Ashes to Stardust | Sihtric Kjartansson

Chapter 9: The Wanted Woman

Who are you?" the words come out as a whisper despite my effort to remain composed.

"I think the better question is who are you?" The man looks up from the dagger he twirls between his fingers, the sharp steel reflecting dim candlelight across the hallway.

"Who. Are you." I snarl. Not a question this time, a demand.

He pushes himself from where he leans against the door, lowering the dagger to his waist still twisting it at the hilt. As he steps forward, his features become clearer in the flickering light. This is a face I knew, not well, but I definitely recognise him. His golden hair forms into tight-nit curls that cascade over his forehead, with yellow amber eyes that match its tone. Rough blonde stubble sprouts above and below his narrow-lipped mouth, tilting downward in a menacing expression. His wide shoulders sway slightly as he begins to stalk painfully slow toward me.

The tension in the air crackles like lightning as he inches closer, his movements deliberate and predatory. Every step echoes in the silence, each one bringing him nearer to his prey. I stand my ground, my heart pounding in my chest, though I refuse to show any sign of fear. His gaze pierces through me like a blade, assessing, calculating. There's a hunger in those amber eyes, a hunger for something beyond mere flesh and blood. It's the hunger of a predator, relentless and unyielding.

This was a man who had accompanied Rurik many times before in my descent to the cellar. Bound me to the walls with shackles and locked me in to wither away as Rurik could only stand back and watch. I take a half-step back toward the staircase behind me and begin to pray that he can't hear the hammering of my heart or notice my not-so-subtle attempt at a retreat. He is already here to claim me, which means that there are more of Eiríkr's men close behind.

"The little bird has flown too far from its nest and now her master demands her return. All in one piece, of course," A mocking smile curls his narrow mouth into a toothy, snake-like grin. "Though I suppose it doesn't matter what I do with those pieces before you are given back to him." My heart clenches behind my ribs but I force my feet firm into the weathering wood below, refusing to let them attempt to step back again. No, I will not retreat like a mouse.

I am not an animal, not an object, not a prisoner. I am a survivor, and I am strong. I cannot be weak or helpless again. I would not–cannot be broken. And I most certainly am not going back.

"I am no one's little bird," I growl "but it seems that Eiríkr's dogs have been sent to do all the sniffing yet again while his cowardice ass grows numb."

His stalk toward me quickens ever so slightly, leather boots thumping into the floor with each heavy step forward and in this closer light I can see the whites of the fur on his muddy brown cloak are tainted faintly with crimson. With blood. It takes everything in me to swallow the lump in my throat and still remain steadfast in my position at the top of the stairs. Each step he takes toward me, I raise my chin a little higher to ensure my gaze fixes permanently onto his, not even taking the risk of blinking as my eyes begin to burn like flames.

"He said that you would try to use that sharp little tongue. Might even try to curse me with the Seductress' enchantments," he stops a breath above me, staunching his wide body over my own, "I'd love to see what that tongue can do before I return his pet to him."

"I will cut your own tongue from your filthy mouth if you lay one single finger on me." My face contorts every muscle into a scowl and before I can even think about how to flee myself from my situation, his spindly fingers are gripping intensely around my throat, nails biting into flesh threatening to rip it open. A typical response I had seen too many times from taunting Eiríkr, one that was becoming quite uncreative and tiresome despite the headache that already snaked its way up to my head.