How did one go about seducing a creature like Renic. 

You do not seduce him at all, came the voice of intuition. Like an untamed beast prowling at the periphery of the homestead, starved and leery, one had only to tempt it closer with patience and sustenance. But was that not, in its own way, a seduction also?

Only, Renic's appetency was of a different nature, as was the man himself. He had never tasted the flesh; knew nothing of that which she could offer him, and so he was nescient of what it was to truly hunger.

As Brenna drifted towards the back of the hazy mead hall, the press of lustful eyes followed her thence. She felt them even as she disregarded them, for none here belonged to Renic, and his were the only eyes she cared for or sought out. But he was not feasting with his men tonight.

Sustenance she could offer, she thought humorlessly, knowing full well that her curves fed many a prurient gaze this night. Patience too she had aplenty. But time was what she lacked most, and it was dwindling faster than she could bear.

Halting in the shadows, Brenna leant back against the wall to watch the Blackmane jarl and his pregnant wife. Two of the Greybacks were engaged in wrestling sport, cheered on by the others, but it was not they she was interested in studying.

Roth and Heida were laughing together by the fireside, she in his lap, and his hands splayed lovingly at her abdomen. Heida's condition was clearly no secret to her lover. Accordingly, they would likely marry come summer, of that Brenna was certain. She wondered what the babe would look like. Would she have a small pate covered with silver down, like her mother, or would her hair be as sooty as her father's?

The sound of Heida's throaty laughter incited Brenna's own lips to curl. That Roth made her friend happy was at least something in his favor. Renic's brother leaned down and nuzzled her ear, and whatever words he'd poured therein had made Heida flush with happiness.

Suddenly, Brenna tensed as the hairs on her flesh strained in warning. There was a strange and unexpected coldness biting at her own ear, and the coalescence of a powerful presence beside her. Without having to look whence the pressure came, she knew, with certainty, who it was that stood beside her. "What do you want?" she muttered.

"I want what you want," came the sibilant voice of Renic's cryptic father.

"Well, I want you to leave me alone." She compressed her mouth in chary annoyance, lest someone see her talking to herself. She knew that he was cloaked in obscurity.

"Then I shall," he replied, congenially. "But first, a word of advice..."

"I have no interest in whatever you—"

"Ah but I think you do," he purred. "As it pertains to Renic himself. You want him, do you not?"

She turned to glower at Loki then, arms akimbo. However, she held her tongue and listened, as he no doubt knew she would.

He smirked, seemingly enjoying her discomfort. "You know what happens when the sun sets tomorrow?"

He made to walk behind her and she tensed all the more, moving further away from Loki and the wall at her back.

"I do," she said. The full moon was always a wolf moon.

"Then go to him tonight, little witch."

"What? Why?" she whirled on him then, but he was gone. Vanished. Only smoke and shadows remained where he'd been.

But quietly, almost imperceptibly, she heard his voice soft and faraway as though the shadows themselves had whispered to her. "The moon withholds restraint."

"What do you mean?" she hissed at him, but one of the slaves moved past her at just that moment and mistook Brenna's question for themselves.

"P-pardon m-me?" said poor Olga, frightened by Brenna's tone and demeanor.

"Nothing." Brenna flushed as she waved the woman on.

Olga wasted no time in scurrying away, not even slowing to cast a leery glare over her shoulder as she disappeared into the corridor.

"The moon withholds restraint?" She repeated Loki's words as she pondered them. Already? But of course that made powerful sense to her as well.

Renic's control was something of a trammel that she knew she was to overcome somehow, but that his father should wish to aid her in doing so was suspicious. Although she did not trust him, she did, however, trust Aila's intentions implicitly. Moreover, it was what Brenna herself wanted more than anything — to call Renic her own. To belong to him completely.

Loki's wisdom was certainly tempting. Why should she not act now?

And if the quickening moon, on this night in particular, meant that Renic's restraint was undermined as a result, then perhaps Loki was right. Perhaps she should seek him out this one of all eves. The hall was quieting down already, and half the inmates had already sought their beds for the night. Even Roth and Heida had retired to their own hall.

She knew that Renic was not outside tonight. The near fullness of the moonlight would have agitated him fiercely. No, she knew very well that he was just down the darkened corridor, in Harald's old room.

That he did not wish to stay in his brother's hall, with his mother, Heida, and his nephews bespoke the contentiousness and tension still rife between the brothers. And soon he would be gone.

Yes. Tonight she would go to him. She had only to wait until the flames receded into the embers and the hall was doused in somnolence. That would be the time.

❦

Brenna tiptoed quietly into the corridor, past a bed closet from which the low, pleasureful moans of a midnight tryst could be heard. Deeper into the gloom of the passageway she moved until finally she reached the chamber at the end, moving aside the heavy furs that draped across the entrance.

If Renic was awake, he would have heard her approaching; would have sensed her by now. Yet all within remained still.

