns his head toward him. Not startled. Just tired. Raw. His eyes hold too many things at once—desire, guilt, protectiveness, fear. Love.
“I don’t want to frighten her,” Uhtred says.
“You won’t,” Finan says simply. “Not if we go slow. Not if we go together.”
There’s a pause. Just the pop of the fire, the wind shifting outside.
Then Uhtred nods once. A decision made. An alpha’s will drawn sharp and clean. “We go together.”
They step forward in unison, both of them barefoot, quiet, reverent, like walking into a sacred place. The curtain in front of Elin’s room pulses faintly from the heat trapped behind it. The air tastes like honey and salt, like something just on the edge of breaking.
Finan’s heart beats loud in his ears.
It’s time.
____________
The world had narrowed to heat and scent and shame.
Elin lay twisted in the ruins of her blankets, soaked to the skin, her shift damp and clinging in ways that made her want to scream. Her body was throbbing, pulsing, caught in a rhythm she didn’t choose, didn’t understand. Her legs shifted restlessly, parting and pressing back together again and again. There was no relief. No peace.
Everything hurt. Everything burned.
Her fingers trembled where they curled against her belly, against her chest. Her skin was so sensitive it felt raw—like even the soft wool beneath her was too rough, like air itself scraped her nerves raw. Her thighs were slick, sticky with slick she could smell—couldn’t stop smelling.
It coated her, suffocated her. The scent was ripe, desperate, calling. Fertile.
Her body was begging, and she hated it.
She whimpered, a broken sound from the back of her throat, as her hips rocked without thought. Just friction. Any friction. Her breath came fast and shallow, like she’d been running for miles. Tears tracked sideways from her eyes, soaked the cloth under her cheek.
It’s wrong. I can’t stop it. I don’t want it.
But her body didn’t care what she wanted.
Her fingers slid over the curve of her belly again, moved up to her breast, down again, twitching, seeking. She couldn’t stop touching. Couldn’t stop moving. Her instincts had clawed past her terror. Her mind still screamed no, but her blood said more.
It was like being caged inside herself, watching helpless as her body betrayed her.
Then—
Footsteps.
Heavy. Sure. Slow.
She froze. Her breath hitched, then stopped entirely.
Voices, muffled but familiar. Two of them. Deep and warm, like the hearth fire. Like comfort. Like danger.
“Elin,” came Uhtred’s voice—low and thick. “We’re coming in now.”
No. No. No.
She couldn’t speak. Her throat was too dry, her mouth too full of scent and breath and fear. Her body, traitorous and twitching, shivered at the sound of him.
Not in terror. In response.
Her pulse jumped. Her thighs squeezed again, slick already gathering anew. Her scent coiled tighter around her, hot and pleading, announcing her need before she could stop it.
She pressed both palms hard to her face. Don’t let them see. Don’t let them smell. But it was too late. They knew. They had always known.
A sob climbed her throat but didn’t leave her lips. She curled onto her side, fetal and frantic.
I don’t want this. I didn’t ask for this.
But her body had.
She could feel her scent reach for them, drag them closer, though she didn’t move.
The curtain rustled.
And then—they stepped in.
Two shadows. Two bodies. Heat and scent and presence. One alpha. One beta. Her pack. Her protectors. The ones she feared most and needed most.
Her entire body stilled—not in calm, but in crackling tension. She couldn’t look at them.
She couldn’t not feel them.
They didn’t speak. Not yet.
The air shifted. Her heat pulsed. Her womb clenched tight, sharp and empty.
And still, she lay there, broken open and afraid.
_____________
The moment he passed the curtain, it hit him.
Her scent.
Like a wall—no, a wave. It surged into him, punched straight through his chest and down into his gut, so thick and sweet it made his knees almost buckle. He hadn’t prepared for the full force of it. Not really. Nothing could have. It was heat, yes—but it was also her. Elin. Frightened, overwhelmed, drowning.
Her body crying out, begging to be answered, begging him. But there was terror twisted in it too. Sharp, sour threads that cut through the slick and sweetness. She knew what her body was asking for. She knew what came next.
And she was terrified.
Uhtred’s jaw clenched. His hands flexed at his sides, shaking. Every part of him screamed to answer her. To mount. To bite. To claim.
But he didn’t move.
Not until his eyes adjusted to the low flickering firelight.
There she was.
Curled into herself, a broken shape in the center of her ruined nest.
Blankets pushed aside, twisted and soaked. Her legs were drawn up, parted without meaning to be, thighs slick and shining. Her arms trembled where they held her belly, her whole body twitching in little spasms. She rocked slightly, as if trying to soothe herself—but it only made her scent spike again. So helpless. So ready. And so scared.
Uhtred knelt slowly, his knees finding the straw. His hands burned to touch her, but he didn’t. Not yet. Not until she knew who he was.
“Elin,” he murmured, voice pitched low, meant for her and only her. His alpha tone. Calm. Steady. A thread to follow out of the haze. “It’s us. You’re not alone.”
She didn’t respond, just twitched harder. Her breath came in high, whimpering gasps.
Finan crouched down on her other side, his face drawn tight with worry. “Elin,” he said softly, “you’re safe now. We’re here. We won’t let it hurt you anymore.”
She whimpered again at the sound of Finan’s voice. Not in rejection. Not in fear. Just… overrun.
Uhtred reached out, slowly, so slowly, and brushed his fingers into her damp, tangled hair. She flinched, but didn’t pull away. He stroked gently, carefully tilting her face up.
Her eyes fluttered open.
Wild. Glazed. Pupils blown wide. Blue irises ringed with red.
She wasn’t seeing clearly. Not him. Not Finan. Maybe not anything. But some part of her—some part deep down that still trusted them—let her stay.
Uhtred kept his hand in her hair. Anchoring her. Letting her feel skin and heat and gentleness.
“You’re weakening,” he said softly. “We can’t wait any longer, little one. I’m sorry.”
Her lips trembled. A sob clawed its way out of her throat.
“Don’t want it,” she choked. “Please…”
Gods, his chest cracked. Uhtred leaned closer, voice rough with feeling. “I know…but if we don’t do something it will kill you….. And we can’t let that happen.”
Finan’s hand stroked her cheek, gentle, careful. “You’re hurting, love. We can help. We’ll make it better. We swear.”
Another wave hit her—sharp and cruel. Stronger than any before. Her whole body seized. Her back arched, legs trembling. She made a raw, broken sound, caught between a sob and a scream.
“Please—please make it stop,” she cried, voice small and broken and helpless.
Uhtred couldn’t bear it. His hands moved, slow but firm. One on her belly, the other sliding behind her neck to cradle her gently.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “We both do. Let us help, Elin. Let us ease it.”
Her body still rocked. Still trembled. But her head turned into his chest, a sob tearing from her throat as her fingers clutched at his tunic.
And Uhtred felt it—her surrender. Not to lust. Not to the bond. To them.
To safety.
To her pack.
Finan’s hand finally found her shoulder, warm and steady.
Uhtred looked at Finan then, their eyes locking over her trembling body.
Love. Loyalty. Fierce, aching protectiveness.
Uhtred nodded once.
This was the moment.
There was no turning back.
_________
Uhtred's arms come around her like the drawing of a curtain—slow, sure, inevitable.
They are huge. Hard. So much strength behind them. She should be afraid. Her head screams that she should be afraid. But they don’t hurt her. They don’t drag her down or force her open.
They just hold.
His chest is hot where she presses against it, his skin damp with the heat of the room, of her. She can smell him—smoke, pine, leather, salt, and that darker, deeper thing that lives in the chest of an alpha.
Power.
It should frighten her.
And it does.
But it also soothes.
Elin shudders violently, her breath coming in stuttering, shallow gasps. Her arms tremble as they lift, unsure, and then tangle in the thick wool of Uhtred’s tunic as she presses her face hard against his throat.
He smells like safety.
And she sobs. Broken, aching sobs. Not because she’s afraid anymore—not just because—but because something inside her breaks open, and all that is left is need.
“I’ve got you,” Uhtred murmurs, voice rough and low against her temple. “You’re safe, little one.”
His hands stay on her back, in her hair, slow and firm. He doesn’t touch her where she aches. Doesn’t even try. But the contact—the heat of him, the solidity, the scent—it works on her like a drug.
Her hips begin to move.
She doesn’t tell them to.
They roll—slow, helpless, grinding against the thigh between hers. The friction shocks through her. Her whole body jerks. Heat rushes between her legs and soaks her again. She gasps, a whimper of shame.
She tries to stop. Tries to still herself. But her body—her traitorous, broken body—keeps moving.
“Shhh,” Uhtred says, and it’s not scolding. Not cruel. Just calm. Accepting. Kind.
She feels Finan settle behind her. Stroking her hair out of her face, trying to make her more comfortable.
“You’re burning, love,” he murmurs. “Let us help.”
Elin’s throat closes. She can’t speak.
Then Uhtred leans back just enough to look at her. His eyes—those strange, wild eyes—search hers. Not demanding. Not possessive. Waiting.
“Tell me what you want,” he says quietly. “Not your body. You.”
Her lip trembles.
It’s too much. Too much.
But the words come anyway, hoarse and halting.
“I… I want… you,” she whispers. “Just—don’t leave. Don’t… hurt me.”
Uhtred’s hand rises and cups the side of her face, strong and steady.
“Never,” he says.
Her hips buck before she can stop them. The pressure in her belly turns to pain, and she cries out, pressing harder into Uhtred’s thigh—desperate for relief, for release, for something.
And still—he doesn’t move.
He doesn’t rut. He doesn’t grind. He just holds her, so completely still, arms like iron, body a wall behind which she can finally collapse.
Elin gasps for air, panicked and desperate, but something in her chest settles.
She doesn’t scream no.
Instead, she reaches—blindly, with trembling hands—for Uhtred’s shoulders. For him. For anything solid.
Every inch of skin that touches his ignites her nerves. Her breasts press into his chest, her thighs tremble. It burns. It aches. It humiliates her. But it also begins to still the agony.
And then Finan’s hand slides to her side. It doesn’t wander. Doesn’t grope. Just grounds. Warm. Steady. Present.
“I’ve got you too,” he murmurs near her ear.
She turns her face just slightly, sees him in the flickering light—his eyes glassy, his face pale with restraint.
They’re both shaking with it. Both burning for her. But neither moves without her word.
Elin’s body trembles again, expecting pain. Expecting to be flipped, filled, used. Her hands tighten reflexively.
But the pain doesn’t come.
Just warmth.
Just hands that hold her, lips that murmur her name.
She exhales. A long, broken sob of surrender.
Uhtred moves her carefully then, leaning her back just slightly, letting her weight rest into Finan’s chest behind her. She can feel his heartbeat. Fast. Solid. Alive.
Uhtred’s hand stays on her belly.
Not pressing.
Just waiting.
_______________
Her scent has turned feral.
It coils in the air like smoke and honeyed wine, thick enough to taste, to breathe. Uhtred has known countless heats—has anchored, mated, fought through the haze of alpha instinct many times in his life.
But nothing—nothing—compares to this.
His mouth waters. His vision narrows. His body wants.
And Elin is grinding against Finan’s thigh, her eyes half-lidded, her lips parted and damp. Her whole body trembles with the sharp edge of desperation, muscles clenching and flexing like she can’t stop moving. She’s slick—shining, raw with want, her skin flushed to her chest.
Yet even now, she flinches when he draws near.
Her instincts call him closer. Her body begs. But her heart—still bruised, still caged in fear—does not trust easily.
He kneels slowly, muscles straining with the control it takes not to lunge, not to rut, not to grab.
“Elin.” His voice is low, barely a breath. He brushes a soaked strand of hair from her cheek. “I need you to see me. Not just feel me.”
Her eyes flicker open—blue, wild, blurred—and locked on his.
There is fear there.
But there is also a glimmer of something else.
Trust.
It nearly undoes him.
He moves carefully. Reverently. He doesn’t touch her sex. Doesn’t press. He places one hand behind her back, the other to the laces of her dress. “Let me take this off. Piece by piece.”
She nods. Barely.
So he begins.
One lace. One tug. His fingers tremble—not from nerves, but from restraint. She’s so small. So delicate. Her hips are narrow, her ribs fine under her dress. He peels the fabric away slowly, always watching her face. Her breathing stutters when he pulls it past her breasts, and he pauses.
“You’re beautiful,” he says roughly. “But I won’t take more than you give.”
Her lip trembles. She reaches for Finan’s hand, gripping it tightly.
Finan, laying beside her, strokes her hair. “You’re safe, mo chridhe. Nothing happens that you don’t want.”
That word—safe—makes her exhale shakily.
Uhtred removes the last of her clothes, baring her completely. Her thighs are slick and shining. Her nipples tight and flushed. Her belly trembles with every breath.
He reaches for his own tunic, pulling it over his head. He’s aware—acutely aware—of his size. His arms are thick with muscle. His thighs corded. He towers over her.
She watches him undress, wide-eyed, but does not retreat.
Still, he speaks again, slow and clear: “I won’t bond unless you ask. Not unless you want it. Do you understand?”
Her breath hitches. Then she nods. “Yes. I… want you. Just don’t leave.”
His heart clenches.
“Never,” he says, and he means it with every shred of himself.
He lowers her gently onto the blankets, her hand still gripping Finan’s arm. Uhtred’s body settles between her legs, his cock hard and heavy, drooling slick at the tip.
“This will stretch you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her shaking shoulder. “You’ll feel full. Tell me when it’s too much.”
She nods again—but her whole body is trembling like a leaf caught in wind.
Uhtred guides himself to her entrance and groans softly at the heat of her. She’s tight—impossibly tight—but her body is ready. Wet. Wanting.
He eases in just the head.
She cries out.
Not in pain—in shock. A sob of disbelief and overwhelming fullness.
“Shhh, little one,” he whispers, not moving. “Breathe. You’re doing so well.”
Finan strokes her hair, grounding her with murmurs. “So good, love. So strong. We’ve got you.”
Uhtred inches in further. Slowly. So slowly it hurts his bones. She clings to Finan’s arm, head buried under his chin, her other hand locked in Uhtred’s shoulder.
It takes a long time to sink fully inside her.
She’s so small.It feels like his whole body has to fold in on itself just to fit where she needs him.
But her body gives—sensitive, eager, stretched wide.
He stays still once he’s buried to the hilt, groaning with the effort of restraint. “Gods, you feel…” he doesn’t finish. She doesn’t need to hear how feral she makes him.
He feels her walls relaxing, taking the cue to move slowly, rhythmically. Her breathing quickens, a moan escaped her mouth. His thrusts are deep, quicker till he feels her walls trembling around him. Her legs shake. One hand clawing at Finan’s arm the other one holding onto Uhtred.
Slowly she comes down from her high.
Then he feels it begin.
His knot.
It swells at the base of him, slowly, instinctively. Her walls flutter around him, her scent sharpens, her nails digging into his biceps.
And then she panics.
She writhes, tries to pull away—but his knot is swelling fast. She can’t escape, and that sends her into frantic motion.
“No—please—I can’t—”
“Elin—shhh,” he murmurs, arms bracing around her hips, pinning her, unable to let her harm herself. “It’s the knot. I know. I know it feels like too much. But you’re safe.”
She thrashes—until Finan moves with her, wrapping both arms around her shoulders, holding her to his chest.
“Elin, mo chridhe, you’re okay. You’re okay. It’s not hurting you. It just feels strange.”
She gasps. “Can’t—move—feels like I’m stuck—!”
“It’s not forever.” Uhtred whispers. “That’s what it’s meant to do. You’re not trapped. Let me keep you safe.”
Her eyes are wild. Her breath comes in ragged sobs. She’s close to breaking.
So he leans in, his forehead to hers. “Look at me.”
She does.
He places one hand on her cheek, the other around her shoulder. “Let me. Let me hold you through it.”
Tears well in her eyes—but she nods.
And that’s all he needs.
He stills. The knot settles into place. Her body spasms once—and then finally, finally relaxes, chest heaving against his.
Her nails dig into his arms. But her voice is soft. “Don’t let go.”
“Never,” Uhtred whispers. “You’re mine now. Ours. Always.”
______________
She thought it would hurt.
She thought it would break her—that the moment he entered her, the moment she was stretched, filled, knotted, she would split open like something fragile, never to be whole again.
But she is whole.
More whole than she’s ever been.
The knot inside her pulses—solid and anchoring, holding her in place. It terrified her. The way it swells, locks, keeps her unable to flee. But they were there. Taking her fear.
She’s still trembling—her body slick with sweat, skin flushed and sticky—but her limbs are no longer tight with panic. Her chest doesn’t feel like it’s collapsing inward. She isn’t drowning.
She’s floating. Held.
Uhtred’s arms are around her, firm and warm and strong. Not trapping—cradling. His hand pets her damp hair with the same reverence he’d used to undress her. His thumb brushes the curve of her ear. His voice, low and hoarse, murmurs her name against her hair like a prayer.
“Elin… my love… you were perfect.”
She breathes in—and his scent fills her lungs.
Alpha. Spiced earth and pine and smoke.
Home.
And no longer does the scent of her heat—still strong, still clinging to her skin and the nest—bring shame. No longer does it feel like something wrong, something filthy to be hidden. Now it smells right. Natural. Her body is no longer her enemy—it is soft, exhausted, and safe.
Finan is still pressed behind her, wrapped like a blanket around her back. One arm rests along her waist, fingers laced gently with hers. His chest rises and falls behind her, slow and steady.
They’re both with her. Still here.
Still wanting her.
She opens her eyes. Looks up.
Uhtred is watching her.
Truly watching her.
His gaze holds no shadow of disgust, no flicker of frustration, no impatience or hunger. Just… adoration. Pure, quiet, steady.
She turns her head, blinking.
And finds the same in Finan’s eyes.
Tears rise suddenly, burning. She doesn’t understand it. Her body is warm, her heart slow and full, but her chest aches with the pressure of a feeling too big to name.
She never thought she would be wanted.
She never thought she would be safe.
But she is. Here. With them. In this nest, their scent tangled with hers, the knot inside her still pulsing with a steady rhythm, as if anchoring her to the world.
Uhtred’s hand lifts again, and his voice is barely more than a breath. “Do you want the bond, little one?”
She freezes.
The world narrows down to that moment.
To his eyes. His mouth. His scent. The knot still seated deep inside her.
She feels Finan shift behind her slightly—his hand tightening around hers.
Elin swallows. The old fear coils in her belly—what if they regret this? What if this is a dream? What if she says yes and they leave her anyway?
But then she hears Finan’s voice, low and certain: “We don’t need it, love. Not unless you want it.”
And suddenly—the answer is clear.
“Yes,” she whispers. “From both of you.”
Uhtred’s breath leaves him in a slow exhale. His thumb strokes her cheek.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.” Her voice is firmer this time. “I… I want to be yours. I want you to be mine.”
He leans in slowly.
And bites.
