Memoires swept over her like a sudden storm in the spring, leaving her lightheaded and chilled to the bone.
“Bjorn?”
He came toward her, his shifted position allowing the light to fall on his large form.
She rubbed her eyes and shook her head. How was this possible? Leaning on the wall for support, she drank in the sight of him, starved after so many years without him. His bare arms were covered in tattoos. His light hair fell past his shoulders; some of it in braids, the rest free. His features were blunt, his forehead high, and his jaw square. The fierce scowl on his face would undoubtedly scare most, but not her. She knew that face better than she knew her own.
Her heart raced.
Not sure she could trust him or her senses, she raised the piece of wood she’d found lying in the alley, gripping it hard enough to drive a splinter into her skin. It had already proved effective, but she’d had the element of surprise, something she wouldn’t have with this man.
“Tell me something only my husband would know.”
A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “You have a tiny birthmark under your left breast. It’s a particularly sensitive spot.”
All the air left her lungs in a rush. Her arms began to tremble. The makeshift club slipped from her suddenly nerveless fingers and dropped to the ground with a thud.
“Bjorn?” It was too much to take in. Her knees buckled, unable to support her weight.
He surged forward and caught her before she hit the ground. Thickly muscled arms wrapped around her, arms she hadn’t felt in so very long. His strength surrounded her, protected her as he lowered them both to the ground with her perched on his bent knees.
She raised her shaky hand and touched her fingers to his face. Disbelief mingled with wonder. His skin was warm. His beard was trimmed short, the bristles tickling her fingers. “Is it really you?” Her voice trembled. It was almost too good to believe, the culmination of all her prayers. “I’ve dreamed this so many times.” A single tear trailed down her cheek.
Too many nights she’d awakened alone, her body hot and aching, her arms empty with none to comfort her.
“If it is a dream, we’re sharing the same one, Anja.” He brushed her hair away from her face. “My beautiful, Anja.”
Suddenly, none of it mattered—what had brought her here, the dark void, the men who’d threatened her. Her husband was here, and he was alive.
She slammed her fist into his shoulder. Pain radiated through her hand and down her arm. The man was built like a stone mountain.
“What the hell was that for?” Eyes wide, he shook his head and rolled his shoulders.
“Where have you been? I waited and waited.” All those lost years, while she served in Freya’s Hall.
He groaned and lowered his head, his lips grazing hers. It had been an eternity since their last kiss. “I’m so sorry.” His voice was low, thick with emotion. He pressed his mouth against hers.
