Under the Midnight Sun

The snow beneath my cheek was a strange comfort. Soft. Cold. So unlike the sun-warmed stone of my childhood.

A roar cut through the clamour of battle—a man’s roar, shredded by a grief so profound it vibrated in my own bones. I turned my head.

Through my blurring vision, I saw him: a force of nature, drenched in blood and slashing his way through the men who dared stand between us.

My Norseman. The man who had crossed oceans to claim me for his world of ice and legend. Blood painted his face, stark against the grim set of his jaw.

He fell to his knees, arms wrapping around me, pulling me against his chest. “No.” The word was ripped from him. “No, look at me.”

His calloused hands pressed against the wound on my chest, a futile dam. I could feel the tremor in them.

The world narrowed into the desperate warmth of his touch. The clang of swords faded. Nothing else mattered. Nothing but the agony in his beautiful, forest-green eyes.

“The children...” I whispered, my voice a thread of air. “They’re... safe.”

A harsh, ragged sound escaped him. His gaze held mine, refusing to let me go. “Don’t you dare leave me!” His command was a prayer, a threat, a broken thing.

He cupped my face, his thumb digging into my cheek, a desperate anchor against the tide pulling me under. “Look at me. Stay with me.”

But his face was already fading. The light behind him stretching, swallowing his form. My eyelids were as heavy as stones. I had no strength left to hold them. “I can’t,” I breathed.

There was no pain now. Only the raw, shattering roar of his grief and a vengeful promise hurled at the gods.

The words were a blizzard, but through the fury, one phrase struck my dying heart and held fast.

“Hear me,” he growled, his voice low and ferocious, meant for me alone. “I will avenge you, min sól. And then... I will find you again. Wherever you go. However long it takes. Do you hear me? I will find you again.”

It was not a promise. It was an oath, forged in the blood between us and sealed in the snow.

Witnessed by Odin’s crows, its memory was carried by Huginn and Muninn down to the roots of the world tree.

I woke gasping, the phantom chill of snow and blood still clinging to my skin. This dream—vivid, haunting, violent—had visited me for years, always leaving the same brand: his forest-green eyes, his unyielding presence, the ghost of his hands trying to keep me alive.

I pressed my fingers to my chest, where the memory of his hands felt more real than the plane seat beneath me.

The raw bellow of his grief had become the hum of the jet. The scent of iron and pine replaced by sterile, recycled air.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have begun our initial descent into Oslo Airport.”

I jolted upright, my heart a frantic drum against my ribs. Outside, Norway sprawled below: a breathtaking tapestry of emerald fjords and snow-capped peaks.

Majestic. Familiar.

It didn’t feel like a holiday. It felt more like... a return.

I will find you again. The words clung to me like a second skin.

I shook my head, a feeble attempt to dislodge the vision—and with it, the visceral feeling of a woman’s death that wasn’t mine. I was Valeria, a graphic designer from Rome, in desperate need of exorcising these dreams that wouldn’t let me sleep.

Little did I know that, in a few hours, I’d feel his touch in the flesh. His body’s insatiable hunger. And his possessive green eyes—the only thing holding me together as I shattered.

***

Author’s Note: Thank you for giving Valeria and Eirik’s story a try. If you enjoyed this chapter, make sure to add it to your library. Also, feel free to vote and comment—your support means everything 😘

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