Gently—so gently—his teeth press into the place where her neck meets her shoulder. Not cruel. Not violent. But claiming. A promise. His mouth seals over the mark and she feels it—deep, sudden, searing heat that doesn’t burn but blooms.
She gasps.
Her body clenches around him again, her hands gripping him tight. Her legs tremble. The bond flares open—like a door flung wide.
And then Finan kisses her shoulder and leans down to do the same.
His bite is different—less forceful, more a caress with teeth. But the feeling is just as strong. Another tether, another anchor, another piece of her soul knitted back together.
And then she breaks.
Not from pain. Not from fear.
From relief.
The sob tears from her throat without warning, and she collapses against Uhtred’s chest, weeping silently, gasping in broken breaths as everything inside her finally spills out.
Everything she held tight for years.
Everything she never thought she’d be allowed to feel.
Uhtred holds her tighter, pressing his mouth to her temple, murmuring again and again, “It’s alright, you’re alright. We’ve got you.”
Finan shifts, his arms curling even tighter around her waist. His fingers stroke hers gently, grounding her in the here and now.
“You’re ours now,” he whispers into her hair. “And we’re yours.”
Elin clings to them both—so small between their bodies, still trembling, still pinned by the knot inside her, but no longer afraid.
No longer alone.
She never wants this to end.
And for the first time in her life, she dares to believe—
It doesn’t have to.
_______________
She is wrapped in warmth.
Real warmth—not fever, not fear. Just bodies around hers. Strong arms holding her in place. A steady heartbeat against her back, a larger chest rising beneath her cheek.
She’s knotted still. She can feel it, deep inside—Uhtred’s body flush with hers, holding her open, holding her anchored. But even that no longer frightens her. It’s no longer a trap.
It’s an answer.
Claimed.
Held.
Safe.
Her body is spent—completely. Her limbs feel like water, her muscles soft and trembling from the storm that tore through her. But the pain is gone. The ripping heat of her earlier agony has dulled to a low, insistent hum. Her skin still prickles with sensitivity, but it doesn’t overwhelm her anymore. It doesn’t feel like it’s going to break her in half.
Because they are here.
Because she is not alone.
Finan lies behind her, curled close, his arm around her waist. She can feel the tickle of his beard against the nape of her neck, the soft hush of his breath fanning across her damp skin. He’s pressed so close, solid and warm, but not overwhelming. Not too much. Just enough to feel real.
She never knew she could be this close to someone and not feel hunted.
His fingers drift along her ribs, not seeking, not possessive—just tracing the curve of her gently. Like he’s learning her by touch, memorizing her shape. His thumb strokes tiny circles into her belly. It makes her feel small. Protected.
Wanted.
Uhtred is in front of her, still inside her. One of his arms curls under her shoulders, the other along her spine, cupping her hip with the same reverence he’s shown her all morning. His hand moves slowly over her back, following the rhythm of her breaths.
Her scent is different now.
Not the sharp, cloying panic of unchecked heat. Not the desperate, terrified slick of a body betrayed by instinct.
It’s warm now. Grounded. Claimed. Wrapped in the smell of alpha and beta, the deep spice of Uhtred and the clean, smoky warmth of Finan mixing with hers until she can no longer tell where one ends and the other begins.
She should feel shame.
She’s naked. Marked. Full of them.
But all she feels is safe.
She closes her eyes and burrows her face deeper into Uhtred’s chest. The soft hair there brushes her lips. His scent settles into her lungs like a balm. Behind her, Finan presses a kiss to her shoulder—not rushed, not possessive. Just a kiss. A thank you.
Her throat tightens.
A little sound escapes her—half breath, half sigh.
“Thank you,” she murmurs. Her voice is hoarse and barely audible, but both of them hear it. She knows because they move at once.
Uhtred leans down and kisses her hair. “You did the brave thing,” he whispers. “You stayed.”
“And you trusted us,” Finan murmurs behind her. “Even when you were scared.”
His voice is soft, low in her ear, a warm hand sliding over her knuckles.
“No one’s ever done that for me,” she breathes. “No one’s ever stayed.”
“We’re not going anywhere,” Uhtred says, and there’s no doubt in his voice. Just calm certainty.
“Not now,” Finan adds gently, “not ever, if you’ll have us.”
She doesn’t answer—not with words. Her body answers for her.
She presses back into Finan’s chest, seeking more of his warmth, curling tighter into Uhtred’s embrace. She threads her fingers with Finan’s where his hand rests against her belly. Her other hand curls into Uhtred’s chest, fisting in the soft hair there, holding him like a lifeline.
Her heart slows.
Her body eases.
Her heat hums in the background—but it no longer owns her.
Her breath steadies.
And for the first time in her life, she lets go.
She doesn’t know how long she drifts in that in-between place. The nest is warm. Their bodies cocoon her, steady and constant. Her thoughts blur. Her scent evens out.
She falls asleep to Finan’s breath against her skin, to Uhtred’s arms holding her heart safe.
And in the silence of the nest, with two hearts beating around hers, Elin finally rests.
_________
The nest is quiet now.
The fire has died to embers, soft and red, barely flickering. Shadows dance low across the furs. The storm has passed. The room smells of warmth, of slick and skin, of old smoke and something new: bond.
Uhtred lies on his side, chest to Elin’s front, one arm slung protectively around her waist. His hand spans almost the full width of her back. She’s so small. So delicate. And yet, somehow, she had borne everything.
Between his fingers, he can feel her slow breaths. Steady. Even. Her skin is still flushed from the tail end of heat, but her scent is no longer sharp with need or panic. It’s soft now. Settled. Blended through with his own and Finan’s, layered like the earth after rain—rich, grounding, new.
On her other side, Finan breathes deep and slow, nearly asleep. His hand is curled loosely around Elin’s small fingers, their palms resting together just over her heart. His face is tucked near her crown, one leg curled possessively over hers, holding her in quiet contact. Not trapping. Just touching.
Uhtred watches them both—his mate, and his bond.
And his chest aches.
Not with lust or need. That has long since passed. What fills him now is something deeper, heavier. A kind of holy stillness that settles low in his belly and around his ribs.
He never expected to feel it again.
Peace.
Belonging.
Elin shifts faintly in her sleep, a small sound escaping her—barely a breath. Not pain. Not fear. Just the quiet murmur of someone held.
Uhtred tucks his face into the crook of her neck and inhales deeply.
Her scent washes through him like a tide—omega, yes, and bonded now—but more than that. There’s something in it that grounds him. That stills the protective roar in his blood, the wild ache that had been pounding in him since the moment she first ran from the square, broken and afraid.
It’s gone now. The panic. The fight.
She chose me.
She chose us.
His knot has long since gone down, and her body has eased, no longer in desperation, no longer slick with need. She sleeps clinging to them now—afraid they will leave. They will not.
Uhtred reaches out and finds Finan’s hand in the dark.
Their fingers brush, then link. Finan opens his eyes—just for a second. Their gazes meet.
Finan smiles. Slow, tired, full of wonder.
It says, She’s ours now, isn’t she?
Uhtred answers with a nod. Then, quietly, he squeezes Finan’s hand.
They’ve fought battles together. Bled together. Loved together.
But this is different.
This—this is theirs.
He shifts slightly, pressing a kiss to the soft curve behind Elin’s ear, just where her hairline begins. Her skin twitches under his mouth, but she doesn’t wake. She only exhales, the faintest sound of contentment slipping between her lips.
She smells like him now. Like Finan. Like safety.
Uhtred closes his eyes.
He remembers the way she looked when she finally asked for the bond—how her eyes shimmered, wide and afraid, but trusting. How she said yes not just to him, but to them. How she wept when the fear cracked and fell away.
His alpha instincts are still humming, a steady thrum beneath his skin— protect, soothe, provide. But that’s not what fills him most. Not hunger. Not dominance.
Devotion.
He thinks of Finan’s steadiness. The way he’d anchored her through every tremor, every tear. Uhtred had moved inside her, yes, had held her through the heat—but it had been Finan who whispered calm into her skin, who gave her breath when she couldn’t find her own.
You’ve always steadied me, Finan, he thinks.
Now you steadied her too.
I could never have done this alone.
And now, here they are. All three of them, tangled up in warmth and quiet breath, in trust earned and given.
Uhtred lets out a slow breath.
His arm tightens gently around Elin’s waist. Across her middle, Finan’s hand squeezes his in return.
He listens to the rise and fall of their breathing. He watches the first thread of morning slip through the edge of the nest.
And for the first time in years, he feels still.
Not just a warrior.
Not just an alpha.
But a mate.
A protector.
A man who is loved.
He presses one more kiss to Elin’s hair, lets his forehead rest against hers, and closes his eyes.
My loves, he thinks. My heart.
And the nest holds them through the rest of the night.
Ashes and Honey
Chapter 6
The first thing she notices is the sweat.
It beads at her temples, slicks her skin, pools in the hollow of her throat. Her nightdress clings to her like a second skin, soaked through, and her hair—usually so light it floats—feels heavy and matted against her neck. The furs around her are damp, too warm. Stifling.
Her legs curl in on themselves instinctively, knees drawn up, but the ache in her thighs only grows worse with the motion. Deep, low, pulsing. Her stomach twists around it, confused by the combination of heat and queasiness that rolls through her like a storm surge. Everything inside her feels tight and swollen and wrong.
She doesn’t move at first. She barely breathes.
Then, slowly, the awareness settles in—thick and humiliating.
She’s wet between her thighs. Not from sweat. Not from anything she understands. It clings to her skin, slick and warm and horrifying. She presses her legs together, but it only makes her more aware of it. She can smell herself. Sweet. Heavy. Fermented like overripe fruit left too long in the sun.
“No,” she whispers, her voice hoarse. Her fingers tremble as she brings them to her mouth and bites down hard into her knuckles to stifle the noise rising in her chest—a whimper, a sob, something feral that has no name.
Her nest, once a sanctuary, now feels like a trap. The furs itch. The scent of Uhtred’s cloak no longer calms her—it ignites something shameful, something animal. Her fingers claw through the bedding, kicking it away, then yanking it back with desperate hands, trying to fix it, undo it, make it stop.
The heat inside her won’t be fixed.
Her heart races. Her breath turns shallow. She pushes her back into the wall of the room, curling so tightly around herself she feels like she might disappear. A blanket drapes over her shoulders, trying to shield her from the light and from her own scent. It’s unbearable. She can’t stop smelling herself. It’s like the air is thick with her—her shame, her weakness.
“It’s not happening,” she whispers through gritted teeth. “It’s not. I’m not like them. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.”
But her body doesn’t listen. Her body isn’t hers anymore. It burns beneath her skin, pulling at something she doesn’t want to feel. It frightens her. It betrays her.
From beyond the curtain, she hears voices.
Low, murmuring. Familiar.
Uhtred. Finan.
They’re close. Too close.
At the sound of Uhtred’s voice, something inside her shudders—like her own body has ears, like it recognizes something she’s fought to suppress. Her scent surges, and she panics at the sudden flood of it in the air. Her breathing stutters. She bunches the blanket tighter around her, presses her face into the corner of the wall and floor, as far from the curtain as she can get.
They’ll smell it. They’ll know.
She can’t let them in. Can’t let them see.
Not like this.
Tears burn at the corners of her eyes, but she refuses to let them fall. Her lips move silently in prayer—half-remembered words, scraps of Latin muttered beneath her breath as if they might anchor her back into the world she once knew.
“Please,” she whispers to no one. “Please don’t let me become this.”
But her body is already answering to something older, deeper, unrelenting.
And the men outside the curtain… they’re still there.
Waiting.
_____________
He knew before the door closed behind him.
The moment he stepped into the longhouse, her scent hit him like a war hammer to the chest.
Sweet.
Ripe.
Wrong.
Not the wrongness of something decayed or unclean—but the wrongness of pain where there should be ease, of fear where there should be safety.
It coated the air like perfume and panic, heady and cloying. Uhtred went still.
His alpha stirred to life in a breathless surge.
Ours. Protect her. She’s hurting. Go. Now. Fix it. Claim.
His hands curled into fists at his sides. Every nerve in his body lit up with the instinct to move—to get to her, to find her, to scent her skin and lie down beside her and make the trembling stop. His breathing deepened without conscious will, nostrils flaring, mouth parted as he tried to steady himself.
It had been years since something had struck him like this. Since an omega’s scent had called to him in such a raw, visceral way. And never like this. Not like her.
He could feel her through the walls.
Unraveling.
Suffering.
Still he did not move. He held the line.
She was not a prize. She was not a thing. She was Elin.
And she was terrified.
He forced his feet forward, slow and careful. The heavy wool curtain that separated her space was drawn fully shut. The scent was strongest here, thick and sharp with heat and shame.
He stopped three paces from the curtain.
Close enough to hear her breathing—shallow, ragged, caught somewhere between sobbing and gasping.
He didn’t speak for a moment. Didn’t dare.
Then, gently—his voice pitched low, stripped of everything but warmth and patience—he asked, “Elin?”
No answer.
“Elin,” he tried again, softer. “Can I come in?”
The answer was immediate. Her voice cracked across the air, high and hoarse with desperation.
“Don’t come in!”
It stabbed through his chest like a blade.
Her fear was a living thing. He could smell it clearly now—threaded through the sweetness of her scent like smoke. Thick. Black. Unbearable.
He took a breath and let it out slowly through his nose, grounding himself.
Behind him, footsteps. He didn’t have to turn.
“She's gone into it, it is bad.” Finan’s voice was low, grim. Not a question—an acknowledgment.
Uhtred nodded once. “Full heat. Too fast.”
Finan stepped up beside him, arms crossed tight over his chest. His face was pale, lips pressed into a hard line, eyes flicking toward the curtain like it might catch fire.
“She’s burning up. I could feel it before I got this close.” Finan rubbed his hand down his face, then shook his head. “She won’t let us near her. I tried earlier. She didn’t even look—just pulled the covers over her like I was going to strike her.”
“I know,” Uhtred said.
He hadn’t missed the tremor in her voice. The desperation. The panic rising up like a tide she didn’t understand, drowning her from the inside out.
And now this. This scent—this cry from her body that begged for safety, for touch, for claiming—while her mind still ran from shadows.
“She’s terrified,” Uhtred said, jaw tight. “If we push, she’ll bolt.”
Finan swore again, quiet but vicious.
“If she runs like this…” Finan didn’t finish the sentence.
He didn’t need to.
They both knew what could happen. An omega in full heat was… vulnerable didn’t begin to cover it. Her scent would carry for miles, and she wouldn’t make it far in the state she was in. She’d stumble, fall, collapse somewhere. Any alpha in the woods—stranger, traveler, even the most mild-mannered farmer—might smell her and lose his wits.
She could be taken. Without choice. Without protection.
They couldn’t let her leave. Couldn’t risk it.
Uhtred’s stomach turned at the thought, his instincts howling.
But they couldn’t cage her either. She was not prey. Not property.
She was theirs. But only if she chose to be.
He stared at the curtain like it might split open and reveal the answer. But it stayed shut, trembling slightly from the movement within.
Finan looked over at him. “What do we do?”
Uhtred didn’t answer right away.
What he wanted to do, what every inch of him screamed for, was to go inside. Wrap her in his arms. Let her scent drown him. Let her body recognize him as safe, as steady, as hers.
But that was for her to ask. Not for him to take.
He exhaled, slow and bitter.
“We wait,” he said. “As long as we can.”
___________
She couldn’t stop moving.
It wasn’t purposeful—there was nowhere to go. Only the same four paces of trampled fur, the same suffocating curtain, the same walls that felt like they were breathing down her neck. Her bare feet dragged over the soft layers of her nest, again and again and again, but she couldn’t sit still. She couldn’t.
Her arms were wrapped so tightly around her ribcage they ached. She pressed her forearms in like a vice, trying to hold herself together, as if her body might split open from the inside out if she let go.
It already felt like it was.
She was sweating under her shift, and her skin burned—damp in some places, fever-hot in others. Her hair clung to her neck. Her thighs were slick and trembling, her belly cramping in waves that made her fold in half, teeth gritted against the pain. A heavy, pulsing ache throbbed low in her body, deep and terrifying.
It wasn’t desire. It wasn’t anything she wanted. It was something her body demanded—wordless and insistent, a need crawling beneath her skin like fire ants, like hunger sharpened into agony.
But she refused.
She would not touch herself.
She would not submit to whatever this was trying to make her into.
She hadn’t eaten all day. The thought of food made her gag. She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t close her eyes without seeing flames—memories, warnings, things she didn’t understand. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Her heart beat like a trapped bird in her chest, too fast and too shallow.
And everything—everything—was too loud. The fire. The wood creaking under the weight of footsteps. The sound of her own breath, her own scent, thick and heady and obscene in her nose. It smelled like something primal, something fertile. It smelled like need.
She hated it.
She hated herself.
A shadow passed outside the curtain, heavy and broad.
Uhtred.
She froze. The scent in the air changed subtly—his presence darkening the sweetness of her heat with something firmer, grounding, alpha. It made her stomach cramp again, harder this time, as if her body recognized him and wanted—
No.
No no no.
He didn’t come in. But she heard him crouch near the threshold, close enough that she could feel the hum of his presence through the air.
“I brought you broth,” he said gently. His voice wasn’t soft, exactly—Uhtred wasn’t soft—but it was low, steady, careful. It didn’t push. “You need to eat something, Elin. You’ve gone too long.”
She didn’t answer.
He waited for a few seconds, then set the bowl down just outside the curtain. The scent of meat and herbs curled under the fabric.
“It's there if you want it,” he murmured. “We’re not far.”
Then he stood and walked away.
Elin waited until his footsteps faded.
Then she kicked the bowl.
Hard.
It clattered, spilled, spun across the floor—hot liquid splashing her ankle.
And she crumpled.
Straight down onto her knees, curling forward on her hands, her whole body folding in on itself like she was trying to disappear.
The sob ripped out of her before she could stop it. Raw. Animal. Humiliating.
No. No. No. This is not happening. It can’t happen.
She pressed her forehead to the furs and cried—silent, stuttering gasps at first, then harder, until her ribs shook and her throat ached and her fingers clutched fistfuls of the bedding she had made into a den of safety.
She hated this.
She hated her body. Hated that she smelled like heat, that she could feel her slick dripping onto her thighs. That if she parted her legs even slightly, the ache grew into something unbearable. That she wanted something she didn’t understand, didn’t ask for.
She curled tighter.
The ache didn’t fade. It only pulsed harder.
Later, much later—after she’d pulled the furs over her head, after the tears had dried against her hot cheeks—she heard something.
A voice.
Finan.
Low, near the hearth. Murmuring in a language she didn’t recognize. The words had a rhythm to them, like a song or a blessing. Soft and raw. Private.
A prayer.
She listened to it like a lullaby, not understanding the words but clinging to the sound.
It didn’t fix anything.
But for a little while, it helped her breathe.
_________
The smell hadn’t left him.