The embers of the fire pit threw off only a sullen glow that barely lit the space, the room as dark and broody as the man she sought. The details of the chamber were swallowed by shadow, but once her eyes had adjusted to the darkness they picked out the carved pillars, the massive oaken bedstead, and fur blankets strewn across it.

Near one wall there stood a sturdy trestle table pitted with scars, and around which had been placed four carved, high-backed chairs. Some personal effects lay scattered overtop the table — a leather bag, a torn tunic in the midst of being mended, and a silver comb.

Across some of the chairs were draped other items of habiliments, and near the table on the floor there was an engraved old tool chest with a sliding lid that she recognized immediately — Renic's woodcarving chest in which he stored his crafting tools.

All this Brenna noticed absently, within seconds of her eyes accommodating themselves to the low light, but she was far more interested in the owner of these possessions, and where he might be hidden. She could feel him watching her, silently; her flesh prickled with anticipation wherever she felt his eyes moving. 

Not sleeping then? Good. The shiver of awareness was most pertinacious at her right, and so she angled her gaze in that direction.

Two eerie orbs of reflective light seemed fixed to her from the corner of the room. Renic's fur lined boots were barely visible from where he reclined in a large chair, his face obscured completely. Only the sharp glints of his eyes were discernible in the blackness.

"What are you doing here, Brenna?" He asked softly, the sound of his voice as smoky and dark as the room.

"I came to find you," she replied. In dealing with Renic, only directness would do.

"And why is that?"

Brenna steeled herself to act as she longed to: to take what she yearned for. She moved deliberately, coming to stand before him where his feet were spread carelessly apart either side of her. "Why do you think?" she countered.

"I think you know very well that I cannot give you what you came here for."

"Then give me a kiss, as you did before. A farewell kiss." She was closer to him now, and could see the indecisive tightening of his lips. "Something to remember you by," she went on, her own voice but a raw whisper.

He made her no answer, merely resumed his unearthly stillness, watching her keenly with those uncanny eyes. But his silence was answer enough — he had not said no. Careful of not being too hawkish, lest he withdraw again, Brenna slowly leant over him where he sat. She did not have to lean down far at all, for he was monstrous tall even reposed in his chair. Angling her head slightly to the right, supporting her weight on the broad arms of his chair, she hovered her lips close to his. But no further did she move, waiting instead for Renic to come the rest of the way. She would not allow him to feel cornered or bound by a mere kiss; it was important to her that his next action be guided wheresoever his will freed him to go. He did not, however, make her wait overlong.

He closed the remaining hairsbreadth himself, the meeting of lips searing for all it was softly done.

Restrained at first, his lips moved with only the barest caress across hers, but when she opened her mouth to him, her tongue stroking invitingly, the change was instant. Without warning, his hand shot out, curling firmly about her waist, to pull her flush into his lap, claiming her mouth with ravenous abandon. Hard. And Fast.

Her arms she wound swiftly about his neck, locking his mouth to hers lest his dreaded control resurface again. And when he pulled away after he'd spent some of his ardor against her bruised lips, she feared he would push her away from him, but he didn't. He continued to hold her against him, where his hardness strained between them, but his head was once more resting against the back of the wide chair.

That his instinct was warring with his sense of honor was evident, yet he made no move to disconnect their bodies.

Her fingers meanwhile were curled into his tunic, her breathing still unsteady, and after a while she walked them along his wide shoulders to play and curl themselves in the cool waves of his black hair. Renic's, likewise, had busied themselves in her tresses as he watched her — seeming to commit her features to memory — and then his right hand glided across the delicate bone above her left breast before he curled his fingers over the wooden falcon hanging there beside the beads and gemstones.

"You've kept it all this time?" his voice sounded strange to her suddenly. Weightier. Reverent perhaps?

"I never take it off," she answered huskily, closing her hand over his where he held the bird. "In that way, your spirit walks with mine."

"Brenna..." Her name was no more than a heady growl upon his lips. He dropped his hands to her thighs, as though he might push her away. Instead, he only held them splayed against her, open, wavering somewhere between pushing and pulling. "You could do so much better than I."

"There is no man better than you," she replied vehemently. "I love you. Only you, you stubborn man." Despite the passage of years, and that she'd bethought him dead, her feelings had never vacillated. Perhaps her spirit had known not to relinquish hope. Her heart had always been constant, and it was impossible now to allow him to slip so easily from her a second time. Not without him knowing exactly how she felt.

At hearing her honest declaration, his fingers had tightened instantly, silently pleading. She smiled then, knowing that he was beyond denying her now, and repositioned herself to sit astraddle his lap. It was as though an earthy numen had poured into her body and awakened something powerful in her. Perhaps she had something of Freyja's uninhibited nature in her after all. Nay, it was incontrovertible, for she knew that she did. Elsewise she'd have come to him this night as unfledged as she knew him now to be. 

Slowly, methodically, Brenna removed her brooches and then pulled her outer dress over her head. At length, the underdress was also discarded beside them, so that she sat atop him unclothed and uncovered by all but her long, auburn tresses. Only her falcon adorned her now, hanging from the beads that she had replaced around her neck, lying enticingly between her breasts.

