SWNOVELS Emperor of Rage: Chapter 32
My hand grips Freya’s tighter than it should as I walk her back to the guesthouse after that shit-show of a dinner with Kir, Issak, and that fuck Damian. But I don’t let go. I can’t.
There’s a primal, possessive urge clawing at me that I’ve never had for anyone else—not like this. It tightens its grip on my chest every time I see her talking to someone else, laughing with someone else, touching someone else.
Like Damian.
Just her brother.
Fuck that. They’re not related by blood. All I see is another man trying to be close to what’s mine. And the thought of him near her makes my blood boil.
Freya glances up at me, her face serene in the moonlight, and for a second, that possessiveness softens. Just for a second.
I’ve never needed to own something—someone—like this before. Never felt the need to claim anyone in the way I want to claim her. She looks up at me with those curious eyes, so full of trust, and it only makes me want to pull her closer. Keep her there, pressed against me, away from everyone else.
Damian. Kir. Hell, the entire world.
We’re almost at the door of the guesthouse when something small and dark catches my eye, carved into the side of a tree near the path. My steps falter, and my grip on Freya’s hand tightens.
I stop.
“What is it?” Freya asks, turning to face me, her brow furrowed in concern, her free hand lightly brushing my arm.
I shake my head. “Nothing,” I mutter, tugging her toward the door. I don’t want to scare her—don’t want to admit that what I think I just saw might be real.
But I need to be sure. I need to know.
I open the door to the guesthouse and usher her in before I can second-guess myself. “Back in a second.”
Her eyes flicker with confusion, but she doesn’t ask questions, just nods as I turn and head back down the path, my heart pounding louder with every step.
There. That tree.
I kneel down, squinting at the rough bark—
What the fuck.
It’s gone now. Not worn off. Not covered. Literally just not there, as if it never was.
My brows furrow.
I fucking know what I saw. The old Norse rune is unmistakable to me, and just the sight of it sent a chill down my spine when I swear I saw it a second ago.
Fascist Nazi cowards like Kasper love to steal symbols, phrases, and myths they have no connection to and no right to use. I mean the swastika was a Hindu, Buddhist, and Jain symbol for peace for over a millennium until Hitler and his fucking goons stole and forever warped it. The Celtic cross has been twisted by the same Nazi fucks for years, too.
But their favorite to steal from has always been the Norse.
The sonnenrad, or black sun rune. Depictions of Mjölnir, the hammer of the god of thunder, or the valknut. Even the fucking SS “double lightning bolt” hate symbol was stolen—derived from the sowilo, or sun rune. All of this shit was to reinforce their fucked, twisted views on “Aryan ancestry”.
Nazis bring nothing to the table but hate and fear. Every single part of their imagery and ideology was stolen and poisoned to suit their obscene fantasies.
And the one I swear to fuck was just on this tree is one I know above them all.
Odal.
It’s one of the darkest; a symbol of heritage, bloodlines, and supremacy that Kasper had tattooed on his own chest. One he used to draw in the dirt, and on fences when he went for walks.
One he used to carve onto trees.
“A warning” he called it. “To the un-pure and the filth.”
A cold shiver rips up my spine.
I fucking know what I saw a minute ago when Freya and I walked by. But now, it’s gone.
Just like that.
I curse under my breath, standing up quickly and wiping my hand on my jeans as if to erase the memory of it.
Am I losing my fucking mind?
I glance around, but the night is still.
Fuck.
I turn back toward the guesthouse, my jaw clenched. Maybe it was a trick of the light. Or sleep deprivation, after becoming so nocturnal with Freya. I’ve seen things before, after long stretches without sleep. Nightmares. Hallucinations. But this…
This felt different.
It feels like the past. Like Kasper’s shadow reaching through time to ensnare me again.
I shake the thought off and make my way back inside the guesthouse. Freya is standing right where I left her, giving me that slightly defiant, perennially inquisitive look that always grabs a hold of me.
My mind is still racing. But I’ll deal with what I think I saw later.
For now?
I’m focused on her.
I pull her close, my hands gripping her waist tightly as I press her against the wall. My body cages hers, possessiveness burning in my eyes.
She’s mine. And no one—not Damian, not Kasper’s fucking ghost, not anyone—is going to take her away from me.