It clung to the air like smoke, like the echo of something burning too hot. It wasn’t just her heat—though that was enough to twist the gut of any breathing man, alpha or beta—it was the fear knotted beneath it. Sour and sharp. Tangled in pain.
Finan sat on the bench closest to the fire, elbows on his knees, fingers laced behind his neck. His head hung forward, eyes fixed on the glowing embers. His shoulders were tight with tension, his chest squeezed so hard he felt hollow.
He could still hear her breathing.
Ragged. Shallow. Like she was trying not to be heard, not to exist.
His beta instincts weren’t like Uhtred’s—there was no primal urge to mount or claim—but his need to help, to do something, pulsed just as loud. Betas were the peacekeepers, the bridges. They were supposed to fix things. Calm storms. Soothe.
And he couldn’t reach her.
Behind him, Uhtred paced like a chained wolf. Every few strides he turned, jaw clenched so tight it looked carved in stone. His fists opened and closed at his sides. Controlled. Always controlled. But Finan could see it—how hard he was holding himself still.
Elin’s scent was calling to him. Finan knew that much. Not with desire, not now—but with need. With the sharp demand of biology and bond and something deeper. But Uhtred wouldn’t breach that curtain without her consent. Wouldn’t go to her, even as her sobs—choked and muffled—echoed through the thick quiet.
“She’s in pain,” Finan said finally, his voice low and hoarse. He leaned forward, rubbing a hand down his face. “You can hear it. The crying. The way her breath skips.”
Uhtred didn’t stop pacing. Just turned again.
“She’s not eating. Not drinking. Not sleeping. Her body’s going to shut down.” Finan shook his head, his chest aching. “Heat or no heat, she’s already weak. She won’t last like this.”
From the far bench, Osferth stirred. The young man had his hands folded, knuckles white, his expression drawn. He’d been quiet most of the night, praying beneath his breath in the hours before, but now he spoke gently.
“She doesn’t understand what’s happening to her. Her body’s turned against her. And after what she’s suffered—” his voice caught, “—of course she’s afraid. She was never taught what to expect. She was taught to fear it. She was taught that her nature is shameful. Wrong.”
Uhtred slowed.
Osferth went on. “This isn’t just confusion. This is trauma. And shame. And pain layered over every instinct telling her to want something she was told would destroy her.”
Silence fell again.
Then Sihtric’s voice cut through it, harder, blunt.
“What happens if she crashes?”
They all looked at him.
Sihtric’s face was unreadable in the firelight. He sat stiffly, arms crossed, eyes locked on the flames. Not cold. Just honest.
“We keep saying we’ll wait. Give her space. But if she crashes, someone has to act.” He glanced toward Uhtred.
Uhtred didn’t speak for a long moment.
Finan felt his own heart knocking in his chest. He didn’t disagree—not with Sihtric, not with Osferth—but the truth of it made his stomach twist. They’d all seen omegas hit this point before. The collapse. When the fever became too much. When the body overrode the mind.
“I know,” Uhtred said quietly.
Finan sat back slightly, watching him.
“We’re doing everything we can,” Finan offered, softer now. “But if she doesn’t let us near her…”
The unspoken truth hung between them: she could die.
Uhtred finally stopped pacing.
He turned toward them, shadows flickering across his face. And when he spoke again, his voice was low. Steady. Resigned.
“If she crashes, I’ll have to knot her.”
Finan’s body went still.
Not from surprise. But sorrow.
He felt it cut through him like a blade—not disgust, not fear, but grief. For her. For Uhtred. For what it would mean.
“Just enough to bring her down. To break the cycle before it breaks her. I’ll make it fast. Gentle as I can. No more touch than necessary.” Uhtred added, gaze distant.
“She may hate you for it,” Osferth murmured.
“I know,” Uhtred said again. The words scraped his throat.
Sihtric looked away.
Finan exhaled slowly. His chest felt too full.
“But she’ll be alive because of it,” he said, quiet.
The silence that followed wasn’t empty.
It was heavy with dread.
They sat with it—each man facing the truth none of them wanted to speak again. None of them wanted to act on.
But they would.
Because she mattered. And because walking away was not an option.
Uhtred moved to the fire, dropped to a crouch. His hands hovered over the flames like he needed the burn.
Finan watched him.
Watched his alpha restrain itself with all the strength of a war-forged man.
And prayed they wouldn’t have to break the trust of the only omega who had ever looked at them like they might be safe.
____________
She couldn’t feel the floor anymore.
The rush in her ears—her own blood, her own gasping breaths—drowned out everything else. Her fingers were twitching, clawing at the edge of the furs beneath her, tearing at the damp cloth of her tunic. She couldn’t tell how long she’d been curled like this, only that her body wouldn’t stop burning.
The heat had become a cage.
She couldn’t stretch her legs without something pulsing between her thighs. Couldn’t breathe without catching the scent of herself—sharp, honeyed, pungent with need and fear—and wanting to retch from it. Every shift of her hips brought pressure. Every heartbeat drove her deeper into madness.
She rocked, just slightly. Her teeth clenched hard against a scream.
Tears soaked the edge of the blanket she had balled against her mouth. Her face was wet, burning. Her lips cracked from fever.
Her arms were wrapped tight around her ribs, trying to keep herself from coming apart.
But she was already splintering.
Her thighs clenched again and again—trying to relieve the ache, the unbearable tension—but it never stopped. Her core throbbed like a wound that couldn’t close. Every breath of air against her skin was a tease. Every nerve in her body had turned against her.
She dragged her nails down the length of her sleeves, then over her belly, then her hips—trying, failing, to soothe the way her body screamed to be touched. To be held. To be taken.
And she hated it.
“No,” she whispered, over and over, rocking harder. “No, no, no…”
Her voice broke on a sob, throat raw.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
She’d seen what happened to girls like her when the heat came—how they were shunned or sold, leered at, chained.
She had begged god to keep it from her.
But now it had come, and it was worse than anything she'd imagined.
She was filthy. Weak. Her body betrayed her with every second—craving things she couldn’t name, things she didn’t want. Things that made her stomach twist with shame and terror.
“I don’t want this,” she sobbed into the darkness. “Please… please, no…”
Her fingers dug into the furs. Her legs trembled, pressing tight together again, again, again. But nothing helped.
There was no escape.
She smelled them—him—just beyond the curtain. Uhtred. His scent like smoke and strength and safety.
And danger.
Her body surged toward it—her womb clenching, her heat flaring hotter—but her mind recoiled in terror.
She crawled back from the curtain, shivering, delirious.
“Don’t let them see,” she whispered through chattering teeth. “Don’t let them touch me… don’t let them—”
She curled in tighter, forehead pressed to the wall.
Her fever spiked again.
The room tilted. Shadows danced. She could feel herself slipping—falling beneath the heat. Her breath came too fast, too shallow.
Then—
Movement.
Soft. Heavy.
Boots on wood. Just outside the curtain.
She didn’t look.
“Elin,” came his voice.
Uhtred.
Her chest seized.
That voice—low, careful, aching with restraint. It curled around her like a thread pulled tight.
“Little one,” he said again, barely a whisper, “please… let us in. Let us help you.”
She made a sound—choked and broken—without meaning to. Not a word. Not a yes. Just pain.
Her hands clutched the blanket tighter.
She wanted to scream go away, to banish the heat and the scent and the instinct. But another part of her—deep and terrifying—ached for him to come closer. To do what her body needed. To end the torment.
But she couldn’t.
She couldn’t bear to be seen like this. Couldn’t be touched. Couldn’t survive it.
If they came in now, she’d fall apart completely.
Her body begged for contact. For grounding. For knot, for seed, for comfort she’d never known. But her heart—
Her heart was still behind a locked door.
And there was no key.
So she said nothing. Just curled tighter, eyes shut, whispering to no one.
“Please... not like this.”
__________
The fire had burned down to coals, painting the longhouse in low red light.
Uhtred stood just outside the curtain of furs and woven cloth that marked the edge of her nest. He hadn’t moved in hours.
He was still as stone, but inside—his body was at war.
Her scent had grown unbearable.
It wasn’t just heat now. It was collapse.
Too sweet, too sharp. Tinged with panic. With desperation. Her body was reaching the end of its strength. No nourishment. No rest. Just the fire of her cycle, tearing her apart from the inside.
And it called to every part of him that was alpha.
It wasn’t lust—though the raw biology of her made his blood stir, his skin burn, his loins ache.
It was need.
To soothe. To protect. To pull her back from the edge and anchor her in safety.
His jaw was tight. Shoulders braced. Hands fisted at his sides.
Every muscle in his body screamed to go to her. To push through that curtain, gather her shaking frame into his arms, and fix it. Silence the pain with touch. With knot. With his scent, his strength, his claim.
But he didn’t move.
Even if it killed him.
He breathed slow through his nose, fighting every instinct that snarled for action. Each exhale came rough. Controlled. Barely.
Behind the curtain, there was no sound now.
No weeping. No rocking.
Only the fragile rasp of her breath.
He pressed a hand against the wooden frame beside him, grounding himself. Fingers white at the knuckles.
She was close.
Too close.
And still, he waited.
A shift behind him. The sound of soft steps. Finan.
The beta stopped at his shoulder, arms crossed, hands trembling slightly despite the chill.
“Still no word?” Finan asked quietly.
Uhtred shook his head.
“She hasn’t moved in near an hour.”
They stood in silence for a beat.
Then Finan’s voice, low, cracked with sorrow. “She won’t last much longer.”
Uhtred didn’t answer right away. He looked ahead, but saw only her through a gap of the curtain—curled and fevered and fighting the very thing meant to bond her to a pack.
The memory of her broken sobs clawed at him. The way she’d whispered prayers like a girl begging her god to let her die rather than need.
He closed his eyes.
Breathed once. Twice.
“Give her until sundown.”
His voice was rough, scraped raw.
Finan’s shoulders tightened beside him. He didn’t argue. He didn’t need to.
Uhtred finally turned his head, meeting his mate’s eyes.
“But if she falls,” he said, quiet, resolute, “I’ll bring her back.”
Finan’s mouth pressed into a hard line. He nodded once.
Not in approval. Not in acceptance.
But in shared grief.
Uhtred looked back to the curtain. He didn’t move.
He would not cross that line.
Not yet.
But the sun would sink soon.
And he could already feel the hour approaching, heavy and final.
Ashes and Honey
Chapter 5
The garden was rimmed with frost. Each brittle stalk crunched softly beneath their boots, the sound sharp and thin in the still morning air. The cold bit through Elin’s sleeves, but her skin burned beneath the wool.
She moved slowly, awkwardly, crouching to pull dry stalks from the base of the old herb beds. Her fingertips felt clumsy, dull. She had to try twice to grasp a shriveled root, the ends slipping from her grasp like oiled cloth. Behind her, Willa hummed softly, fingers quick and practiced as she gathered kindling.
Elin tried to match her rhythm but couldn’t keep up. Her chest felt tight, like something was coiled under her ribs and tugging, tugging, but never releasing. Each breath came shallow. Not painful—but… thick. Like breathing through honey.
She blinked rapidly, and her eyes stung. The sun overhead was pale, blurred at the edges. Her head ached in a dull throb, right behind her eyes. The ache had started the night before, but now it had spread—down her neck, into her arms, her spine, her hips. Every movement felt like swimming through mud.
She pulled harder at the root and it snapped in her hands. She startled, tossing it aside with a sharp, frustrated sound.
“Damn it—!” she hissed, louder than she meant to.
Willa froze. Elin heard the sudden silence of her humming. Her head whipped toward her, eyes wide—too wide.
“I—” Elin’s voice cracked. “I didn’t mean to say that. I don’t—” Her hands flexed uselessly at her sides. “I’m sorry.”
Willa gave her a quiet look, neither hurt nor reproachful. Just… watching.
Elin ducked her head and returned to the stalks, heat crawling across her cheeks. What was wrong with her? Why did she feel so heavy, like her bones are too thick? Why is she angry one moment, then like she could cry the next?
The questions roiled in her skull. Her fingers trembled as she reached for another handful of dried plants. Her skin felt too tight, her clothes too rough. She couldn’t get warm and yet sweat prickled at her spine. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth. She wanted to be alone. She wanted someone near.
She wanted something she couldn’t name.
Elin shook her head hard. Her vision tilted slightly, the garden blurring at the edges. Her breath came faster, a shiver trailing down her arms. Something in her belly pulsed, low and deep, not pain—but pressure. Coiling heat. It left her shaken.
A sudden wave of dizziness struck. She stumbled, reaching blindly for balance, and her hand slammed against the edge of a wooden trough. The old timber steadied her, rough beneath her palm. She leaned there, panting softly, her pulse fluttering in her throat like a trapped bird.
“Elin?” Willa’s voice was careful, quiet. Not alarmed. Not yet.
“I’m fine,” Elin said quickly—too quickly. She wasn’t. She knew that. She didn’t understand what was happening, but it wasn’t fine. Her skin prickled again, her mouth going dry.
She stood upright with effort, forcing her shoulders back, though they trembled. “Just—dizzy. I didn’t sleep.”
Willa didn’t reply. She didn’t need to. The silence was full of awareness.
Elin swallowed hard and turned away from her, eyes burning again—but she didn’t cry. She didn’t know if she could cry. Her emotions were like bruises beneath the skin—tender, aching, all pressed too close to the surface.
She rubbed her hands together, trying to will warmth into her fingers. They shook anyway.
And deep inside her—deeper than thought, deeper than fear—something pulled. A tight, unfamiliar sensation, just beneath the surface of her skin. A thread being tugged. A quiet voice whispering, Something is coming. You’re not ready.
But it was coming anyway.
___________
The longhouse was warm—too warm, almost—but Uhtred didn’t stir from his place beside the hearth. The logs crackled low, the scent of smoke clinging to the heavy furs draped across the benches and the iron-scarred table. Bread baked on the stones nearby, and somewhere in the corner, someone laughed softly—Sihtric or Osferth, he couldn’t tell. Uhtred wasn’t listening to them.
He was listening to her.
The moment the door opened, a breath of frost curling in with the wind, his head turned.
Elin stepped inside with Willa at her back, pulling her cloak tighter around her thin shoulders. Her skin was pale, flushed high on the cheeks, but her mouth was set in a tight line. Her eyes flicked upward—just for a heartbeat—then fell again. She didn’t speak.
Uhtred’s body stilled.
Her scent had changed.
Subtle, yes. Still faint. But unmistakable.
The sweet, earthy softness of her natural scent had deepened, warmed—tinged now with something heavier, something instinctual. An omega in the earliest swell of heat. Not yet in bloom, but beginning to open. The ache behind her eyes, the way she’d moved that morning, stiff and off-balance—it made sense now.
And Uhtred felt it. Not just recognized it—felt it, like the low hum of a storm building deep in the gut. His alpha instincts stirred immediately, coiling low in his chest. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just watched her, every breath controlled, every inch of his body resisting the primal drive to follow.
Elin passed them quickly, keeping her head down. She moved like a bird before a storm—alert, ready to flee, unaware of the wind she carried.
Her hands trembled slightly when she brushed her hair back from her face. Her shoulders hunched tighter as she slipped past the fire and disappeared behind the curtain into her sleeping space.
Finan watched her go, jaw tight, brows drawn. His hands flexed against the edge of the table. He felt it too.
The moment the curtain closed behind her, Finan turned to Uhtred. Their eyes met.
Uhtred gave a single nod, low and firm. “It’s coming,” he murmured.
Finan exhaled through his nose. His posture remained relaxed, but Uhtred saw the tension—how Finan’s shoulders were held a touch too still, how his eyes tracked the closed curtain even now. He’d scented it the moment she stepped through the door.
“She doesn’t know,” Finan said quietly. “She hasn’t the faintest clue what’s happening.”
“No.” Uhtred’s voice was low, rough. “But her body does. And it’s coming fast.”
Finan’s gaze dropped to the fire, thoughtful. “She’s frightened already. Hasn’t even reached the worst of it. When it hits her fully—”
“She’ll panic,” Uhtred finished, jaw tightening. “She’ll think she’s sick. Or broken.”
He paused, dragging a hand over his mouth.
“I’ve seen young omegas fight it. Especially the first. No one told them what to expect. Their bodies screaming, and no understanding why. It’s like drowning inside your own skin.”
Finan’s eyes flicked to the curtain again. “We need to tell her.”
Uhtred nodded, but his mind worked slowly, carefully. “We need to be gentle. Not just with what we say, but how. No pressure. No demands. If she feels cornered, she’ll bolt.”
He glanced at Finan, gauging him—not just as his bondmate, but as a man attuned to scent and touch and space.
“You feel it.” he stated, quieter now.
Finan gave a soft, mirthless huff. “How could I not? It’s faint now, but it’s there. Feels like… standing near the mouth of a cave before the echo starts. Like waiting.”
Uhtred understood. His own instincts had already begun to stir, protective and primal both. The urge to seek, to soothe, to guard, to claim—he knew them well. And he knew how dangerous they could be, especially to a girl like Elin.
Not fragile. But wounded.
She’d given them a sliver of trust. A narrow bridge over deep water. If they moved too fast now, said too much, let instinct win—they’d destroy it.
“No sudden steps,” he said aloud. “No pushing. But she needs to understand what’s happening before her body turns against her.”
Finan nodded. Uhtred glanced back at the curtain. From behind it, no sound came. But he knew she was sitting there—confused, afraid, aching in a way she didn’t have the words for.
She needs the truth, he thought. She needs to know her body isn’t betraying her.
And more than that—she needs to know she wouldn’t be alone through it.
They would not leave her to weather this storm alone.
___________
The fire had burned low, casting a muted amber glow against the longhouse walls. Outside, twilight slipped into a blue hush, the sounds of the village dimming to a few murmurs, the soft clink of tools being stowed. Inside, it was warm and still. The kind of quiet Finan welcomed.
Elin sat curled up close to the hearth again, her small frame tucked into her wolf-fur cloak. It swallowed her, she looked smaller than the firelight should allow. She was trying to sew—fingers clumsy around the needle, thread trailing like an afterthought. She’d done the same stitch three times and unpicked it each one. Finan noticed her hands more than anything—rubbing constantly over her skirts, then up her arms. Rubbing like her skin didn’t sit right on her bones.
Too warm. Then shivering. Then still.
She didn’t know what was happening yet. But her body did. Her scent—though still subtle—had deepened through the afternoon. A sweetness curled around the edges now, not just in his nose but in his chest. And Uhtred had felt it too. Finan had seen the way Uhtred had watched her earlier: not as a man hunting prey, but as a warrior listening for a tremor in the earth. Still. Listening. Waiting.
Finan approached first.
“Cold?” he asked lightly, easing himself down beside her with a slow, practiced grace. Not crowding. Not touching. Just present.
She startled slightly at his voice but didn’t pull away. Her hands fluttered once, then returned to the seam in her lap.
“No,” she murmured. “I mean—yes. I don’t know.”
Her brow furrowed, and she rubbed her knuckles hard against her temple, frustrated. “I just—” She blinked fast. “I can’t get warm. But also I feel like… like my skin doesn’t fit. It’s nothing. I’m just tired.”
