Page 123 of The Thornwyck Rose

Seren pressed her hand over Erik’s heart, feeling it fight to keep time. In her heart, she prayed,“If You spare him, Lord, please do not waste what You’ve returned.”

XLI

THE NEWFOUND FAMILY

THORNWYCK KEEP, DECEMBER 1099

Erik woke to warmth.Weight pressed against his chest, his side, and his legs. It took him a moment to realize he couldn’t move because there were furs wrapped tightly around him.

His ribs ached like they’d been split and sewn back together. He drew a shallow breath, and his lungs seized at first, then relented. The sharpness ebbed.

Though his muscles ached down to the marrow, the next breath came easier.

The room was still. The hearth light burned low, making the far stone wall glow with soft orange. He wasn’t even sure where he was. He tried to roll up to look around, but the weights were exceptionally heavy.

A shift tugged at his awareness first. A head on his shoulder. He turned his head to see, but there was a cheek pressed against his cheek, and a soft breath grazed his ear. Warm women’s fingers were soft on his neck.

He turned the other way, and Elen’s face came into focus. She clutched the furs around his arm. He struggled to lift his head, but he finally made out David and Aveline by his legs. Vala held Elen, and David had Cari tucked in the crook of his arm.

He tilted his head and caught the shape of a figure near the window—large and lean. He knew that build anywhere.

It meant the person on his shoulder had to be Seren. She’d curled around his head like she’d laid her soul there and refused to move.

Her breath warmed the hollow of his neck.

His heart twisted. She was alive. But why was she with him? Why were they all with him?

That couldn’t be right. It had to be a dream, or he was dead.

He remembered using the last of his energy to throw Henry to the ground. But then, fragments. Pieces of memory tried to stitch together, but failed.

"Ragnar," Erik rasped.

The figure turned. A moment passed. Then footsteps padded across the floor.

Finding space by his arm between Aveline and Seren, Ragnar lowered beside him, one knee down, one arm braced on his thigh.

“You’re awake,” Ragnar whispered.

Erik’s throat burned raw, his voice a breath more than sound. “Barely.” He still wondered if it was all real.

Ragnar shifted closer, his fingers brushing over Erik’s neck to check the pulse. He nodded once, lips pressed tight.

“You almost left me,” Ragnar said.

Ragnar’s gaze flicked down. His fingers curled over the edge of the fur blanket.

Erik’s throat tightened.

He didn’t speak. Just stared at the impossible gathering—the family he thought he’d lost. The sons. The daughters. The woman forbidden to him guarded his heartbeat with the curve of her body.

He closed his eyes. Tried to make the moment last longer; didn’t matter whether he was dead—it felt real.

Ragnar grabbed his hand and gave a squeeze through the furs.

“I missed you, little wolf,” Erik whispered in a slur, opening his eyes.

The corners of Ragnar’s mouth raised, and for a brief moment, Erik saw his little boy wearing a man’s mask. He was alive.