She could feel the strands of her hair fluttering gently against her breasts as he exhaled. They sat like that a long moment, her body thrumming with bold awareness and his gaze doing all that his hands yearned to, for she was close enough now to see the longing there. His guard was down and it was all there in that hot gaze — no longer glacial. No longer remote.

Then, with her guidance, his hands began to move up either side of her, one mirroring the other, skimming over the swell of her hips and then still higher to cup each of her breasts gently. Brenna released him then and closed her eyes, throwing back her head as his thumbs and palms grazed each hardened peak. With her neck so exposed to him, it was not long before his mouth was there at the base of her throat, tasting her skin as his hands strummed athwart her chest, then her abdomen, and then lower still, with slow and drugging caresses.

And then his mouth was at her nipples, laving each one with equal fervor.

Impatiently, her hands pulled at his tunic and yanked at his drawstrings until, finally, both his pants and shirt were lying atop her dresses. The fire spread voraciously through her blood as he fused their mouths together again. But it was not enough. It would never be enough until she could feel him stiff and writhing inside her.

Brenna lifted herself momentarily, her fingers questing between them with voluptuary intent until she curled them over him. She was beyond the need for slow and patient, and so was he. Without removing her lips from his, she sank onto him, sheathing herself over his iron length.

His body shuddered beautifully as she moved against him, the tension incandescent, and her own body heavy with passion. Yet weightless too.

Soon, Renic increased the pace, his arms vice-like as his muscles flexed and moved beneath her. Despite that he felt like granite all over, she dug her nails deep into his flesh as the knot in her core tightened unbearably. She could feel the warmth of blood where she clawed him, but he made no protest. It was not only his blood she drew, but her own as well, for her teeth she ground into her underlip, so intensely was she lost to feeling.

And as her eyes rolled back and her back arched, the blackness exploded around her — a blinding and exquisite unraveling. Renic too had seized with his own release, hands latched almost painfully over her hips as he growled against her throat.

Feeling drowsy and limp with euphoria, Brenna felt his hands rove upwards over her back and into her hair before he cupped her face to lock their eyes. His breathing was as stertorous as hers, so no words were offered yet, and perhaps none would come at all. His beautiful, bright eyes, like blue fire, scorched their way down to her lips, his brows lowering thoughtfully, his nose flaring, as he guided her head closer. To kiss her.

The tang of salt and copper, and the dull throbbing, had been there since she bit her lip, but she was only now aware that it was still bleeding; nevertheless, he was kissing her softly, taking in her essence as she'd taken his. Their bodies were still locked together, Renic's hardness unchanged, and on his own lips she tasted herself and a hint of ale. Brenna disliked the taste of ale, but on him it was heady, spicy, and exotic.

Without warning, he lifted her up and carried her to his bed, climbing atop her to drag his mouth down her body. To bestow ardent assiduities. Tasting her everywhere he could. She felt her blood begin to hum again, aroused once more as Renic explored and sampled. On and on into the night he stroked her afresh; loved her anew, until, by daybreak, she was boneless and utterly spent. A thousand times over, in fact. There was not a muscle in her body left without a worthy ache and delicious throb.

When she awoke much later, the fire on the hearthstone had been stoked, as she herself had been stoked throughout the long hours of the night, and Renic was running his finger down the length of her spine and reverently over her ribs. When he sensed she was awake he nuzzled her neck and pressed his teeth impatiently to her shoulder. Still, though, he said nothing, and she pushed him away with a playful laugh.

"Have you not had enough?" she asked, still sleepy.

"No," said he, voice hoarse with lust as he moved to settle his great weight between her thighs.

Much later that morning, after they'd glutted themselves on one another yet again, Brenna lay watching as her lover's chest rose and fell with slumber. He was lying on his back, his lids shuttered over the eerie blue of his eyes as his breathing deepened. With a little sigh of whimsy, she removed herself from the bed and ambled towards the kettle she'd placed over the fire, wincing and smiling alternately with each step. Gods, but he was a magnificent beast.

 If Roth was anything like his brother, was it any wonder that his seed had taken root in a valkyrie.

At that thought, Brenna froze, and her hands flew instantly to her belly as her smile fell. She would not — could not — keep it, she thought sadly. It was not what Renic wanted, and she loved him too much to bear him an unwanted child. With that resolution heavy in her heart, she brewed her tea — the bane that would beshrew her womb with fallow soil. It was what he thought he wanted, and she would respect that though it killed her; it was not in her nature to extinguish life. That was for the gods and goddesses to do, not her.

When the tea had brewed and the steam had diluted enough that it would not burn her, Brenna lifted the cup to her lips and drank it off. She squeezed her eyes shut, banishing the tears away, as the liquid settled down to do its vile work.

And when she turned to face the bed again, Renic was there watchful. Brows that had always sat somber and low over his pale eyes were now as weighty as ever. But, again, he said nothing, only turned his head away to withdraw once more to the safety of his pensive silence.

🌟HMS BRENIC SAILS! Sort of...🌟