“Mm,” Finan hummed gently. “Tired’ll do that sometimes.”
She didn’t answer, but her jaw flexed once.
He let the silence stretch, just long enough to let her feel the stillness.
Then Uhtred moved.
Not fast. Not looming. Just steady. Quiet. He walked over from where he’d been sharpening a blade by the far wall and lowered himself to one knee in front of the hearth, across from them both. He didn’t speak at once. Just watched Elin with a calm, unreadable expression. But Finan saw his hands—loose on his thighs, deliberate. His whole body a careful offering of safety.
Elin’s eyes flicked up.
Then down.
Then up again.
“Little one,” Uhtred said, voice low, deep, warm as the fire. “We need to talk to you. Just to explain a few things. About what you’re feeling.”
“I’m fine,” she said quickly, fingers curling tight around her sewing. “It’ll pass.”
“It will,” Uhtred agreed. “But not because it’s nothing. Because it’s something natural. Something that happens to every omega. Your body is beginning to change.”
She flinched. Finan felt it rather than saw it—her body going too still, then tight as a drawn bow. Her breath hitched. Her hands clenched.
“What do you mean?” she whispered. “What—what’s changing?”
Finan leaned forward slightly, keeping his voice soft. “Your scent’s shifted, Elin. Only a little, but it’s enough. You’re starting your first heat.”
She froze.
The silence stretched long enough for the fire to pop.
Then she whispered, “No.”
Uhtred didn’t move. “It natural,” he said gently. “But it can be overwhelming. You’ll feel tired. Warm. Confused. Sensitive. Your scent will change. You’ll need rest. Food. Safety.”
“No,” she said again, louder this time. “I don’t want that. I don’t want what they said. I don’t want what they did to the others—what they almost did to me.”
Her voice cracked, rising in pitch, breath coming too fast. Her whole body was trembling now. Panic, not just fear.
Finan’s heart clenched. He leaned a little closer, not touching but speaking low, steady.
“Elin,” he said softly. “You’re not in that place anymore. We’re not them.”
She shook her head violently. “They said omegas lose their minds. That they go feral. That their bodies betray them. That—that anyone can take them and it’s normal. That they don’t remember after.”
Her chest heaved. She was breathing too fast, too shallow. Her pupils were wide, hands clenched so tightly the bones showed.
“No one will take you,” Finan said. “Not here. Not ever. Not unless you ask.”
Still she trembled. Tears shimmered at the corners of her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall.
Uhtred moved then—slow, deliberate. He shifted, kneeling before her, close enough to be felt but not threatening.
His voice was quieter now. Like a promise. “Elin. You will not be touched unless you ask for it. Not by me. Not by Finan. Not by anyone.”
Her lower lip trembled.
“You are not here to be used,” Uhtred continued. “You are not something to be claimed and bred and tossed away. You are ours only if you say so. Not before.”
Something cracked inside her then. Her eyes flicked up—just once—and met Uhtred’s.
Finan watched it happen. The fracture. The shift. The fear didn’t vanish, but it slowed. Pulled back just an inch. She looked at them both—not like prey anymore. Not like they were wolves circling.
Just… men.
Just warmth.
Just there.
She lowered her gaze to the fire.
“I don’t want to feel this,” she whispered. “I don’t want to lose control.”
Finan’s chest tightened.
“You won’t,” he said. “We’ll help you understand. We’ll help you keep control. You’ll know what’s happening every step of the way. And we’ll only be where you want us to be.”
Elin was quiet a long while.
Then she gave the smallest nod.
And they stayed.
__________
The furs were too heavy.
Too warm.
Too much.
Elin kicked them down, then pulled them back up the next moment, her limbs trembling with cold even as sweat clung to her skin. Her shift was damp at the collar and under her arms, and her hair stuck to her neck. She felt flushed, fevered, the heat not sitting on her skin but beneath it—coiling through her like smoke that had nowhere to go.
Her fingers clenched the edge of the fur.
She couldn’t stop fidgeting.
Her toes curled, uncurled. Her thighs ached. Her mouth was dry.
It felt like something had come loose inside her—some wire pulled too tight for too long, and now it was starting to fray. Her thoughts were scattered, soft around the edges, not quite real. Her body didn’t feel like hers.
She shifted onto her side, then her back, then curled inward again. Nothing helped. She was restless in a way that frightened her—like something unnamed was waiting just outside her skin, pounding at the walls.
A sound carried through the wall—voices, low and warm. The steady cadence of Osferth, the scratchy lift of Sihtric’s reply, and—
A laugh.
Finan’s.
It was quiet, muffled by the thick timbers of the longhouse, but it reached her like a hand to a drowning girl.
He was laughing.
As if nothing had changed.
Elin’s chest ached.
Because everything had changed. Her body, her scent, her skin. She wasn’t herself anymore. She didn’t know what she was. And yet… they were still there. Sitting near the fire, trading stories, laughing at something silly Sihtric had said. Not whispering about her. Not locking her in. Not watching her from the corners of their eyes like the villagers used to.
Not afraid of her.
Her throat tightened. She rubbed at it uselessly, her fingers trembling. Her scent must be stronger now. Must be strange. But no one had flinched. No one had avoided her. No one had looked at her like she was a danger—or worse, a temptation to be punished for.
Finan had smiled at her.
Uhtred had knelt.
And when they’d spoken of what was happening—when they’d said the word “heat” out loud—neither had looked at her like she was broken or disgusting.
She hadn’t understood all of it. The way they’d said “natural.” The way they’d promised she wouldn’t be touched unless she asked. That asking was even something an omega was allowed to do?
But what she did understand, beneath all the panic and the strangeness of her skin, was this:
They were not going to hurt her.
Not now.
Maybe not ever.
She curled in tighter, tucking her hands under her chin, whispering into the dark, “Please don’t let me change into something terrible.”
Because that’s what she feared most. Not the sweat or the heat or the ache in her bones. Not even the way her thoughts kept slipping sideways, her chest catching on something she couldn’t name.
It was the fear that soon, she wouldn’t recognize herself.
That soon, she’d wake up and be just like the stories: mindless, needy, feral, shameful.
But Uhtred had said no one would touch her.
Her heart was pounding again, too loud in her ears. Her eyes prickled with unshed tears.
The wind moved outside the longhouse—gentle, steady, like breath.
The fire crackled low behind the stones.
Their voices faded into a hush.
And still, they were there.
Elin let her eyes close.
And in the silence, her body trembling and strange, she realized: that mattered.
_________
The shadows felt too close.
They clung to the edges of the room, deep and heavy, the little oil lamp casting more flicker than light. Her fur-lined shift stuck to her skin. Sweat slid down her neck and into the hollow of her collarbone, despite the chill in the air. Her hands wouldn’t stop trembling. Her legs wouldn’t stay still.
Everything itched.
Everything buzzed.
She pushed the furs away, then dragged them back. Too hot, too cold. Her mouth was dry and her skin felt too tight. Something throbbed at the base of her spine, low and slow and rhythmic, as if her body had picked up a drumbeat she didn’t recognize.
Elin curled in tighter, arms wrapped around her knees, jaw clenched. She was going to lose her mind.
Her scent was strange now. She could smell it in the air—thicker, sharper, sweeter. It clung to her skin like syrup. It was wrong. Too much.
Footsteps.
She froze.
Her whole body went rigid beneath the thin linen wrap she’d pulled up to her chin. But the steps were slow. Unhurried. Familiar.
“Elin?” Finan’s voice, gentle as ever, came from just outside the curtain.
“I’m awake,” she said softly. Her voice cracked.
The curtain shifted aside, only halfway, and he stepped in carefully, crouching low. The lamp caught the edge of his face. Warm eyes, worry in the lines around his mouth. Uhtred stood behind him, just beyond the curtain, watching without crowding.
“Didn’t mean to disturb you,” Finan said. “But… we noticed you’re not sleeping. And…” He hesitated, looking at her flushed cheeks, at the way her fingers clawed at the fur. “You’re not well.”
“It won’t stop,” she whispered, humiliated by the raw panic rising in her throat. “I can’t get comfortable. I keep—”
She swallowed it down. Her hands had started shaking again. The scent in the room grew thicker, and her face burned with shame.
Uhtred stepped inside. Slowly. Carefully. He crouched beside Finan, close but not touching either of them.
“You’re early in it yet,” he said softly. “Your body’s waking up. Preparing. That’s why you feel like this.”
She wanted to scream. Or cry. Or hide.
Instead, she rasped, “I feel… wrong. Like I don’t fit inside myself anymore.”
“ Your body’s doing what it was meant to do.” Uhtred said, firm but calm. “That’s all.”
Her stomach twisted. “Then why does it feel like I’m dying?”
Neither man laughed. Neither softened what she said with pity. Finan only nodded, eyes steady.
“Because it’s frightening when it happens the first time. And because you’ve been told it’s something to fear. Something to hate. But it isn’t,” he said. “You just need space to feel safe in. Something to ease it.”
“Like what?” she snapped, too sharp, too sudden. Her breathing was shallow, too quick. “I’m sorry.”
Finan met her gaze evenly. “It’s alright. Your anxious. Most omegas nest when they feel like that.”
She blinked. “Nest?”
Uhtred nodded once. “It’s not foolish. Not childish. It’s instinct. Your body’s asking for something soft. Warm. Familiar. A place to feel safe in. It helps ground you.”
Her heart beat harder.
“That’s what animals do,” she said, trying to sneer, but it sounded shaky even to her own ears.
“And humans are animals, too,” Uhtred said simply. “We’ve just forgotten how to listen to our instincts.”
She didn’t answer. Her jaw clenched again. She stared at her knees. Every part of her was shaking now, small tremors rippling under her skin like a storm building in her bones.
“We brought some things,” Finan said, and motioned back toward the door.
Osferth’s cloak. A fur from Sihtric’s bedroll. Soft linens. The heavier cloak Uhtred wore when he rode through the mountains in winter, thick with his scent. They laid them in a neat pile near her sleeping space. Not touching. Not crowding.
“Only if you want,” Finan added. “You can make it how you like. We’ll leave you be.”
Elin stared at the pile, her throat too tight to speak.
It was stupid.
It was humiliating.
It was everything she wanted.
She reached out slowly, fingers brushing the edge of the fur. She pulled it toward her. Then a blanket. Then Uhtred’s cloak, folding it into the curve of her makeshift bedding.
And then—
Something shifted.
The moment she pulled the cloak into the space where she lay, her body exhaled all at once. Her shoulders dropped. The ache in her head eased slightly. Her heartbeat slowed.
It smelled like leather and pine and wind. Like safety. Like steadiness.
Like him.
She pressed her face into it and didn’t cry, but nearly did.
The men didn’t speak.
Finan only stepped back with a small nod. “We’ll be near,” he murmured.
The curtain fell closed again.
She wasn’t asleep yet. The shaking hadn’t stopped entirely. But her fingers moved with more purpose now—arranging the furs, the cloaks, the linens. Then rearranging. Then again.
Something inside her was still fluttering like a bird in a cage.
But the cage had softer walls now.
She curled into the middle of it, the scent of Uhtred’s cloak wrapped around her like a ribbon.
This is foolish, she told herself. Childish.
But… it helped.
She could breathe in here.
Maybe—just maybe—
She wouldn’t come apart.
______________
The light hadn’t changed yet.
The coals in the hearth glowed low and red, throwing only the faintest shimmer of warmth across the longhouse. Shadows stretched soft and long across the wooden walls. The others were sleeping or gone to their quiet duties, and the hush was the kind that wrapped the world in thick wool—soft, close, still.
Elin was awake.
She laid curled in the center of her nest—her nest, though the word still felt foreign and strange in her mind—tucked beneath the layered cloaks and furs. The weight of them had grounded her through the worst of the night. Her skin was no longer crawling. Her thoughts weren’t racing like hunted things.
She was warm.
Sweating again, yes, and shaky still. Her body ached with something deep and constant, a tug she didn’t understand. But she wasn’t spiraling.
Not anymore.
The cloak beneath her cheek still held Uhtred’s scent. Earthy. Dry. Clean. Like pine needles crushed under heavy boots and cold wind in early winter. It didn’t make her heart pound with fear. It didn’t fill her with shame.
It helped.
Elin blinked slowly, watching the ceiling beams blur in the low light, her fingers curled in the hem of one of Finan’s spare tunics, bundled near her side. She hadn’t known it was his until hours later—until she caught the scent and her body reacted with some small, involuntary comfort.
She’d built this space like a wall. A barrier.
But now it felt more like a skin. Like something to wear. Something that made her feel safe inside herself.
Beyond the curtain, near the front of the longhouse, voices murmured low.
She recognized them immediately.
Uhtred’s voice—low, steady, a soft rumble under everything. And Finan’s, quieter still, but familiar in its rhythm. She couldn’t make out the words, not really. But the cadence was calm. The kind of tone men used when they weren’t worried about being overheard. When they trusted the quiet around them.
They were keeping watch.
Her throat tightened.
They hadn’t left.
They hadn’t turned away when her scent began to change. Hadn’t recoiled or whispered or stared at her like a cursed thing. They’d sat close, spoken plainly. Offered help without touch or pressure.
They’d stayed.
Even now, when she had nothing to give. No warmth, no comfort, no conversation. Just a body she didn’t understand and the sour sting of shame clinging to her ribs.
They’re still here.
She curled deeper into the furs, turning her face to the scent of their cloaks, her eyes fluttering closed.
She wasn’t better. Not yet.
Her skin still didn’t feel quite like her own.
Her breath still caught too often, too sharp.
But she wasn’t alone.
And for the first time, that mattered.
They stayed, she thought.
They always stay.
And something small, something fragile and aching and new, whispered in the quiet of her chest:
I don’t want to be alone again.
And maybe…
Just maybe…
I won’t be.
Ashes and Honey
Chapter 4
The morning light filtered softly through the bare branches overhead, casting a gentle pattern on the ground that danced with every flicker of breeze. The air was cold enough to nip at exposed skin, but the sun brought with it a kind of reluctant warmth, a promise that spring might not be so far off.
Elin moved slowly through the frost-kissed garden soil, her boots damp with dew, her wolf-fur cloak trailing lightly behind her. Willa walked just ahead, basket on her arm, bending now and again to pluck herbs or unearth a root with practiced ease. Her fingers were quick but careful, never rushed, as if the plants were old friends she didn’t want to bruise.
Elin’s own hands hovered uselessly at her sides. Every time Willa crouched or reached or brushed aside a patch of old dead leaves, Elin’s muscles twitched as if to mirror her—but she didn’t move. She couldn’t quite trust herself not to ruin it. Not to get in the way.
She glanced at Willa again. The woman was humming softly under her breath, something tuneless and low, the kind of sound that smoothed over silence instead of breaking it.
Elin swallowed hard and looked at the small bundle of green Willa had just plucked.
“…What does that do?” Her voice barely rose above the chirping of the birds. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth the moment the words escaped. She stiffened, expecting… something. A scoff, a correction, a hand lifted too quickly.
But Willa only paused, fingers brushing dirt from the root’s knobby skin. She turned her head, smiling gently. “This? Ground ivy. Good for coughs. Sometimes settles the stomach if steeped warm. And it makes a bitter tea—though Finan drinks it anyway.” Her voice softened in amusement.
A breath of a smile touched Elin’s lips before she could stop it. She looked down at the little plant, studying the crimped edges of its leaves, the reddish tint where frost had kissed it.
“Do… do you have to know a lot of them? All the plants?” she asked, braver now, but still quiet.
Willa glanced up from her gathering. “It helps,” she said, rising to stand beside Elin again. “But you don’t learn all at once. A few at a time. The ones that grow where you live, the ones you use most. You’ll remember them by feel before you remember their names.” She plucked another small herb and placed it in the basket. “You’ve a good eye, though.”
Elin blinked. “I do?”
Willa nodded, not making it a fuss. “You watch. You think before you move.”
Elin’s mouth opened, then closed again. Praise always left a strange burn in her chest. She didn’t know how to wear it.
They moved on, the crunch of frost beneath their steps the only sound for a time. Then, tentatively:
“How long do you all already live around here?” Her voice felt raw, the question almost too big for her throat.
Willa didn’t answer right away, just bent to gather more herbs. When she straightened, her voice was calm. “Uhtred built the hall here years ago. It’s home for us now. For as long as it’s needed.”
Elin glanced up, past the low fence marking the edge of the garden, to where the longhouse sat solid and warm in the morning light. Smoke drifted gently from the chimney. Nearby, Uhtred sat on a low bench, sharpening his sword in smooth, practiced strokes. The motion was rhythmic, almost soothing—the rasp of stone on metal, the pause to test the edge, then again.
Finan passed behind him, arms full of firewood. His breath misted in the cold air, his face relaxed, humming something off-key that didn’t match Willa’s tune but didn’t seem to care.
Farther out, Osferth knelt by one of the traps they’d set the day before, gently untangling a rabbit from its snare. He murmured something to the animal, even though it was dead, and brushed snow off its fur with a kind of reverence.
Their movements weren’t loud or boastful. They weren’t putting on a show. They were just… existing. Living. Each task folded into the next, steady and sure.
Elin’s fingers curled slightly at her sides.
The world doesn’t feel as sharp this morning. Not so jagged edges pressing in.
There were no shouts. No fists. No glances that lingered too long, or words that turned her belly to stone. Just the slow rhythm of life.
She looked down at the herb in Willa’s hand, then up at the woman’s face.
“…Will you teach me?”
Willa’s eyes crinkled. “Of course.”
Elin nodded once, tight and fast, like if she thought too hard about it she might lose her nerve. But she didn’t take it back.
Could there be a place for me in this calm?
She looked again at the men in the distance, the quiet strength of their bodies, their certainty. Uhtred looked up just then, catching her gaze. He didn’t say anything, just held her eyes for a moment, then nodded once before going back to his blade.
Elin looked away quickly, heart fluttering, but not in fear.
I want to know… but what if I am not meant to belong?
____________
The longhouse breathed warmth, even as cold wind pressed against the timbered walls. The fire burned low and steady, casting soft amber light across the stone hearth and the thick furs laid out in a rough circle. Shadows danced lazily on the ceiling beams above, lulled by the quiet crackle of flame and the occasional snap of sap in the wood.
Uhtred sat with one arm braced on his knee, watching the fire, though his attention was elsewhere. He could feel the weight of the moment before it arrived—like a hush before the first drop of rain.
Elin sat opposite him, legs tucked beneath her, the wolf-fur coat folded carefully at her side. She didn’t meet his eyes, not yet. Her gaze lingered somewhere just beyond the firelight, as if she were trying to make sense of a shape that hadn't fully formed.
Finan leaned against a carved post, one ankle resting atop the other, hands loose in his lap. Willa sat beside Elin, threading bits of dried thyme into a bundle, pretending not to listen too closely.
Uhtred waited. He knew the shape of questions like this—the kind a person had to circle around a few times before daring to speak aloud.
When Elin finally stirred, it was with a small sound in the back of her throat. Her voice, when it came, was barely above the fire’s whisper. “There’s… something strange,” she said, not looking at any of them. “When I’m near you… you and Finan both. I feel it in my chest. Like it tightens. And sometimes… it aches.”
Her fingers curled slightly, a gesture she tried to hide in the fabric of her tunic. “Is that… is something wrong with me?”
Uhtred exhaled slowly, leaning forward, resting his arms across his knees. “No,” he said quietly. “Nothing is wrong with you, Elin.”
He waited until she glanced up, her eyes flicking to his face like a sparrow testing the wind.
“What you’re feeling,” he said, “is the bond. The thread that ties alphas and omegas together—sometimes strong, sometimes faint, but always there. It’s not just instinct. It’s nature and blood and breath.” His voice was low, steady. No rush. “You feel it because you are meant to. Because you’re not alone in this world. Not anymore.”
Elin blinked, and her lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
Finan tilted his head, a grin tugging faintly at his mouth. “The first time I stood next to an omega in heat, I was near sick with the pull. Thought I’d swallowed my tongue.” He chuckled softly, and Uhtred could feel the tension in the room ease by a fraction. “It’s like the world knows you belong together before you do.”
Elin looked between them, her brow furrowing. “But I don’t know how to… how to be that. An omega, I mean.”
Uhtred shook his head. “There’s no one way to be what you are. The Saxons treat omegas like property—breeding tools, traded like cattle. But that’s not the way of our people.”
He leaned back slightly, his voice quiet but firm. “Among the Danes, the old ways hold. Omegas are honored, protected, trusted to guide and balance the pack. Not broken down. Not silenced.”
Finan’s voice turned gentler, more serious. “A bond is more than scent or heat. It’s trust. Loyalty. We fight for those we claim. We bleed for them.” He glanced at Uhtred, a small nod between them. “We protect what’s ours.”
Elin’s hands were still folded in her lap, but they’d stopped trembling. Her face was unreadable for a moment, her expression a swirl of confusion and disbelief—then something else. Something softer. A question she hadn’t formed into words yet.
“You don’t have to be afraid of what you are here,” Uhtred said. “You don’t have to run. Not anymore.”
The fire snapped. Elin flinched slightly, but she didn’t look away. She stared at the flames now, her jaw working, as if chewing over every word, testing them for hidden hooks.
And when she finally spoke, her voice was a threadbare whisper. “You mean that?”
Uhtred nodded once. “Yes.”
She is fragile, he thought, yet she has the spirit to ask.
It’s not just words—this is how we live, how we protect our own.
He watched her reach out slowly and tug her wolf-fur coat closer, her fingers brushing the soft edge like it was something precious. Something earned.
If only she could see herself through our eyes.
____________
The soil was cold beneath her fingertips, damp with the breath of winter, but the rhythm of working helped Elin forget how tight her chest often felt in unfamiliar spaces. She crouched low, brushing back dead leaves to reveal the dark green crown of a winter root just breaking the surface. Her breath formed soft clouds in the chill, but the sunlight—low and golden—filtered gently through the trees, warming her pale cheek in moments between shadow.
Willa hummed softly a few paces away, her skirts brushing against the dry bracken as she gathered greens into a woven basket. The sound was comforting, steady. The woods, which once might have frightened Elin, felt almost peaceful now—quiet in the way that didn’t press on her like judgment. Just stillness and trees and the soft rustle of foraging.
Elin reached for her knife to loosen the root from the earth when a voice snapped the world in half.
“Witch.”
It wasn’t a whisper, or a warning—it was venom.
She barely had time to turn. From the edge of the trees, three men and a woman surged forward, faces she knew too well—faces twisted with the same contempt that had haunted her since childhood. Villagers. From her village.
“No,” she whispered, but the word barely left her lips before one of them lunged and grabbed her arm.
“You thought you could run?” another spat, his grip like iron as he hauled her upright.
A scream tore from her throat—sharp and high and startled. The ground slipped beneath her, her knees scraping across dirt as they yanked her to her feet. Her heart hammered wildly in her chest, blood pounding in her ears, drowning everything.
Willa shrieked. “Let her go!” she cried, sprinting toward them. She threw herself at one of the attackers, striking at them with open hands, teeth bared like a wild thing. But they barely acknowledged her. One shoved her aside. The other two dragged Elin by her arms, their fingers digging into skin and bone.
“You don’t belong among good folk,” the woman hissed in her face, “You’re a curse—unmarked and unnatural.”
Elin writhed, terror exploding into breathless sobs. “No—please—stop—”
A fist struck her ribs. She gasped, folding inward, the pain blooming sharp and white in her side.
“Silence, witch!”
She screamed again—louder this time. A raw sound, wild and desperate.
And then everything changed.
The air shifted.
A storm came.
“ENOUGH.”
The voice was low, but it cut through the clearing like lightning. Suddenly the grip on her arms vanished. A powerful force pulled her backward, and then she was no longer in their hands but stumbling behind a wall of warm, solid strength.
Uhtred.
His broad frame stood between her and the attackers, and her hands—on instinct, on terror—clutched at the back of his coat. The worn leather was rough beneath her fingers, but real. Anchor. Shield. She buried her face against it, her breath catching in ragged sobs.
Her body shook.
She couldn’t stop it.
Finan appeared at Uhtred’s side like a blade unsheathed. His jaw was tight, eyes hard as flint.
To the left, Sihtric emerged from the trees with a slow, lethal grace, hand already at his sword. On the right, Osferth stood tense, his usually soft features cold and unyielding.
The four villagers had frozen, but their eyes still burned with misplaced righteousness.
“She belongs to us,” the tallest man snapped, his voice cracking. “She’s been judged! We’ll drag her back and finish what we started.”
“Touch her again,” Uhtred growled, “and I’ll feed your fingers to the dogs. You’ll not lay claim to her—not here, not ever.”
Elin clung to the back of his coat, pressing her forehead against his spine, trying to disappear. Her breath came in shallow gasps. Her mind scrambled to keep up. They searched for me. They had their hands on me. They hit me.
And he came.
They all came.
“You’ll face our blades before you get a single step toward her,” Osferth said coldly.
Sihtric took one quiet step forward, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. His smile was tight, cruel with promise. The threat needed no explanation.
The villagers hesitated. Their anger faltered. Faced with warriors whose blood had been spilled on far crueler grounds than theirs, they saw what Elin had begun to understand—this was not a home without teeth.
They began to back away. Muttering curses. Spitting warnings. But they didn’t try again.
They vanished back into the trees.
Silence fell.
Elin still hadn’t moved. She couldn’t. Her body wouldn’t listen. Her fingers fisted the back of Uhtred’s coat with desperate strength, as if letting go might unmake the safety she had just found.
Finan crouched beside her slowly, careful not to startle. “Elin, love,” he said gently, “you’re safe. Can you let go now? Let us help you.”
She didn’t answer.
She couldn’t.
Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it might tear itself apart.
She just held on.
Harder.
Tighter.
Afraid the moment she let go, they’d come back.
Her fingers twitched against the back of Uhtred’s coat, her knuckles bloodless with strain. Her breath still came in short, sharp pulls. She hadn’t yet looked up.
But Uhtred turned his head slightly, voice deep and low above her.
“No one will touch you again.”
And something in that—his certainty, the weight of it—broke the tightness in her limbs just enough.
Her hands loosened.
Slowly, fingers uncurled from his coat. Her shoulders sagged as if the last of her strength had been burned up in that scream. She took one half-step back, then stopped—unable to go far. Her face was pale, eyes unfocused. She stood slightly beside herself, as though the world hadn’t quite fit back into place.
Finan straightened carefully and reached out—not to touch, but to guide, his hand hovering near her back.
“Come on, little dove. Let’s get you inside.”
Uhtred moved with purpose, not waiting for her to find words. He took her hand—not tightly, not in command, but to lead—and she followed without resistance, numb and silent, as he walked her toward the longhouse.
Willa trailed behind, her basket abandoned, worry drawn sharp across her face.
Inside, the fire was still warm. It crackled softly in the hearth as the door shut out the wind. Uhtred led her to the fire’s glow, but Elin didn’t sit. She stood there, staring at the flames, one arm wrapped around her middle.
“Are you hurt?” Uhtred asked softly, crouching slightly so he could meet her eyes.
She shook her head quickly—too quickly. Her shoulders hunched inward, shrinking herself again like she always had, like smaller might mean safer.
“No,” she said, barely audible.
Willa was wringing her hands, torn, her face flushed with guilt.
“I saw one of them hit her. In the side. She bent over like she couldn’t breathe.” Willa said finally, looking straight at Uhtred and Finan.
Elin flinched at the words. Her eyes darted to Willa, wide and startled, then back to the floor.
Uhtred’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t speak just yet.
Finan stepped forward, voice gentle but firm. “Elin, we need to be sure. You might not feel it now, but something could be broken.”
Her eyes filled with panic. “No—please—don’t—I’m fine.”
“No one will touch you,” Uhtred said immediately. “We just want to keep you safe.”
“But if something’s broken,” Finan added, “we need to know. Willa can look, if that’s alright.”
Elin swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. Her hand trembled as she reached up to touch the side of her ribs, the place where it still burned faintly.
“Willa,” she whispered.
Willa came to her side right away. “Just me,” she said gently. “We’ll go to your room. It’ll be private.”
Elin nodded, barely.
The two of them slipped down the corridor, and Uhtred and Finan followed, stopping at the edge of her chamber curtain. Neither said a word as Elin stepped inside.
She glanced over her shoulder once, to be sure they weren’t coming in.
They weren’t.
She pulled the curtain shut behind her.
Willa helped her out of the wolf-fur coat first, then carefully unlaced her dress. Elin’s hands shook too badly to help much. Her ribs ached sharply when the bodice loosened, and she hissed a quiet breath through her teeth.
“Sorry,” Willa murmured. “I have to see the skin.”
Elin turned slightly, pressing her arm over her chest as the dress slipped down. Her side was already darkening with a purpling bruise, the shape of a fist clear along the curve of her ribs.
Willa sucked in a breath.
“It’s not broken,” she said after a moment, probing gently with practiced fingers. “Tender, badly bruised, but not cracked. You’ll hurt when you breathe deep, or twist. But it will heal.”
Elin let out a shaky exhale.
When they came back out, her coat was back on, the dress fastened again. She looked tired—drained—but less like she might shatter. She sat near the hearth.
Uhtred and Finan straightened immediately when they saw her.
“Well?” Finan asked.
“It’s not broken,” Willa said. “Bruised badly, but nothing that needs setting.”
Both men relaxed visibly, the tension in their shoulders easing like breath released.
But Uhtred stepped towards Elin then, slowly, and dropped to one knee so he could look up at her.
“Elin,” he said, voice low, unwavering. “No one will ever take you from us. Do you understand that?”
She blinked at him, lips parted slightly, stunned by the certainty in his tone.
Finan came beside him, not kneeling but standing near. “We’re your pack, little dove. They might still bark and scream, but they’ll never get through us. You’re ours to protect.”
Elin didn’t speak.
But her eyes welled quietly.
And then—slowly—she nodded.
Just once.
____________
Elin sat curled tight on the woven mat nearest the hearth, her wolf-fur coat wrapped around her like armor. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, thin fingers tucked beneath the heavy pelt. The fire was little more than a glow now—embers crackling softly, sending slow pulses of warmth into the room. Smoke clung low to the rafters, the scent earthy and familiar.
Her eyes were wide and dry.
She hadn’t cried—not since yesterday.
There was something past tears now.
A weight that settled into the hollow of her chest.
Not numb, not really—but fragile, like ice just before it cracks.
Across the longhouse, Willa moved with gentle purpose, preparing tea. She didn’t speak, didn’t ask anything. But every so often her gaze would drift over to Elin—quietly, kindly—as she set herbs into the pot and poured water from the kettle over the fire.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable.
It just was fragile.
Then the door opened with the low creak of wood and wind. Elin tensed. But it was Uhtred.
He stepped inside without a word, his coat dusted with frost from the morning. He looked at her first—just a glance—and then crossed to the hearth. He sat down with a quiet grunt, stretching his long legs toward the embers, his hands resting on his knees.
He didn’t look at her again.
He didn’t need to.
A few breaths later, Finan followed. He crouched across from her, a little closer than Uhtred, eyes steady but soft. Not asking anything. Just being there.
Osferth and Sihtric stood near the door, silhouettes against the soft grey light leaking in from outside. Neither moved. Neither spoke. They simply stood—watching, alert, as if daring the world to try again.
Elin’s gaze drifted from one to the other.
There was something in the way they stood. In the space they filled.
It wasn’t just presence. It was protection.
They hadn’t circled around her like a prize.
They hadn’t grabbed her, or questioned, or told her to be quiet.
They had stood.
They had come.
Her eyes flicked toward Uhtred, and she found herself staring at his shoulders—the broad line of them, the familiar shape of the cloak she had clutched so hard yesterday her hands had gone numb. Her fingers twitched slightly in her lap, like they were remembering.
The fire popped softly.
Finan shifted, but didn’t speak.
She didn’t know why her voice came then—fragile, as if the sound of it might crack the air—but it did.
“Thank you…for not letting them take me.”
Uhtred didn’t flinch. He nodded once, slow. “Don't thank us for that. They couldn’t have.”
She stared at the embers. They glowed like coals beneath her ribs.
It wasn’t just a statement. It was a promise.
There was a long pause. And then Finan answered, his voice low.
“Because you’re part of us now.”
Elin drew in a breath, then winced. Her ribs still ached, dull and deep.
But the ache reminded her.
She was here.
She had been pulled back.
She had been shielded.
They didn’t hesitate. Not one of them.
He held me behind him like I was something precious.
They didn’t flinch when the mob came.
They stood for me. For me.
Maybe… maybe I am not alone anymore.
Maybe I am worth it.
The fire cracked again.
She didn't speak further. She didn’t have to.
She just sat there, the wolf-fur heavy and warm around her small frame, surrounded by four unmoving shadows who had not let her fall.
And slowly—like morning breaking across frost—stillness returned to her breath.
Ashes and Honey
Chapter 3
The morning light was weak but steady as it filtered through the branches of the trees surrounding the herb garden, casting long, cool shadows across the damp earth. The frost of the previous night clung stubbornly to the grass, sparkling like tiny crystals in the pale sunlight. The air, sharp with the bite of early winter, filled Elin’s lungs as she followed Willa, her feet barely making a sound as they shuffled along the damp ground.
She kept to the edges, staying just behind the older woman as Willa knelt low to the ground, gathering roots from the earth. Her fingers moved with practiced ease, pulling the roots free from the soil and tucking them into a basket that had already begun to fill. Elin watched the movements closely, her eyes following the rhythmic pull and release of Willa’s hands as if the very act of observing could make her part of the world in a way she wasn’t sure she belonged.
The blanket she wrapped around her shoulders felt old and faded, the fabric thin and threadbare, but it was the only comfort she had. She held it close, pulling it tighter around her, the familiar weight of it a small solace against the chill that clung to her skin.
Behind her, the sounds of the yard began to shift. The voices of men—Uhtred’s deep, rumbling laugh, and Osferth’s softer, more restrained chuckle—broke through the quiet of the morning. The sounds of swordplay followed soon after, the sharp clash of wood against wood as they trained, the rhythm of combat echoing across the open space.
Elin’s stomach tightened at the noise. She froze, her feet halting mid-step, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. Her mind screamed at her to run, to hide, to retreat into the shadows like she had so many times before. Her body remained still, her instincts tugging at her to flee, but this time, she hesitated. She didn’t move.
Willa didn’t seem to notice the change in Elin’s posture. She was absorbed in her task, the dirt shifting between her fingers as she dug deeper into the earth. Elin’s gaze remained fixed ahead, the garden now a blur as her attention flickered nervously toward the men in the distance.
The laughter rang out again. Uhtred’s laugh—unmistakable, bold, and full of life. It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t threatening. But it unsettled her all the same. The sound was too loud, too abrupt in the stillness of the morning. She could hear the joy in it, the camaraderie, and it felt alien to her, a world she wasn’t sure she was ready to enter. Her heart began to race as she looked over her shoulder, her body tightening as her eyes sought them out.
Uhtred, tall and broad, his presence commanding even in the distance. She saw the smooth, controlled way he moved as he sparred with Osferth, the sharp clash of their wooden swords filling the air. His posture was steady, his stance sure—he was a warrior through and through. Yet, there was something different about him in these moments. The aggression in his movements was tempered by something else—a calm, a steadiness that wasn’t born from battle but from the bond of comradeship.
Her breath caught in her throat as Uhtred’s eyes flicked across the yard, and for the briefest of moments, their gazes locked. His eyes, deep blue, seemed to soften, and Elin felt something stir in her chest. It wasn’t fear this time. No, it was something else—a confusion, a curiosity, a sense of connection that she wasn’t prepared for.
She quickly turned her head away, her heart pounding in her chest as if she had been caught doing something wrong. She felt her face flush, heat rising in her cheeks. But Uhtred didn’t approach. He didn’t come any closer. Instead, he went back to sparring with Osferth. She couldn’t help but notice the way his laughter filled the space, making it feel less empty, less cold.
Still, Elin stood frozen, her fingers curling into the fabric of her blanket. The urge to flee hadn’t disappeared, but it was quieter now. Distant. The weight of it no longer pushed against her chest. She was still afraid. The memories of her past—the fear, the loneliness—were never far from her mind, but there was something different now. Something had shifted.
Her eyes darted between the men, watching them train, the way they moved together with a rhythm that only comes with years of knowing one another. And though she felt small and out of place, she didn’t feel the sharp need to escape. For a fleeting moment, Elin wondered what it would feel like to stay. To not run.
Willa pulled her focus back, her hands moving deftly through the soil, retrieving another root. She didn’t say anything, didn’t acknowledge the way Elin’s eyes kept drifting to the men. Instead, she simply continued, a quiet presence beside Elin as they worked in the garden.
The cold air prickled at her skin, but it wasn’t as biting as before. Elin found herself inching a little closer to Willa, but only by a fraction. It wasn’t a conscious decision, but something about the way the older woman moved so assuredly in the world made her feel… less alone.
Still, Elin couldn’t stop her gaze from flicking back to Uhtred, who was still locked in combat with Osferth. She felt the tension in her chest loosen slightly. There was no fear in his movements. No hostility. Just a calm certainty that made her want to stay, to watch, to understand.
_____________
The fire crackled softly, sending little splashes of light into the shadows that clung to the corners of the longhouse. The warmth from the hearth was a relief against the chill creeping in from the cracks in the walls, but Elin still shivered slightly, her body tense. She sat close to Willa, the older woman’s presence grounding, though Elin’s hands remained restless, twisting the edge of her blanket, the fabric rough beneath her fingertips. She barely noticed the repetitive motion anymore, her mind distant but sharp, watching the flames flicker and dance in the hearth. The flames, twisting in the quiet air, moved slowly, hypnotically, casting shadows across the room in languid arcs.
The warmth of the fire seeped into her skin, but she could not shake the chill of her body.
Her gaze flickered briefly to the door as it creaked open. Uhtred entered quietly, his footsteps heavy but measured, the familiar sound of his boots on the floor unmistakable. He spoke in low tones to Finan, the rhythm of their voices flowing easily between them. The conversation was familiar—about the coming hunting trip. The way they spoke, though, was almost a comfort. Like the crackling fire beside her, it was something she’d grown accustomed to, a steady presence she had stopped fearing.
Her fingers clenched around the blanket as Uhtred’s voice grew nearer. She could hear him now, even through the hum of the fire. He was coming toward her, and instinctively, her shoulders stiffened, her body coiling as if preparing to flee. She didn’t move, not yet, but she pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, the fabric knotting around her like a shield.
She caught a glimpse of his figure from the corner of her eye—tall, broad, moving with that unhurried confidence she’d noticed before. His presence filled the room, even if he said nothing, even if his steps were quiet. It was like a storm that hadn't yet broken, the kind that might pass gently or rage with force.
Uhtred stopped just a few steps away from her, and Elin instinctively pulled her knees closer to her chest, curling in on herself just a little more. He didn’t move to sit beside her or speak immediately. Instead, he held something in his hands—something large, folded in the crook of his arm. The shape of it was familiar, but she didn’t recognize it fully until he gently placed it beside her, on the bench.
A coat. Thick and fur-lined, made of dark leather, its collar lined with the soft, inviting fur of a wolf. It smelled of pine smoke—faint but distinct, lingering on the cool air, a scent that pulled something deep inside her. And something else. Something familiar but hard to name. The warmth of it called to her.
“The days grow colder,” Uhtred said, his voice low, almost casual, as if the words weren’t meant to be heavy. “This one’s lined with wolf fur. It kept me warm through worse than this.” He gave a brief, almost absent glance her way before turning to walk away, his movements easy, unhurried, leaving her with the coat.
Elin stared at it for a long moment, the sensation of its presence strange. He hadn’t pushed it on her. Hadn’t demanded she take it. It wasn’t an order.. He just… offered it.
It sat there, a quiet thing, waiting for her to reach for it. Her pulse quickened, and her fingers, still holding the blanket, twitched. She didn’t reach for it right away. Instead, she studied the coat, the way the fur caught the light, the way it seemed to absorb the warmth of the fire and hold it. It wasn’t just the fur, the scent of pine smoke—it was more than that. It felt like... something safe, something solid, something that wouldn’t hurt her.
She shifted her weight, the warmth from the hearth still on her skin, but there was something about the coat that made the air feel different. Like there was a space, a place, where she could settle into something without fear.
Her hand trembled as she reached down, fingers brushing the soft wolf fur, its texture rich and thick beneath her touch. She pulled the coat closer, wrapping it carefully around herself, clutching it to her chest. Her heart hammered in her chest as she held it, afraid of losing it, afraid of it being taken away.
The scent of pine smoke wrapped around her like a cocoon, and for a moment, it was almost like the fire had moved closer, pressing its warmth against her skin, pulling her into its quiet embrace. Elin didn’t move, her eyes wide, her breath shallow as she sank into the sensation, unsure of what it meant but unwilling to let it go.
Uhtred’s footsteps had faded by now, the sound of his movements swallowed by the crackling fire, but his presence lingered—unspoken, unforced. It wasn’t a question she could answer right away, but the coat felt like more than an object. It was a piece of something else. Something she wasn’t yet ready to name.
But for now, it was hers. It was warm, and it was safe. And that was enough.
_____________
A few days later
The wind bit at Finan’s cheeks as he shifted another bundle of firewood from the cart to the stack by the longhouse wall. The logs thudded softly against one another, sending sharp cracks into the cold air. His breath fogged in front of his face, curling and fading into dusk.
Sihtric moved beside him with quiet efficiency, his arms already laden with another bundle. Across the courtyard, Osferth knelt by a low table, sorting herbs under Willa’s instruction, his fingers moving carefully, his brow furrowed in concentration. The quiet bustle of late chores filled the yard, boots scuffing in frost-hardened dirt, breath rising in clouds. The sun had slipped behind the treeline, leaving only a bruised sky and the steady glow of torches near the door.
Finan straightened to stretch his back, rolling his shoulders, and glanced up—and that’s when he saw her.
Elin.
She stood near the edge of the courtyard, half-shadowed behind Willa’s figure, her pale hair catching what little light the sky still offered. She wasn’t hiding exactly, but she wasn’t fully present either—positioned just so, where she could retreat if she needed. The wolf-fur coat hung from her narrow frame like a mantle far too grand for its wearer, though she held it tightly closed with both hands, knuckles white in the fabric.
What struck Finan wasn’t that she stood there—but that she didn’t flinch when he looked at her. Her eyes met his. She didn’t duck her head or turn away. She simply… watched.
Still cautious, still wrapped tight in herself like a bundle that hadn’t yet thawed—but not running.
Not anymore.
He let out a slow breath, and when he glanced across the yard, he found Uhtred already watching her, too. His arms were folded, his stance deceptively still, but Finan could read the tension in his jaw. Not worry, not quite—but something close. Something protective.
Uhtred walked toward him, boots crunching softly in the dirt. He stopped just beside Finan, his voice low, almost amused. “She took it.”
Finan glanced at him sidelong. “Aye, I saw. Still wearing it like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.”
“It might be,” Uhtred murmured.
“She didn’t bolt when you spoke to her, either.”
“No.” Uhtred’s gaze didn’t waver. “And she didn’t look afraid when I left it. Just… uncertain.”
Finan watched Elin again—watched the way her eyes moved, always alert, always measuring. “She watches everything,” he said quietly. “Like a hawk.”
Uhtred’s voice was rougher when he answered. “She used to vanish when we stepped near. Now she watches. She stays.”
Finan nudged his shoulder gently. “You worry too much.”
Uhtred’s reply came with the barest flicker of a grin. “You love that about me.”
Finan smirked. “Aye. Damned fool heart of mine.”
He reached out without thinking and brushed his knuckles lightly down Uhtred’s back as he stepped around him. Uhtred leaned into it, just slightly, as if grounding himself in the familiar touch.
Finan paused beside him, eyes still on Elin. “She’s still frightened,” he said, voice barely above the wind. “But not hopeless.”
Uhtred turned his head just enough. Their eyes met for a second—and then their lips met, too. It was nothing dramatic. No heat, no hunger. Just a soft, steady press, like the quietest vow. A moment of shared breath, held gently between them.
When they parted, Uhtred’s eyes returned to the courtyard. But Finan stayed still, watching him with a tenderness he didn’t try to hide, the corner of his mouth tugging upward with a ghost of affection.
Uhtred’s thoughts lingered in the silence that followed. He could still see Elin in his mind as she’d been a few weeks ago—fleeing, flinching, curled so tightly into herself it hurt to look. But now… now she stood. Still quiet. Still wary. But she stayed.
He remembered the way her fingers had curled around the coat, how she’d looked at him after he gave her the coat—not like a threat, but like a puzzle she hadn’t finished deciding on. And the way her voice had trembled when she’d whispered the softest, stammered thank you, as if she barely dared to say it aloud.
That stirred something old in him. Protective. Fierce. Instinctive.
We wait, he reminded himself. She chooses. Always.
He looked back across the yard at her one last time.
She was still there.
And that was enough—for now.
_____________
The longhouse was quiet now, the bustle of the day long since faded into evening’s gentle hush. A fire burned low in the hearth, its amber glow flickering softly against the rough-hewn walls. Shadows danced lazily across the room, and the faint scent of pine smoke still clung to the air.
Elin sat on a rough bench beside the hearth. Behind her, Willa’s fingers moved carefully through her pale hair, weaving and twisting the strands into a neat braid. The rhythm of the braiding was slow and steady, a quiet lull that filled the room more with feeling than with sound.
The silence stretched between them, but it felt safe—a fragile peace. Elin’s hands rested lightly in her lap, fingers nervously twisting the edge of the blanket still draped around her shoulders.
Then, breaking the quiet, Elin’s voice came soft, hesitant—almost a whisper.
“Willa… why does it feel different? When they’re near?”
Willa paused, fingers still in the braid. She glanced over her shoulder, curious. “Different how, child?”
Elin frowned, searching for the right words, unsure even what she felt. “Heavy. In my chest. Like my ribs know them. Like… I’m supposed to be close. But I don’t understand why.”
The old woman smiled gently, setting the braid aside for a moment to rest her hands on Elin’s shoulders. Her eyes were kind but steady, the calm of someone who had seen much and understood more.
“It’s the old ways, Elin. The bond between an Alpha and an Omega—it’s more than just flesh and blood. It’s in the bones, the heart, the soul. It’s sacred. The pull you feel? That’s the instinct of your nature calling. It means you’re not alone. That you are kept safe, honored.”
Elin’s brow furrowed deeper. “That’s not how people spoke of it in the village. They called it a curse. A weakness.”
Willa’s gaze softened, but her voice was firm. “Many fear what they don’t understand. But just because others speak of it with hate, does not mean it is true.”
Elin looked down at her hands, twisting the blanket tighter around herself. She thought of Uhtred’s deep, steady voice—the way it had rung through the yard like distant thunder. She thought of Finan’s gentle smile, the calm strength in his eyes as he stood nearby.
A strange warmth bloomed in her chest at the memory, confusing and fierce all at once.
She was terrified of it. Terrified of what it might mean. But beneath the fear was something else, something soft and bright—a fragile hope.
The room settled around her like a warm cloak, the crackle of the fire steady and sure. Somewhere deep inside, a shift was happening—something was changing, opening.
Sacred. Kept safe.
Could it be that the pull she felt wasn’t wrong? That it wasn’t a curse?
The puzzle piece clicked quietly into place.
It wasn’t bad.
Just… unknown.
_____________
A few hours later
The longhouse lay wrapped in a deepening quiet, the kind that settles slowly when the day’s work has ended and the body begins to unwind. The fire in the hearth crackled gently, sending flickering light and shadows dancing across the wooden walls. Outside, the night pressed in cold and dark, but inside, warmth clung to the air like a soft cloak.
Uhtred stepped inside after his rounds, the chill from the night still clinging to his cloak and skin. His boots made little sound on the packed earth floor. His gaze swept across the room—the familiar shapes softened by the firelight. Osferth sat near the hearth, his brow furrowed in concentration as he read by the fire’s glow. Willa dozed quietly nearby, her head resting against the rough bench.
Finan was seated close to the fire, his dark eyes reflecting the flames. Uhtred moved silently behind him and let his hand settle briefly on Finan’s shoulder, a simple touch—steady, grounding, unspoken. Finan relaxed under the contact.
Uhtred lowered himself to sit beside him, his body easing with the comfort of the pack around him.
His eyes drifted toward Elin. She sat by the fire, wrapped in the wolf-fur coat he had given her. The flickering flames cast warm light across her pale hair and delicate features, making her seem both fragile and fierce at once.
Their eyes met briefly—no fear in hers. No darting glance, no tightening of the body. She didn’t flinch or shrink away. She simply watched him, steady and still.
That moment stretched quietly, unspoken but charged with meaning.
Uhtred said nothing at first. He didn’t need to. The tension that had knotted in his shoulders over these past weeks loosened, just a little, as Finan’s hand slid over his own, fingers light but firm.
“You’re doing well,” Finan whispered, his voice low and certain.
Uhtred exhaled, the breath deep and slow, and nodded.
She doesn’t hide anymore, he thought, eyes fixed on Elin’s calm silhouette.
She stays—like a deer caught at the edge of the wolf’s den, uncertain if the wolves mean to bite or protect.
He stayed silent, his presence a quiet shadow beside the fire’s glow—strong but not demanding, patient rather than forceful. He didn’t push. He simply sat, offering what comfort he could through calm stillness.
Elin’s scent mingled in the air—soft and guarded, yes, but beneath the cautious wariness there was something new: curiosity, fragile and bright.
The night wrapped them all in its hush, a stillness among wolves. The pack was growing, slowly but surely, and in that quiet room, beneath the flickering flames, something fragile began to take root—hope.
Ashes and Honey
Chapter 2
The forest was quiet, blanketed in the hush of early morning mist. Uhtred dismounted slowly, boots sinking into damp leaves, his breath curling in the chilled air. He could hear the soft drip of water from the branches, the distant cry of a crow—signs of life that felt too sharp, too alive, for what lay ahead.
The underbrush parted, and then he saw her.
Curled beneath a thicket of brambles, she looked more like a broken doll than a living girl—knees tucked tight against her chest, arms shielding her head. Her hair was tangled and caked in dried mud, white as snow and ghostly against the earth. Her skin bore the mottled hues of cold and neglect, pale as frostbite, with angry welts peeking through torn fabric. Her frame was so slight he feared the wind might carry her away. She was shaking, violently, every breath a tremble, as though her lungs no longer knew how to take in air without fear.
Her body recoiled from nothing—just the air, the silence, the morning. It was as if every sound had teeth, every shadow a threat. He could see the raw wounds on her ankles, the way her fingers clung to the earth beneath her, white-knuckled, clinging to the forest floor as if it were the last solid thing in a world gone cruel.
Uhtred approached her the way one might approach a wounded doe, each step slow and deliberate. He saw her shaking—small, endless tremors, as if her body had forgotten how to be still. Her scent reached him, faint and trembling, crushed violets muddled by fear. Omega.
Unbonded. Unclaimed. But the scent was wrong—tainted with panic, threaded with exhaustion and blood.
When Uhtred reached forward—slowly, carefully—to see her face, her entire body spasmed. She flinched as though struck, a raw, broken sound catching in her throat. It wasn't a scream. It wasn't even a cry. It was a soundless gasp, strangled and desperate, the kind a creature makes when it’s too hurt to make noise anymore.
He froze, hand suspended in air.
"You're safe now," he said softly, though he knew the words meant nothing to someone who had never known safety.
She didn’t answer. She didn’t even look at him. Her head remained tucked under her arms, breath catching in shallow gasps. Her entire body recoiled, shrinking further as though trying to vanish into the brambles themselves.
Finan arrived with quiet steps, his expression darkening the moment he saw her.
"She’s not going to last out here," he said, voice low. "She’s halfway to death already."
Uhtred nodded. Slowly, he unfastened his heavy cloak and leaned forward, wrapping it around the girl’s frail form without touching her skin. She didn’t resist—but she didn’t acknowledge the gesture either. Her fingers clutched at the bramble beneath her like it was the only solid thing left in the world.
They didn’t speak further. They just worked.
_______________
The ride back to Rumcofa was slow and silent. Uhtred held her before him, one arm secure but loose around her middle, the other guiding the reins. She barely had the strength to sit upright. Her head lolled against his chest, her weight like that of a child, too light, too still. Every time the horse shifted beneath them, her body twitched—small jerks, as though each step brought remembered pain.
She never spoke. Never cried. But her breath told stories—quick, clipped breaths like someone waiting to be hit.
Finan rode beside them, glancing over often, his jaw clenched. Osferth whispered a prayer under his breath, voice catching. Sihtric brought up the rear, one eye on the path, the other on the shadows.
The rain returned as they neared the hall, cold and relentless, soaking cloaks and hair, but Uhtred didn’t feel it. His mind was with the small, trembling form in his arms. He didn’t tighten his grip, didn’t speak. He just held her, carefully, as though she might splinter.
_______________
Finally they arrived at Rumcofa. Inside the hall, firelight welcomed them, smoke curling lazily from the hearth. The warmth bit into their soaked clothes. Uhtred carried her in himself.
She didn’t stir.
He laid her gently on a low bed in a quiet chamber near the hearth. Even in unconsciousness, her body remained curled tight, trying to shield herself from imagined blows. Her fingers stayed balled into fists, the cloak still clenched in her grasp.
Willa came quickly, summoned with broth and clean cloths. Her eyes widened when she saw the girl.
“Gods,” she breathed, kneeling beside the bed. “She’s burning up.”
Finan hovered near the door, arms folded, shoulders tense. His eyes, usually sharp with mischief or mirth, now held a heavy, quiet worry. He wasn’t used to feeling this helpless—standing just beyond reach of someone in need, unable to fix what was broken.
Uhtred stood by the hearth, gaze distant, jaw tight. The crackle of fire couldn’t warm the ache in his chest.
They fell into silence again, both men staring toward the quiet room beyond the hearth where she lay, as if trying to will safety into her bones. Neither said it aloud, but they both felt it—an ache, a need, a vow growing wordlessly between them. They had found her. And they would protect her.
_______________
That first night, Elin shivered beneath layers of blankets. Her skin burned with fever, yet her lips were cold. She whimpered in her sleep—small, helpless sounds like a frightened animal. Her head tossed weakly, and sometimes she muttered things that made no sense, half-formed syllables, the sounds of fear learned too early and too long.
Finan sat with her, cloth in hand, gently dabbing her brow. Her skin twitched beneath even that soft touch, her brow furrowing as though the fabric were a whip rather than a mercy. Her body tensed, instinctive and automatic, as if pain were a certainty—not a memory, but a rule the world always followed. Even in fever, even barely conscious, some deep, surviving part of her expected pain and tried to shield her from it. She shifted away from him, curling tighter into herself, trying to disappear into the edge of the mattress.
Uhtred sat down beside her, trading places with Finan, who stepped back with a clenched jaw. He tried the cloth next, but when he moved close, her brow twitched again. Even as she hovered just above awareness, her body responded—pulling inward, inching away, so far toward the edge of the bedding that she might fall. Her fear filled the room, thick and bitter, cutting through the smoke and firelight.
Uhtred leaned in, voice low and warm and steady. "You’re safe. No one will touch you. Not unless you ask."
But the words vanished into the air. She didn’t respond. She barely breathed.
Finan stood behind him, fists clenched, eyes burning. The scent of her fear was unbearable—more pungent than fever-sweat, sharp and acrid, as if the room itself recoiled from it. He had seen wounds before, seen suffering. But this was different. This was fear so deeply rooted it had become part of her very breath.
"She doesn’t eat," he said quietly, voice strained, as if forcing the words out made them more real. He couldn’t take his eyes off her—the way her body still trembled, the way she recoiled even from the gentlest hands. "She will become weaker and weaker. We need to do something."
A beat passed in the heavy silence before Osferth, who had hovered near the doorway all along, finally stepped forward. "Perhaps," he began carefully, "she would feel safer if it wasn’t one of us sitting with her. A woman might help ease her mind."
Uhtred looked up, brows furrowed in thought.
"What about Willa?" Osferth continued. "Everyone trusts her. She’s kind, and she has the touch of a mother. She already tends to her. Maybe if she stays longer… talks to her more…"
Finan exhaled, slow and heavy. He nodded. Willa had always made their hall feel more like home. Maybe she could reach where none of them could.
"Let’s ask her," Uhtred said."
And so the hope settled—not in swords or strategy, but in gentleness. In the steady hands of a woman who knows how to heal.
Willa came and went with care and gentleness, coaxing small sips of broth into her mouth, speaking in a soft, steady voice. When Elin whimpered, Willa whispered comfort. When she clawed at the blankets in her sleep, Willa smoothed them back. Every motion was quiet, tender, practiced.
“She’s not here,” Willa murmured. “Not really. Lost in fever.”
Uhtred leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed tight over his chest. His eyes never left Elin’s sleeping form.
“She flinches in her sleep,” he said quietly. “Like she’s dreaming of running.”
Willa nodded. “She probably is.”
Finan came to stand beside him, his expression grim. “It’s like she doesn’t know how to rest. Even unconscious.”
Uhtred exhaled slowly, a tension in his shoulders that never eased. “We’ll give her time. However much she needs.”
He didn’t say the rest—but they both knew it. They would wait. And they would not let the world hurt her again.
_______________
When Elin finally opened her eyes and truly woke, the fire was low and the room empty. She did not remember how she had come here. Her body ached—not with pain exactly, but with the memory of it, as though the fear lived inside her bones.
She bolted upright.
The bed felt wrong. Too soft. Too clean. Her feet hit the floor, and she backed into the far corner of the room, dragging a blanket with her like armor. She sank down there, chest heaving, eyes wide, every inch of her poised to flee.
Where was she? What did they want? Her breath came faster. Panic skittered in her chest like a trapped animal. She scanned the room for exits, for weapons, for anything that might aid her escape. She had to get out—before they decided what to do with her. Before they realized she wasn’t worth saving.
A shape moved beyond the firelight in her mind. A man’s silhouette. Broad-shouldered. Towering. Like the ones who used to come when the village needed to punish an omega.
A memory pierced her thoughts—screams. A girl’s scream, high and ragged, echoing across thatched roofs and stone walls. Elin had heard it from behind her own door. She had clutched her hands over her ears, curled into a corner, but the sound had gotten in anyway. It always got in.
Another image—rough hands grabbing at her arm, dragging her out into the square, cold mud on her knees. Men’s laughter. Women looking away. And above it all, the voice that said, omegas are made to be used.
Her lips parted, breath tearing in and out, faster now. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. The firelight blurred into streaks. Her hands clutched the blanket tighter. The walls felt like they were closing in.
Then—
Voices. Just outside the room. A murmur. A footstep.
The curtain creaked open.
An elderly woman entered, tray in hand, but stopped the moment she saw the empty bed. Her gaze swept the room, landing gently on the curled form in the shadows.
“You’re awake,” she said, voice warm but cautious.
Elin said nothing. Her eyes were glassy with panic.
“I'm Willa, the head maid. I’ve brought broth.” Willa moved with exaggerated slowness, setting the tray on the table by the bed and retreating again.
"Where am I?", Elin managed to croak out.
“You’re in Rumcofa, love,” Willa said gently, her voice low and melodic. “Lord Uhtred and his men brought you here. You’ve been terribly ill—burning with fever—for more than a week now, poor lamb. We’ve all been worried sick.”
Her mind was clouded, the fever still gripping her body, but her senses were slowly beginning to sharpen, though she could hardly keep track of what was happening. Everything felt strange and disorienting—this room, the fire crackling softly, the unfamiliar faces.
Willa’s voice broke through the fog. “May I ask your name, sweetheart?”
The question felt like an intrusion. Elin’s throat tightened. She didn’t know if she could trust this woman, or anyone in this place. Her heart was still racing, the echo of the village square, the fear of her chains, too fresh in her mind.
She trembled, fingers curled into the blanket. Her throat was raw, aching from the lack of use and the sickness that had been clawing at her for days.
Willa’s silence was patient, gentle—waiting.
Elin swallowed, wincing at the pain. The name felt strange on her tongue, but it was hers. It was all she had left.
“...Elin,” she croaked, the sound rough, like the dry crack of earth after a long drought.
Willa’s face softened, her eyes warm and kind. A slow, genuine smile spread across her face as she bent slightly toward Elin, her voice now tender, almost coaxing.
“That’s a beautiful name,” she said. “Elin. It suits you well.”
Elin’s chest tightened with a mix of emotions she couldn’t understand—something in her stirred, something unfamiliar. But it wasn’t distrust, not exactly. It was something else, something fragile, like a thread of hope she had almost forgotten how to feel.
Willa’s voice was gentle, almost coaxing. “Well, Elin, you should eat and drink so you get your strength back and become healthy.”
Elin didn’t move. Her eyes flicked to the bowl of warm stew in Willa’s hands, to the cup of water balanced carefully atop the tray, then back to Willa herself—shoulders tense, chin tucked, wary as a cornered deer.
Willa took a small step forward. “I can bring it to you—”
The reaction was instant. Elin’s body locked up, her breath caught sharply in her throat, and her eyes widened, terrified. She pressed back into the wall behind the bed, as far as her trembling limbs would allow.
Willa froze.
“Oh,” she breathed, her tone shifting at once, soft with understanding and regret. She retreated quickly, hands raised slightly in surrender. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” She moved to the small table beside the bed and placed the tray down gently. “I’ll just leave the food and water here, all right?”
She turned to go, but at the door she paused. Glancing back at Elin’s wide, watchful eyes, she said, “I know you won’t believe me yet... but you are safe here, Elin.”
Then she left, the door clicking softly shut behind her.
Silence settled over the room like a heavy cloak.
Elin didn’t touch the food. She stared at it for a long time—steam curling from the bowl into the air, the scent of herbs and meat warm and tempting—but she couldn’t bring herself to move. Her body was still thrumming with alarm, her mind trapped in the reflex of survival.
Safe. The word echoed in her head like a foreign language. Willa had said it with such conviction, but Elin couldn’t trust it. Couldn’t afford to.
Safe was a lie she’d been told before.
Her gaze shifted to the closed curtain again. She didn’t blink. Her body remained taut and motionless under the blanket, as if even the smallest sound might bring danger..
Hours passed. The shadows in the room lengthened and deepened, candlelight flickering and fading as night claimed the sky. The food cooled. The water grew still. But Elin didn’t sleep.
She stayed exactly where she was—curled tight beneath the covers, eyes wide and glassy, fixed on the door.
Waiting.
Watching.
Just in case.
_______________
The days passed like trickling water. Willa brought food. Elin refused it. Then picked at it. Then began to eat—small bites, carefully chosen. Bread. Broth. A spoonful of honeyed oats that made her lips part in startled wonder.
Willa never commented on how much or how little Elin ate. She simply returned, a fresh bowl in hand, and settled in the chair by the hearth, chatting idly while she mended linen or shelled peas into a wooden bowl.
At first, Elin never answered. She barely even looked up. But Willa spoke anyway, her voice warm and unhurried - how Osferth had nearly set the kitchens alight with his attempt at stew, how Finan laughed so hard he spilled his ale over Sihtric’s boots. She laughed gently, speaking as if Elin were just another woman at the fire.
Every day was something small. The cow that escaped its pen. A bit of gossip from the traders in town. How Uhtred had grumbled about the rain soaking his cloak. How Osferth, still blushing, had stammered through a conversation with a pretty girl at the market.
Elin stayed silent, but her shoulders didn’t hunch so sharply anymore. Her eyes tracked Willa’s movements. And when the door opened now, she no longer flinched like she expected pain to follow.
The men still made her freeze. Even their voices through the walls made her breath shorten. When they entered the house, she curled tighter in her corner, still as stone. But when they left—when the door clicked shut and their scent drifted away—she began to creep forward.
At first, it was only to the edge of the room. Then, a few days later, she began following Willa in silent steps, padding softly behind her like a shadow. Willa never commented, only made sure to walk slowly, pausing at each task in case Elin wanted to linger.
Sometimes, Elin stood by the window and looked out. Other times, she watched Willa knead dough or stir the fire, the flicker of the flames dancing in her pale eyes.
Then one morning, as Willa stripped the bedding and brought in clean linens, Elin’s voice, paper-thin, slipped into the air.
“…Thank you.”
So quiet it could have been the wind. Willa didn’t react aloud, only let the smallest smile curve her lips. She tucked the linen into place with care, humming softly under her breath, “Your welcome, love.”.
Elin began to eat more regularly. Not just when Willa left, but sometimes even as the older woman sat nearby. She never looked directly at her, but the rigid lines of her posture softened. She stopped hiding behind her hair. One evening, Willa entered to find her not in her usual corner but seated cross-legged on the edge of the bed, her white hair draped over one shoulder as she worked at a knot with her fingers.
It was that same evening that Willa told the story of Finan’s broken chair.
“He practically fell straight to the floor with his legs still crossed,” Willa chuckled. “Jumped up like the floor had offended him. Swore it was Sihtric’s fault for placing the chair too near the hearth, as if that made the wood brittle.”
And then—so soft it might have gone unnoticed—a sound escaped Elin.
A laugh. Tiny, breathless. A half-choked huff of air that surprised even herself.
Willa turned slightly, smile deepening, but she didn’t speak. Didn’t move. As if she knew one wrong word might make the moment vanish like mist.
She only kept talking. “Sihtric just pointed at him and said, ‘You’re getting too fat, Finan.’ I thought they were going to wrestle right there in the hall.”
Elin smiled again. It didn’t last long. But it had happened.
Later that night, Willa paused at the door, glancing back at the girl now perched near the fire with her blanket around her shoulders.
“One day,” she said softly, “you’ll see you were never meant to be afraid.”
She didn’t wait for a response.
But Elin stayed by the fire a little longer that night, watching the flames instead of the curtain.
_______________
And for the first time, she slept without her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
That night, Uhtred and Finan lay in their shared bedding, the fire across the hall a dull glow behind the hanging curtain. The hum of the hall had long quieted, reduced to the occasional creak of timber and the hush of sleeping men. In their corner, beneath heavy furs and the scent of pine smoke and leather, the world felt softer.
Uhtred curled closer to Finan, cheek brushing against his temple, the familiar shape of him grounding in a way nothing else could. Their legs tangled beneath the covers, and Finan shifted only slightly, his hand finding Uhtred’s arm and stroking there.
“She’s starting to come to herself,” Finan said eventually. “Bit by bit. Willa says she ate a full bowl today. Sat in the sun, too. Didn’t bolt when the stable boy walked by.”
Uhtred hummed, a deep, low sound in his chest. Finan pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder, lips warm against skin. They breathed together—slow and measured—their chests rising and falling like two oars in calm water.
“She still stays in her room whenever we’re near,” Uhtred said, voice roughened not just by sleep, but something deeper. Regret. Restraint.
“She’s afraid we’ll hurt her,” Finan murmured. The words cracked a little at the edges. His arm around Uhtred tightened. “It hurts, seeing her like that. Like a bird with a broken wing. You reach out and she just tries to tear herself apart to escape.”
The silence held for a moment, the kind that said everything.
“She doesn’t know what it means to be protected,” Finan said softly, eyes open to the darkness, voice barely a breath.
Uhtred didn’t answer right away. His fingers curled around Finan’s hip, thumb tracing idle patterns into the bone there. The fire popped once in the hearth. In the stillness, it almost felt like the world was listening.
They both stared into the fire, the weight of the truth heavy between them.
“I feel my instincts are stronger,” Uhtred murmured. “When she’s near. I’m meant to protect her. Like my bones remember her before my mind can.”
“She’s an omega,” Finan whispered after a pause. “She’s vulnerable. It’s natural for you to feel like this. But You can’t act on instinct. Not with someone so broken.”
Finan’s nose brushed against his neck, warm breath curling there. They lay pressed together, the space between them filled with warmth and love, even in their worry.
Uhtred’s jaw tightened. “I know. I still can’t understand how you can treat them like that. Omegas were always sacred,” he said. “Protected. Valued. Ragnar used to say the gods whispered to them. That their blood ran closer to the earth’s heart.”
Finan made a small noise of agreement, and Uhtred’s hand found the small of his back, cradling.
He drew in a breath, and it shook on the way out.
“I felt it the moment I saw her in the square,” he admitted. “That pull. Not just instinct. Something older. But it doesn’t matter what I feel. Or you. She has to choose us. If she ever can.”
Finan kissed his collarbone, tender and sure. “She’s safe now. We’ll keep showing her that. Every day.”
Uhtred nodded again, closing his eyes as Finan curled tighter around him, their bodies fitting like pieces carved from the same tree. For a long while, they said nothing more. They didn’t need to.
They had chosen her. All that remained was whether she might one day choose them back.
_______________
A few nights later, Elin sat at the edge of her bed, woolen blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders, bare feet resting on the cold stone floor. The chill of autumn crept in through the cracks in the shutters, the kind of cold that crawled slowly under skin already too thin. Her body, still rebuilding from long months of hunger, had more strength now—but it was a quiet, fragile thing. Her legs still trembled if she stood too long, her breath still caught in her chest if she climbed the stairs too quickly.
Outside her small room, the hall glowed faintly with firelight. The little fire in her room not enough. The muffled crackle of burning logs drifted through the curtain, low and constant like a heartbeat.
She stared at it for a long time.
Just for a little while, she told herself. Just the fire. Just warmth. Then I’ll go back.
Still she sat, knuckles white around the blanket, heart thudding like a warning in her ribs.
It took another handful of heartbeats before she stood. Her knees wobbled beneath her, and she had to steady herself against the wall. But she didn’t sit back down. Her breath came a little faster, though not from fear this time—just effort. Just living. It was hard sometimes.
Elin padded slowly to the curtain, listening, trying to hear if somebody was out there. Nothing.
She hesitated, fingers on the latch. Then, slowly, she pushed the curtain aside.
The world didn’t break into chaos.
The main hall lay in quiet hush, lit only by the dying fire in the hearth. No voices. No footsteps. No eyes waiting in the dark.
Clutching the blanket tighter, she slipped out. Her bare feet made no sound on the wooden floor as she crept forward, steps careful and measured. With every one, she waited for something—a shout, a hand, pain—but none came. Only the soft groan of timbers and the fire’s glow ahead.
She made it to the hearth.
Lowering herself to the ground took effort. Her body still ached when she bent too far, and the floor was cold beneath her, but she didn’t care. She wrapped the blanket more tightly around her, knees drawn to her chest. It was the one Finan had left folded by her door two days ago. She’d touched carefully first, then clutched it like a lifeline.
It still smelled faintly of pine and woodsmoke. Of fire. Of something else too—something unfamiliar and soft, like warmth made solid.
Like safety.
She didn’t believe it yet. Not fully. But she could pretend, here in the quiet, when the others were sleeping. Here, alone, she could curl in on herself without anyone trying to fix her or reach for her or drag her back into being someone she wasn’t ready to be.
From the far end of the hall, Uhtred had seen the flicker of movement—heard the faint scrape of the curtain. Then he’d spotted the small figure making her way to the hearth, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
He watched her settle, knees hugged close, firelight dancing against her pale hair.
When her eyes flicked toward the darker corner of the hall, where he stood half-shrouded in shadow, he stepped back without a word. He let her have the space. The silence. The choice.
Her gaze lingered a moment longer, uncertain—but there was no one there.
She looked back at the fire.
And she stayed.
The blanket smelled like pine. Like smoke. Like hands that had never tried to hurt her.
And for the first time in her life, she had a feeling of home.
Ashes and Honey
Chapter 1
The cold crept under the thin, tattered blanket as Elin stirred awake. Her hut — if it could be called that — leaned precariously against the outer wall of the village, its roof patched with broken thatch and torn cloth. Frost laced the cracked wooden walls. She pulled the blanket tighter around her fragile body, but it did little to warm her aching limbs.
A dull throb twisted in her belly, a constant companion she barely noticed anymore. She could not remember what it felt like to be full—only the gnawing, hollow ache that had lived inside her for as long as she could recall. Time blurred when every hour was just another to survive. Her skin burned where it cracked from the cold, and her joints creaked when she shifted her weight.
Elin moved slowly, careful not to make noise. The thin soles of her battered shoes scuffed softly against the dirt floor as she peered through a jagged hole in the wall. Morning mist clung low to the ground. Villagers bustled about, their faces hard and closed.
She stepped outside, head bowed low. The moment her pale figure emerged, conversations faltered. People turned away, muttering prayers under their breath. A woman selling turnips spat at her feet. "Witch," the crone hissed.
Elin kept walking. Children were yanked from her path, mothers' hands tight around tiny wrists. No one touched her. No one spoke to her. But the hatred was louder than any shout.
Elin didn't react. She kept her head bowed, her white hair a tattered veil around her face, and moved on, each step heavy. This was the rhythm of her life. Fear. Loathing. Isolation.
Sometimes, she allowed herself to feel it — a prickling under her skin, a stirring deep inside her chest. Her instincts, faint and weakened by years of denial, whispered of safety, of protection. But she knew better. That craving was a curse. Her kind — omega — was cursed. There was no safety here. No protector. Only herself, and the fragile thread of survival she clung to.
Her hands trembled as she clutched the shawl tighter around her shoulders and disappeared into the back alleys, hoping to survive another day unseen.
_______________
At Rumcofa, the morning began with the usual clatter of preparations. Uhtred leaned over a map spread across the long table, Finan at his side, Sihtric sharpening a blade nearby. Osferth entered, dust from the road still clinging to his cloak.
"You look troubled, monk," Finan said, straightening.
"There’s trouble," Osferth said, voice tight. "In Hlenwic."
The villages around Rumcofa were isolated — scattered like forgotten stones. Hlenwic was worse than most. Uhtred knew it. They patrolled these parts often, sometimes traded with the more decent folk, but law held no sway here. Between the stronger holdings, there was only fear and brute survival. That kind of lawlessness seeps into the bones of a place. They’d seen it before — what it did to people. What it did to omegas.
Finan grunted. "A nest of vipers, that place."
Uhtred’s brow furrowed. "Explain."
Osferth shifted uneasily. "They speak of a girl. An omega. They treat her poorly. Some say she's cursed.”
Finan cursed under his breath, pushing off the table. "Ignorant bastards."
Uhtred’s jaw tightened. Among the Saxons, omegas were often little more than breeding stock. He had seen it — suffered the stench of it — even when his own wife Gisela lived. Among the Danes, it was different. Omegas were precious, revered. Protected.
How much harsher this world was for an omega born powerless.
Finan leaned closer, his shoulder brushing briefly against the other's. It was subtle — too subtle for most to notice — but Uhtred’s eyes flicked to him, and in that moment, no words were needed. Finan’s anger was Uhtred’s. His resolve mirrored Uhtred’s. They didn’t need to speak when the path ahead was already clear between them.
"We ride," Uhtred said, rolling up the map.
Finan grinned at Sihtric. "When Uhtred gets that look, best not argue."
Still, as they gathered their gear, a strange unease gnawed at Uhtred’s mind. A whisper of something important waiting for him beyond the mists.
_______________
Smoke drifted on the air as Elin kept to the edges of the village, wary of the center where danger always lurked. She wasn't drawn by curiosity but was tending to the few snare traps she had set nearby, her hands quick and practiced even as shouts carried faintly to her ears.
The granary. It was ablaze, tongues of fire licking greedily at the old wood. Villagers shouted and scrambled to contain it.
"Witch!" someone screamed.
Hands grabbed her, rough and unforgiving. Someone struck her across the face — her vision flashed white, a piercing burst of pain stealing her breath. Stones pelted her thin arms and legs, each impact blooming fresh bruises across her fragile skin. She fought against the hands dragging her, clawing at the muddy ground, begging in broken gasps for them to let her go. Her feet scrabbled uselessly in the muck, and the more she struggled, the tighter their grip became, wrenching her forward with cruel, relentless force.
Rough hands yanked her forward as she fought and kicked, her hoarse cries begging them to let her go. Each frantic jerk only made their grip tighten cruelly. She clawed at the muddy ground, nails splitting, her breath coming in broken sobs of terror. A blow to her temple sent her sprawling, dazed, they clamped a heavy iron collar around her neck, the cold metal biting into her skin. Panic surged — she twisted, tried to flee — but another strike cracked against her shoulder, stealing the strength from her legs. The chain rattled sharply as they dragged her into the square like a captured animal, and threw her to the ground. Her head swam as the collar tethered her cruelly to the whipping post, trapping her in place.
_______________
Rain began to fall, thin and biting at first, then getting stronger and stronger lashing against her like a punishment. It soaked her through, weighing down the rags she wore until they clung heavily to her skeletal frame, chilling her already shivering body to the marrow. The iron collar around her neck grew colder, a vicious shackle that gnawed into her raw, tender skin. Each breath rasped painfully against the metal, each inhale a shudder of agony. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably, her body wracked with tremors she couldn't stop. Misery seeped into her bones, cruel and unrelenting.
The villagers' hateful murmurs never ceased, twisting into cruel laughter and whispered threats that floated on the storm winds. She couldn't understand all the words, but the tone was enough to freeze her blood. She cowered against the whipping post, rain blinding her, body convulsing from cold and terror.
Her mind spun in dizzying, chaotic circles, each thought more horrifying than the last. She imagined cruel hands seizing her, ripping her from the post, dragging her into the shadows where screams were swallowed by the dark. She saw flashes of other women, other omegas, she had glimpsed over the years — bruised faces, broken bodies, empty eyes after nights no one spoke about. Fear gnawed at her insides, savage and insatiable, a living thing that tightened around her throat. What punishments awaited her? A public beating? Worse? Her skin crawled at the thought of hands on her body, of being stripped of even this last shred of dignity. She curled into herself, shuddering, the iron collar biting cruelly into her neck with every trembling movement. She was utterly alone, the cold soaking through her bones, and no one was coming to save her.
_______________
The first light of dawn filtered through the thick, low-hanging clouds as Uhtred and his men approached Hlenwic. The village slumped against the bleak landscape, a scatter of crude huts and sagging roofs patched with moldy thatch. Mud clung to the narrow paths like a second skin, churned by countless footsteps and the wheels of worn carts. Smoke hung heavy in the air, a sour mixture of damp wood and old cooking fires. Pigs rooted lazily in the filth beside crooked doorways, and half-starved dogs slunk between shadows. Broken fences leaned drunkenly, and the few villagers already awake cast wary glances at the approaching horsemen before scuttling inside, bolting their doors. The whole place reeked of suspicion and decay, a village slowly rotting from the inside out. Tension coiled tighter as they pressed on toward the marketplace, the heart of this miserable settlement.
Then Uhtred saw her.
Huddled against the whipping post, little more than a sodden heap of white hair and torn cloth, was the omega Osferth had spoken of.
He narrowed his eyes, a sharp breath catching in his throat. Even filthy and battered, her white hair gleamed like moonlight. Her skin was paper-thin against the cold. Her deep blue eyes — wide with terror — met his for a heartbeat before she flinched away.
"Christ," Finan muttered beside him. "She looks like a wraith."
Uhtred didn’t answer aloud, but he heard more in Finan’s voice than the words alone. Their bond was old, forged in blood and hardship, and Uhtred didn’t need Finan to say the words aloud. The familiar note of concern, and something deeper — something Finan wouldn’t name yet — hummed just beneath the surface. Finan always might make light of the moment, might cover the flicker of feeling with a jest, but not this time. Uhtred saw it — the tightness at the corners of his mouth, the tension coiled just beneath the surface. He caught the way Finan’s eyes lingered a moment longer, the brief stiffening of his posture. He felt the same pull, and he saw Finan feel it too. Not just pity, not just outrage — something older, instinctive, buried deep. Uhtred didn’t blame him. Even filthy, she was striking. Even trembling, there was something about her that beckoned. But it wasn’t time to speak of that. Not yet.
Uhtred's gaze returned to the girl. That ancient, unspoken instinct inside him stirred again, fierce and certain. But he shoved it down. Focus.
The villagers spilled from their homes, chattering nervously.
Uhtred pulled his horse to a halt, scanning the gathering crowd. His voice cut sharply across the mutters: "Who is in charge here?"
An older man, thick-bodied and small, reluctantly stepped forward, his eyes wary.
"You did this?" Uhtred demanded, voice like iron.
Only then did the crowd erupt again, louder, more vicious: "She’s cursed!" they shouted. "Witchspawn!"
"She brings misfortune," the man said. "We lost half our harvest due to a fire. It’’s her doing."
Uhtred cut him off with a sharp, dismissive gesture. "Release her. Now."
The man sputtered, but one look at Uhtred's face silenced him. The chains were unlocked with reluctant hands.
Uhtred stayed seated atop his horse, towering above the villagers, his eyes sharp and commanding. He gave a small, deliberate nod toward Osferth — the monk appearing the least threatening among them. Osferth understood immediately. He dismounted slowly, careful not to startle the trembling girl. With painstaking gentleness, he knelt in the mud before her, moving as one might approach a wounded animal. He offered a waterskin, his heart breaking as he saw how her bones jutted against her soaked, clinging rags, her body a frail testament to years of cruelty.
Elin flinched violently even at his gentle approach. She pressed herself tighter against the post, breath hitching in panic.
Finan’s face darkened, his fists clenching at his sides. Sihtric turned his gaze away, jaw tight.
Uhtred stood back, watching carefully. He knew omegas — their needs, their instincts. He had been taught to honor them. But this — this was different. This girl was broken, fragile and wild with terror.
He would need to go slower than he ever had before. Gentler. More careful.
_______________
The tension thickened.
The villagers milled uncertainly, voices rising in anger and accusation. The headman stepped forward again, jabbing a thick finger toward the chained girl. "She must be punished! She set the fire!"
Uhtred sat tall on his horse, voice cold and cutting through the noise. "There is a raider in these lands," he said. "Already fields and camps have been set ablaze in neighboring villages. Your suffering comes not from her."
The villagers muttered among themselves, doubt and suspicion shifting their stance. Some looked uneasy. Others clenched their fists, unwilling to let go of their hatred.
Uhtred’s gaze swept over them, hard and commanding, forcing them to listen.
And in that moment of distraction, Elin ran.
She bolted like a startled deer, barefoot and trembling, tearing across the muddy ground toward the dark woods beyond.
"Shite!" Sihtric cursed, lunging after her.
"She runs like a bloody deer," Finan said, a note of grudging admiration in his voice.
Uhtred's instincts roared to chase, to catch, but he forced himself to remain still. In all his years, he had seen fear in the eyes of men and women alike—fear of battle, fear of death. But this was something else entirely. This was not fear born of reason or circumstance. This was pure, primal terror, the kind that tore through thought and left only the desperate urge to escape. It was the blind, instinctive scramble of a creature that knew only pain and betrayal. He recognized it instantly, and it carved into him deeper than any sword. It stayed his hand, made him lower the reins, and instead filled him with a fierce, aching resolve: to be different. To be safe. To be the one who did not strike her down.
"Split up," he ordered sharply.
Finan, already moving, muttered darkly, "We’ll be lucky if we don’t scare her to death before we gain her trust."
Finan glanced at Uhtred as they split up, and for the briefest second, concern flickered between them — not just for the girl, but for what she stirred in them both. Uhtred gave him a nod, silent assurance that they were aligned, even in this. They didn’t need to say, be careful. It was already understood.
The girl was faster than any of them expected, her terror lending her a desperate, wild speed. She darted through the muddy streets, a fleeting blur of pale hair and torn rags, and before they could close the distance, she was already out of the village and disappearing into the woods beyond. They followed, scattering into the woods after her. The trees closed around them, the underbrush clawing at their horses legs. After a few tense minutes of searching, Uhtred caught a glimpse of her — a pale figure half-hidden behind a tree. She stumbled, her thin legs giving out beneath her, and fell heavily to the ground.
He spurred his horse after her, heart hammering, the primal pull growing stronger with every pounding beat.
Ashes and Honey
Pairing: Uhtred of Bebbanburg x Finan the Agile x reader
Summary:
In a world where trust is hard-won and safety rarely given, one omega begins a quiet journey toward belonging—with two warriors who refuse to let her walk it alone.
Chapters:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
My Masterlist
These are my own works. :)
SWAT:
Donovan Rocker
Gentle Guidance
The Last Kingdom:
Uhtred of Bebbanburg x Finan the Agile x OC
Ashes and Honey - Series (finished)
Gentle Guidance
Pairing: Donovan Rocker x virgin!reader
Summary: After dating for a while, you spend the night at Donovan Rocker’s place for the first time.
_________
Standing outside Donovan’s door, your heart pounds so loudly it’s all you can hear. You’ve been here before, spent time with him, but tonight feels different. Because tonight, you’re staying.
You swallow hard as the door swings open, revealing Donovan in a fitted T-shirt and sweatpants, barefoot, looking as effortlessly handsome as ever.
His smile is immediate, easy. "Hey, sweetheart."
The warmth in his voice soothes you instantly, and you exhale a little. "Hey."
He steps back, holding the door open. "Come in."
The scent of something delicious fills the space as you step inside. You glance toward the kitchen, where two plates are already set on the counter.
"You cooked?"
He smirks. "Yeah. I know you’ve had a long week." His hand rests on the small of your back as he guides you toward the kitchen. "Figured you deserved a home-cooked meal."
Your chest tightens in that now-familiar way—the way it always does when he does something thoughtful without even thinking twice about it.
"That’s really sweet, Donovan," you say softly, looking up at him.
His smirk softens, his fingers brushing lightly against your spine. "Told you, I take care of my girl."
The words send a pleasant shiver down your back, and you quickly lower your gaze, suddenly hyperaware of how big he is compared to you, how effortlessly he moves around you.
Throughout dinner, he keeps the conversation light, asking about your day, making you laugh with his dry humor. But you also notice the way he watches you—the way he makes sure you’re eating enough, the way his eyes flicker with quiet concern whenever you glance away, lost in thought. And even though your nerves still hum beneath the surface, you find yourself relaxing under his quiet, steady presence.
After dinner, he takes your plate before you can protest. "Sit. I got this."
You hesitate. "I can help—"
"Sweetheart." His voice is firm but laced with amusement as he gives you that look—the one that says you’re not winning this argument.
You sigh dramatically but obey, curling up on his couch as he finishes in the kitchen. When he finally joins you, he doesn’t sit right away. Instead, he leans over the back of the couch, his hands resting on the cushions beside you.
"You comfy?" You nod. "Good." He leans down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple before moving around to sit beside you - close but not imposing, and you feel his warmth seep into your skin. His arm rests casually along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing the curve of your shoulder.
You try to focus on the movie he put on, but your thoughts drift—he is all you can think about. The way his warmth seeps into you, the scent of his skin, the effortless way he envelops you without even trying.
You shift slightly, not because you’re uncomfortable, but because you don’t know what to do with yourself. You feel his fingers pause for half a second before resuming their slow movements.
"You nervous, baby?"
His voice is low, knowing.
You tense. "I—"
He doesn’t let you finish. He turns toward you, pulling you gently against him. His free hand comes up, tilting your chin so you’re looking at him.
"Talk to me," he murmurs. Your breath catches. He knows. He always knows.
"I…" You hesitate, your skin burning under his gaze. "I just—tonight feels different."
He studies you for a long moment, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "It is different," he agrees, his voice softer now.
Your stomach tightens, anticipation curling deep. He’s so close, his body heat wrapping around you, his gaze locked onto yours like he’s memorizing every tiny reaction.
His fingers slide down your arm, slow and deliberate, until they find your hand. He laces your fingers together, his grip firm, grounding.
"Come here," he says, his voice gentle but certain.
He shifts, guiding you onto his lap, your knees bracketing his hips as his hands settle on your waist.
Your breath catches. You’ve never been this close before—not like this. His touch is warm, steady, and his eyes search yours for any hesitation.
"You’re safe with me," he whispers. "I won’t rush you."
You nod, and he leans in, pressing his lips to yours—slow, unhurried, savoring the moment. His hands slide beneath your sweater, fingers tracing up your spine, coaxing a soft gasp from you.
He swallows the sound, deepening the kiss, his grip tightening on your waist as he guides you against him. The feel of him beneath you is overwhelming in the best way—solid, warm, wanting, but he keeps his movements controlled, measured, letting you set the pace.
His lips trail down your jaw, lingering at your pulse, and when he feels the way it flutters beneath his mouth, he smiles against your skin.
"I got you, sweetheart," he murmurs.
You shiver at the words, at the way he holds you so effortlessly.
His hands roam slowly, exploring, testing, learning what makes you sigh, what makes your breath hitch. You feel his restraint in the way his fingers hesitate before moving lower, in the way he keeps checking your reactions.
"Tell me if it’s too much," he whispers against your neck.
"It’s not," you breathe, fingers curling into his shoulders.
His hands tighten on your thighs, and he shifts beneath you, lifting you with ease as he stands, carrying you effortlessly.
"Bed," he says simply, his voice rougher now, and your stomach flips at the explanation.
You don’t question him. You don’t want to.
He moves through the dimly lit hallway, cradling you against his chest, and when he reaches the bedroom, he sets you down gently on the edge of the bed, kneeling before you.
His hands rest on your knees, thumbs tracing slow circles.
"Are you sure?"
The weight of his gaze, the patience in his voice—it makes your heart ache in the best way.
"Yes," you whisper.
His expression darkens with something deeper, something devouring, and he leans in, capturing your lips again, his hands sliding up your thighs, parting them slightly as he moves between them.
The sensation of him covering you, surrounding you, is intoxicating. He guides you back against the mattress, his weight pressing into you, but he never stops watching you—never stops making sure you feel safe.
His touch is slow, reverent, as he explores every inch of you, discovering what makes you tremble beneath him. His lips follow the path of his hands, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.
"Breathe, baby," he murmurs against your skin. "Just feel."
And you do—every press of his lips, every brush of his fingers, the way he moves so deliberately, so completely focused on you.
He doesn’t rush the moment. His fingers tease, coax, easing the tension in your body before slipping lower, his touch gentle but insistent. He takes his time, learning how to make you relax, how to make your body respond to him.
"I need you to be ready for me, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice rough but still patient.
A shaky breath escapes you, and he takes it as encouragement, his fingers working you open with slow, measured strokes until your body softens beneath him, until he feels the subtle shift that tells him you’re ready.
He presses a kiss to your forehead, his forehead resting against yours as he aligns himself with you.
"Stay with me," he whispers, holding your gaze as he moves forward, inch by careful inch, giving you time to adjust, to breathe.
It’s overwhelming, yes. But with him, it feels safe. It feels right.
Donovan moves with an exquisite slowness, each thrust measured, letting your body adjust to him. His hands never stop touching you—one steady on your hip, the other smoothing over your thigh, your waist, your ribs. He watches you so intently, as if memorizing every reaction, every sound you make.
"You feel so good, sweetheart," he murmurs against your lips, voice rough with restraint.
Your fingers dig into his shoulders, overwhelmed by the way he fills you, how perfectly he moves inside you. He keeps his pace unhurried, patient, letting you catch your breath, letting you feel everything.
"You're doing so good, baby," he praises, his hand slipping down to your thigh, lifting your leg higher against his waist. The shift changes everything—you gasp as he sinks just a little deeper, hitting a spot that makes your whole body tense.
He feels it immediately, his grip tightening. "There?" he asks, his voice lower now, huskier.
You nod, unable to find words, and he groans softly, rolling his hips just right, sending another wave of pleasure coursing through you.
"That's it," he coaxes, his lips brushing over your jaw, down your neck. "Let go for me, baby. Let me take you there."
His fingers slip between your bodies, finding the spot that makes you whimper, circling with careful precision. The added sensation has your breath stuttering, your thighs trembling against him.
"Donovan," you gasp, your hands clinging to him.
"I got you, sweetheart," he whispers. "Just let go."
The pleasure builds quickly, tension coiling deep in your core, until it becomes too much, until you can’t hold back anymore. Your body tightens around him, and he groans, his grip on you tightening.
"That’s it, sweetheart," he rasps, his voice rough with need. "Let go for me."
And you do. The pleasure crashes over you, stealing your breath, leaving you trembling beneath him. Your body clenches around him, pulsing, and the sensation pushes him right over the edge.
"Fuck—" His voice breaks, his rhythm faltering as his hips snap forward, his hands gripping your waist like he needs to ground himself. His head drops to your shoulder, his breath warm and ragged against your skin.
"You feel so good," he groans, his voice raw, "so perfect."
His muscles tense beneath your touch, and with one final thrust, he buries himself deep, releasing with a low, guttural moan. His body shudders, pressing flush against yours as pleasure overtakes him, his heartbeat thundering against your own.
For a long moment, neither of you move. His weight is warm and solid above you, his breath still uneven against your skin. He presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder, then another, softer this time.
"You okay?" he murmurs, lifting his head just enough to look into your eyes.
You nod, still catching your breath. "Yeah… that was…"
His lips quirk into a tired smile. "Yeah."
He presses a slow, sweet kiss to your lips before carefully pulling out, making sure you’re comfortable. He disappears for only a moment before returning with a warm cloth, gently cleaning you up, his touch careful, reverent.
"You need anything, sweetheart?" he asks as he settles back beside you, pulling the blanket over both of you.
"Just you," you murmur, snuggling into his chest.
His arms tighten around you, his lips pressing into your hair.
"Then sleep, baby," he whispers, voice husky with exhaustion. "I got you."
And with him holding you like this, you believe it.
________
You wake up to golden sunlight filtering through the curtains, the scent of him still clinging to your skin. His arm is heavy around your waist, his breath slow and even against your shoulder.
You shift slightly, and he stirs, his grip tightening instinctively. "Mmm… stay," he murmurs, voice thick with sleep.
You smile. "I was just—"
"Just a little longer." His fingers trail lazily down your side.
You give in, letting yourself sink back into his warmth. Because right now, in this moment, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.
My Masterlist of fanfic collections
Masterlist I
Masterlist II
Masterlist III